American Sun

[Caesar]

Praevidit

Mireya sat on the trunk of Jaslene’s car, the metal warm through her jeans even though the sun wasn't out. Jaslene pressed close beside her, thigh to thigh, their shoulders touching. A plate balanced between them on the lid, loaded with tacos wrapped in doubled flour tortillas that leaked grease onto the paper. The smell of cilantro and lime cut through the exhaust hanging in the air.

Across the cracked pavement, the food truck hummed. Its generator coughed every few seconds. People stood in a loose line that bent around a concrete divider, voices layering over each other in English and Spanish.

Mireya picked up a taco. She folded it tighter and bit down. Salsa verde dripped onto her thumb. She licked it off and went for another before she'd finished chewing.

Jaslene ate slower. Her nails were done, bright pink with little rhinestones near the cuticles, and she kept them careful with the food.

"How was your last date with Diego?" Mireya asked. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Jaslene smiled. "Good." She set her taco down and brushed crumbs from her lap. "He's always real gentleman. Never tries to fuck me."

Mireya snorted a laugh. "Funny considering the man sees your pussy at work every night."

Jaslene's eyebrow lifted. She leaned back on one hand, turning her head to look at Mireya full on. "You're saying that like plenty men don't see my pussy and immediately try to put their dick in it. Igual que haces con la lengua."

Heat climbed Mireya's neck. She kept her face steady. "Chill out.” She grabbed another taco, bit into it, chewed. "Where'd he take you this time?"

"Nothing fancy," Jaslene said. She picked up her own taco again, turning it to find the best angle. "We went for a walk and got beignets."

Mireya laughed. Louder this time. "That's so fucking cheesy."

"Nothing wrong with cheesy," Jaslene said. She bumped her shoulder into Mireya's. "You could use a little cheesy. Always with the roughnecks."

Mireya shook her head. Her hair shifted against her neck, strands sticking to the sweat there. "The only man I'm fucking around with that would do that kind of shit is Jordan."

Jaslene leaned over toward her. She slipped her arm behind Mireya's back. Her palm settled warm against Mireya's side, fingers curling just above her hip. "I can do that for you, nena," she said. Her voice dropped lower. "Where you want to go? Paddle boat ride on the lake?"

Mireya laughed. "Yeah, you taking me this weekend?"

Jaslene's smile widened. "Sí." She leaned in closer, lips near Mireya's ear. "We can have all kinds of rides."

"I ain't paying," Mireya said. She turned her head. Their faces were inches apart now. "You taking me out."

Jaslene laughed. The sound was bright. "I make more than you anyway, baby."

Mireya stared into Jaslene's eyes. They held that glint they always did, the one that said she knew exactly what she was doing and wasn't sorry about it. Jaslene's gaze dropped to Mireya's lips. She leaned in and kissed her. Slow and deliberate. Her mouth was warm, tasting of salt and lime underneath. Mireya felt the press of it, the softness, before pulling back.

Her hand came up between them, fingers pressing light against Jaslene's shoulder.

"No intentes ponerte juguetón en el puesto de tacos," she said.

Jaslene laughed again. She leaned away but kept her arm behind Mireya. The weight of it stayed familiar and grounding.

Mireya looked toward the line. Her eyes tracked over faces. Then they caught on one she knew.

Her stomach dropped.

"Fuck," she said.

Jaslene's head turned. "What?"

Kike turned around. His eyes found her immediately. A smile spread across his face, wide and easy. He stepped out of line and walked toward them. Dust plumed from his boots with each step. Rising and settling on the pavement.

He stopped in front of them. His eyes ran over Mireya. Slow and deliberate. "Oye, prima," he said. His voice carried that false warmth. "Long time, no see."

"Yeah," Mireya said. "On purpose."

Kike's smile didn't falter. He looked her over again. Taking his time. "Elena told me you were toning up but damn you looking real sexy." His gaze slid to Jaslene. "And your friend here, sexy, too."

He held his hand out to Jaslene. "I'm Kike," he said. "Mireya's primo."

"He's not really my cousin," Mireya said. Her voice came flat.

Jaslene looked at his outstretched hand. Then she grabbed a taco from the plate and took a bite. Ignoring him completely.

Kike dropped his hand. His smile shifted. Amusement flickering in his eyes. "Since you want to tell people that," he said to Mireya, "you gonna let me hit now?"

Jaslene set her taco down. She didn't look up. "$3,000."

Kike's head snapped toward her. His eyes moved between them. Catching on Jaslene's arm still behind Mireya's back. The way they sat pressed together. His smile turned into a smirk.

"What are you?" he asked. "Her lesbian pimp?" He laughed. "I can fix that, you know."

