BONUS CHAPTER: Derek's Destiny

A disgraced pastor's son must confront the deadly fallout of his father's sins—and his own—in a brutal game of survival orchestrated by the most unexpected Harris brother.

Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, including gun violence and physical harm, as well as themes of abuse, sexual assault (though not detailed), and murder. It also explores psychological torment, emotional manipulation, and deeply unsettling power dynamics. Readers should be aware that the content may be distressing or triggering, particularly for those sensitive to themes of trauma or abuse. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

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Author’s Note:

While Derek’s Destiny has officially come to an end, I couldn’t resist giving you a little something extra to hold you over until Season 2 begins.

Enjoy this bonus chapter—it’s just a taste of what’s to come. 🖤

This chapter is too long for the email format, and I don’t want you to miss a single moment. Be sure to click here to view it in its entirety. Enjoy!

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Are you new to this series, DEREK’S DESTINY? If so, tap below to start from the very beginning…

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JOHNATHON

“What the Hell happened to your teeth? Looks like somebody played hopscotch on your mouth!” Damian leaned in, his laughter cutting through the quiet of the street as he stared into my mouth.

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the sting of his words hit like a slap to the ego. He had the right name, though—Damian, the little demon.

I rolled my eyes, doing my best to act unbothered.

“Don’t worry about my teeth, Damian. Worry about this trade.” I pulled out my battered binder of Pokémon cards from the tote bag at my feet, flipping it open like it was the holy grail.

Damian snorted, loud and obnoxious.

“And you whistle when you talk now.” He clapped his hands, his grin wide enough to punch. “Yo, you know who you sound like? That creepy old dude from Family Guy. What’s his name? Herbert. Yeah, you Herbert now!”

I exhaled sharply, zipping the binder with a deliberate slowness that screamed, I’m done with this nonsense.

“I don’t have time for your jokes, Damian,” I said, sliding the binder back into my bag. “So childish.”

“Nigga, I’m eleven! Of course I’m childish, dumbass.” Damian shot back.

I sucked my teeth—what was left of them, anyway—and shot him a look that would’ve sent most kids running. Not Damian, though. Six months of trading cards with this pint-sized terror who been attending my Dads church since he was even a thought, and I still hadn’t baptized him in a fountain of Holy Water that I was sure would set him on fire. Tempting as it was, I restrained myself. Mostly because we were sitting smack dab in the middle of Main Street, across from Destiny’s Details.

The office had been empty for months, the windows gathering dust like forgotten dreams. Destiny loved that place, poured her heart and soul into it like it was a piece of her. And then Derek came back to Juniper. Derek Harris, with his big city swagger and his Hip Hop, pulled her into his world of fornication, Devil music, and God knows what other sins. Now she was married to him—her face plastered across every tabloid and Juniper gossip circle. She’d left everything behind, including me.

She rarely posted on social media, but when she did, it was a highlight reel of luxury—designer bags, flashy cars, and more money than I’d see in a lifetime. She wasn’t the same small-town girl anymore; she was a rapper’s wife now. Red carpets, sold-out shows, high-fashion wardrobes—her entire world had transformed. And I hated it. She had changed.

But when I wanted to feel close to her, the version of her that I knew, I came here. To this bench. The same one where we used to sip coffee and talk like the world didn’t matter. I’d sit here and imagine her jogging across the street to meet up with me, smiling like she used to, and sliding onto the bench beside me. The memory was as painful as it was sweet, like a song you can’t stop humming even though it breaks your heart.

Damian’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “Yo, Herbert! You finna cry or what?”

I didn’t answer. I just stared at the empty shop and the ghost of what could’ve been. Despite everything—Derek, the teeth I’d lost, the life she’d left me for—I still loved Destiny. And maybe that was the cruelest joke of all.

I clenched my jaw, biting back a retort that wouldn’t have made it past my missing teeth without sounding ridiculous. Instead, I reached into my tote bag and pulled the binder back out. I flicked it open with a dramatic sigh, letting the plastic pages fall heavy against my lap.

“Let’s just trade, Damian,” I muttered. “Got better things to do than sit here listening to you audition for Def Comedy Jam.”

Damian smirked, clearly pleased with himself.