"Kike, fuck off," Mireya said. Her hand tightened around the taco she was holding. "Please."

Kike held his hands up. Palms out. Backing away a step. "If you say so, prima."

He turned to leave but stopped after two steps. He looked back over his shoulder. "You know the yard's back open if you want your job back.Jamie's got me doing what Leo used to."

"I'm good," Mireya said.

"You sure?" Kike asked. His eyebrows lifted. "You used to love going on them little rides with the güero."

Mireya's jaw clenched. "I got a job and your track record ain't good with that shit anyway."

Kike snorted a laugh. His eyes traveled down her body once more. Lingering. Before sliding back to Jaslene. He blew her a kiss. Then turned and headed back toward the line. Dust kicked up behind his boots.

Jaslene watched him go. When he was far enough away, she turned to Mireya. "You know the weirdest fucking people, nena."

Mireya laughed. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. She picked up another taco and bit into it. Chewing slowly.

~~~

Trell sat in his spot at the back of the trap house. One arm draped across the armrest. His ring caught light from the lamp on the side table, metal flashing dull gold each time he moved his hand. The music thumped through the walls from the front room, bass heavy enough to shake the cheap drywall.

In the living room, three women from Biloxi worked the space. One of them danced close to Shad, hips rolling slow, her hands sliding down his chest while he grinned wide and tilted his head back. Yola sat beside him with a bottle between his legs, eyes tracking her ass as it moved.

The skinny one stood in the middle. She had her back to Trell, spine curved, arms overhead, fingers threading through her hair. She dropped low and came back up slower, and Shad whistled through his teeth.

Trell watched. His jaw worked once, chewing nothing, then stopped.

The back door opened. Ant stepped through and shut it behind him with a soft click. He moved through the room without hurrying, shoes scuffing the linoleum where the flooring buckled near the wall. He walked past the women without looking at them and stopped beside Trell's chair.

Trell's eyes stayed on the skinny dancer as she rolled her hips forward.

"I talked to Maine and Kayjuan from Byrd," Ant said. His voice stayed low and flat. "They said either nobody admitting to fucking with Boogie or nobody out they clique fucking with that nigga."

Trell nodded once. His eyes tracked the dancer's movements, watching how she shifted her weight, how her hands found Yola's shoulders and pressed.

"Nuk out Dooney said the same shit," Trell said. He lifted his hand from the armrest and scratched at his jaw, fingers rasping against stubble. "Said they too focused on 39 to be starting shit with other sets."

Ant crossed his arms over his chest. "That leave 39, 110, ROD, Dumaine, Young Melph."

Trell shook his head. "We can leave out 39."

Ant's eyebrows pulled together. "You trust them niggas?"

Trell finally looked away from the dancers.. "Why would they hit a stash spot when they can just not bring the work to us?" he said. He let the words sit for a beat. "And they wouldn't hit just one. They got the numbers to hit them all at once and try to spin on us."

The music shifted in the front room. Someone yelled something that got swallowed by bass. A bottle clinked against another.

Ant tilted his head toward the sound, listening, then turned back. "So, what you thinking?"

Trell's chin lifted toward Shad. The kid had his hands on the dancer's hips now, pulling her closer, grin still plastered across his face. "110," Trell said. "His ponk ass brother."

Ant's mouth tightened. He looked at Shad, then back at Trell. "That lil' nigga gotta go too, then?"

"I don't think he was in on it," Trell said. His voice stayed even. "I think that's just coincidence."

Ant shifted his weight. "If we kill his fucking brother then we gonna have the same problem on our hands."

Trell looked over at Ant. "We ain't gotta kill his brother.” He leaned forward in his chair, elbows coming to rest on his knees. "We got Shad cliqued up. Back in ancient times, kingdoms would take your family hostage so you wouldn't attack them."

He paused, watching Ant's face. "Get all your fucking kids in their castle so if you try to siege the castle, they'll just start flinging your kids at your army."

Ant stared at him. His jaw worked. "So, we taking that nigga hostage?"

Trell snorted a laugh. "Something like that."

One of Trell's phones buzzed on the table beside him. The screen lit up. He glanced down at it, then picked it up. A San Diego number glowed across the display. He turned the phone so Ant could see it, then stood. His chair scraped against the floor.

Ant moved first, already heading toward the back door. Trell followed, phone in hand, thumb sliding across the screen. He stepped outside into the night. The air sat thick and humid, clinging to his skin.

Trell pressed the phone to his ear and answered. "Yeah."

The voice on the other end was smooth. Measured. "I heard you've been trying to get in touch with me."

"Yeah," Trell said. He walked a few steps into the yard, away from the light spilling through the doorway. Ant stood near the steps, watching the street. "Your cousin said we should talk."

Silence stretched on the other end. Not long. Just enough.

Then the voice came back. "My cousin is coming to see us. For our sick abuela." A pause. "Come pay your respects, too."

Trell's mouth twitched. "Sorry to hear about your sick mawmaw," he said. His tone stayed flat. "I'll bring flowers to her hospital room."

The man on the other end snorted a laugh. "She likes orchids."

"Orchids it is," Trell said.

"See you then," the man said. "Don't forget the flowers."

The line went dead.

Trell lowered the phone and slid it into his pocket. He looked at Ant. Ant pushed off from where he'd been leaning and walked over.

"Julio did say Gustavo a weird ass nigga," Ant said. His eyebrows pulled together. "But what the fuck flowers gotta do with anything?"

"Orchids mean wealth," Trell said. He turned back toward the house. Light spilled yellow across the cracked concrete. "Might need you and Dez to drive there with some money."

Ant's jaw tightened. He shook his head once. "I don't like having to give a motherfucker money just to talk to them."

Trell started walking toward the door. His hand came up to pull it open. "Yeah. Me either."