“Def Comedy Jam? What’s that?”. He leaned forward, his hands snatching at the pages with all the grace of a wrecking ball. “Ooooh, what we got here? Charizard? Pikachu? Nah, you ain’t got no heat in here.”

I fought the urge to snatch the binder out of his grubby hands. Instead, I crossed my arms and watched him flip through the pages, his fingers smudging the sleeves like he’d never heard of hand sanitizer. Every now and then, he’d pause, his eyes lighting up like he’d found buried treasure, only to shake his head and keep going.

“You got nothin’, Herbert. Nothin’!” Damian crowed, holding up a Holographic Gyarados like it was a piece of junk mail.

“That Gyarados is first edition,” I snapped, snatching it back and slipping it into my pocket. “You don’t even know what you’re looking at.”

Damian shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe. But I know you’re desperate. Whatchu want for that Venusaur? Or maybe that Dragonite?” He tapped the plastic sheet with an air of smug confidence, like he’d already won.

“Depends. What do you have?” I asked, masking my annoyance.

The truth was, I needed this trade. Needed him to have something rare, something valuable I could flip for cash. Every card was a potential step closer to fixing the hole in my smile—a gap that felt bigger every time I spoke, laughed, or even breathed.

Damian leaned back, unzipping his backpack and pulling out his own binder. It was newer than mine, the pages crisp and uncreased. He laid it out like he was dealing blackjack, tapping his cards with exaggerated flair. “Got some good stuff in here, Herbert. But I don’t know if you can handle it.”

I ignored the jab, flipping through his collection with practiced care. My eyes scanned each page, searching for gold in a sea of mediocrity. And then, like a lighthouse in the fog, I saw it—a pristine, Holographic Mewtwo. My heart skipped a beat.

“How much for this?” I asked, keeping my tone steady despite the surge of excitement.

“That?” Damian smirked, leaning back like a king surveying his court. “What you got to offer?”

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The screen lit up, flashing a number that had become way too familiar—my father, calling from jail. Perfect timing. I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose which never seemed to heal right since the night I had my ass handed to me.

“Look, Demon—I mean Damian—why don’t you take that shiny binder and go buy some ice cream or something?” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “Come back in, like, ten minutes.”

Damian tilted his head, his face scrunched up in exaggerated offense.

“My time is valuable, Herb,” he said, rolling his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.

I pointed down the street. “I gotta take this call. Beat it and come back in a little bit.”

With a dramatic stomp of his sneakers, Damian clutched his binder to his chest like I’d just insulted his firstborn child.

“You keep wastin’ my damn time,” he muttered, shuffling off with all the flair of an offended diva.

I rolled my eyes and answered the phone, the pre-recorded message already droning in my ear. You are receiving a call from an inmate at the Benét County Correctional Facility... I pressed the button to accept and leaned back on the bench, staring at the empty storefront across the street.

“Dad,” I said, my voice tight as the call connected.

“Johnathon,” his voice came through the crackling line, tired but steady. “How’s my boy?”

“Good as I can be,” I lied, keeping my tone even.

The truth was, life was a dumpster fire. Dad’s church was gone, reduced to ashes, and with it, my only paycheck. Since his arrest, money had stopped coming in, and I was on the verge of losing our house. The Juniper job market was as dry as a preacher's sermon during a heatwave. Bills were piling up, and every day felt like a new level of survival mode.

“Son, I… uh…” He hesitated, and I could practically hear him wringing his hands on the other end of the line. “I got something to tell you.”

“What is it?” I asked, already bracing myself for whatever bomb he was about to drop.

“Where are you right now?” he asked, his voice dropping lower.

“Main Street,” I said, glancing around. A couple of old ladies were chatting outside the hardware store, and a kid on a bike zipped by, laughing as his little brother tried to keep up. The usual small-town bustle.

“Oh, good. Witnesses. Broad daylight,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Dad, what’s going on?” I pressed, my stomach tightening. He only got this cagey when it was something big. Something bad.

He hesitated again, and the pause stretched so long I thought the call might’ve dropped.

“Listen,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t be saying this over the phone, but… the church, the fires at the other places… I think they’re connected.”

“Connected to what?” I asked, my voice sharp.

“To that Harris boy,” he said, spitting the name out like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “The one Destiny—”

“I know who you mean, Dad,” I cut him off, my throat tightening. Derek Harris. Of course. It always came back to him. The town menace turned big-shot rapper. The man who stole everything from me—my girl, my peace, my future—and left chaos in his wake.

“I think he orchestrated the fires,” my dad said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial.

A nervous chuckle slipped out before I could stop it. The thought wasn’t funny—not even close—but my brain couldn’t process it any other way. My mind raced back to what Derek had said to Arnold that night when he held us hostage at his house. His smug tone, the glint in his eye as he winked at him like they were in on some cosmic joke saying something about his album being fire like his club.

Yeah, he’d done it. That wasn’t a guess—it was a gut-deep certainty though I couldn’t prove it. And if he burned Arnold’s club, what were the chances he’d stopped there? The church, the other places the cops said were connected… I knew D-Truth was behind them. What kept me up at night was why.

Why torch everything? Was it just revenge? Retribution for what I’d done to Destiny and Eden? For roping them into Arnold’s world to settle my own grudge?

I regretted that decision every minute I was awake, but regret didn’t put out fires. And finding out those other places were safe houses linked to my father for drugs and trafficking? I hadn’t known about that. Maybe we all had secrets.

“Johnathon…” My dad’s voice pulled me back to the present. “I’ve got a confession, son. Besides my church, those other places that burned? They were part of my… um… business. How I helped to support us.”

I froze, the air around me growing heavier as my father finally started to confirm what I’d read in papers about him while Juniper now shunned me.

“Dad,” I hissed, glancing around like someone could hear us through the phone. “You’re being recorded—”

“Son, just listen!” His voice cracked, a rare sound from a man who usually carried himself like the world couldn’t shake him. “Now, my business can’t run. But that doesn’t mean my tally has stopped. They still want their money.”

“Who?” My voice was sharper now, cutting through the tension like a blade. I didn’t want to hear the answer, but I needed to.

“The people I was working with…working for,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “They don’t care about the fires or the police or that I’m locked up. All they care about is getting what’s owed to them. The product is gone but they still need to be paid. And now that I’m out of the picture… they’ll come looking for it.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper.

“What does this have to do with me, Dad?”, I wanted to know.

There was another pause, long enough for me to feel the weight of his next words before they even hit me. “They know about you, son.”

The phone felt heavier in my hand, like it might crumble under the weight of the conversation. “What do you mean they know about me?”

“I mean, they’ll come to you if they can’t get to me,” he said. “And if they do, you need to be ready.”

“Ready for what, Dad? To pay them? To fight them? What exactly am I supposed to do?” My voice cracked, frustration bubbling over, mixing with a fear I wasn’t ready to admit. My grip on the phone tightened as if holding it harder would somehow ground me.

“They’re coming. Leave town, Johnathon! Right now!” my dad yelled, his voice echoing through the crackling line like thunder.

And that’s when everything shifted—fast, like a scene out of an action movie I didn’t audition for. A black van screeched to a halt in front of me, its tires skidding against the pavement. The door slid open, and before I could react, four masked men rushed toward me. My heart slammed against my ribs as they grabbed me, their hands rough and unforgiving as I dropped my phone and Pokemon cards.

“Hey! What the—” I started, but one of them clamped a hand over my mouth before I could finish.

The air whooshed out of me as they lifted me like I weighed nothing, my phone falling to the ground with a sickening crack.

I kicked, twisted, did everything I could to fight back, but it was useless. They were too strong, too coordinated. They shoved me into the back of the van like I was cargo, slamming the door shut behind me. The street outside disappeared in an instant, replaced by the dim, claustrophobic interior of the van.

“Help!” I screamed, banging on the walls, hoping—praying—someone would hear me. But Juniper wasn’t exactly the kind of town where people paid attention. Especially not to someone like me. Since my dad’s scandal, I’d become practically invisible. And now, that invisibility was working against me.

My fists pounded against the van’s walls, desperation coursing through my veins. “Let me out! Help!”

Then, without warning, a sharp, heavy blow landed against the back of my head. Pain exploded in my skull, bright and blinding, before everything went dark.

The last thing I heard was the sound of the van accelerating, its engine a low, menacing growl, carrying me toward a destination I didn’t want to reach.

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