~~~

Laney and Gabrielle sat at the bar in Swainsboro, stools pulled close, drinks sweating on the counter in front of them. The TVs overhead played games with no sound, light flickering across the wood grain. Music leaked from speakers mounted in the corners, an old country song that sounded older than it probably was. The fryer hissed somewhere behind the bar. Oil hung in the air, mixing with spilled beer and the faint sweetness of bourbon someone had knocked over earlier and not bothered to clean up right.

Gabrielle looked around, taking it all in. She brought her mojito to her lips and sipped, mint leaves pressed against the side of the glass. She set it down and turned to Laney. "So, whenever you don't want to be bothered you drive all the way out here so no one can find you?"

Laney snorted a laugh. She picked up her Old Fashioned and tilted it toward her mouth. The cherry rolled against the ice. She swallowed and set the glass back down. "Yeah, pretty much. Ain't too many people thinkin' you comin' to Swainsboro to drink if you can just drive the other way and go to Savannah."

Gabrielle laughed. "Yeah, I don't think I'd ever come here over Savannah."

Laney ran her thumb along the condensation on her glass. The wood of the bar was sticky under her other hand, varnish worn smooth in spots and tacky where drinks had spilled and been wiped but never quite cleaned.

"Swainsboro's been my spot since high school. Far enough away from Claxton that not too many people knew unless I wanted them to but close enough that I could get back in a night."

Gabrielle shook her head, smiling. She turned on her stool to face Laney more directly. "Damn, Laney, you're making me feel like you and the woman Caleb introduces me to back when we were in college are two different people."

Laney shrugged. Her shoulder lifted and dropped. "People change I guess."

"Ain't that the truth," Gabrielle said.

Laney looked over at her. She studied Gabrielle's face for a moment. Her mind did what it had been doing ever since Gabrielle suddenly took an interest in being closer to her. Wondering if she was just trying to get information out of her. If it was for Caleb. Or her daddy. Or hell, even Tommy, even though Gabrielle was far from the type of woman that Tommy would respect enough to ask for such things. She wasn't traditional enough.

Laney shook the thought away. She didn't want to think the worst of her. Gabrielle didn't have family in Statesboro other than them. That had to count for something.

She turned around on her stool. Her back pressed against the edge of the bar. She looked out the windows lining the far wall.

"You see that building over there?" she asked. She pointed across the street at a low brick structure half-hidden by a tree.

Gabrielle turned around and followed her hand. She squinted, leaning forward slightly. Her nose scrunched up. "Looks abandoned."

"I think the company went out of business during the pandemic," Laney said. She kept her eyes on the building. "Back when I was in high school, I was datin' this guy back home named Brian. Baseball player."

Gabrielle nodded. "Oh, right, you did play softball."

Laney nodded. She picked up her drink and took another sip before setting it back down. "When I got my first scholarship offer, he was so pissed 'cause he ain't have none. I think I was 15, maybe just 'bout to turn 16."

She leaned back against the bar. The wood pressed into her spine. She continued. "So, I decided if he was gonna be all pissy 'bout it, I was gonna go party. Taela used to take her mom's car to get us out here 'til I got mine. We'd met these guys who we always hung out with so we call 'em and asked what they were doin'. Me, Taela and Nevaeh."

Gabrielle's expression shifted. Her smile faded. "It's a shame what's happened to her," she said quietly.

Laney nodded once. She knew Gabrielle meant Nevaeh.

"For whatever reason, they were up on the roof of that buildin' gettin' drunk," she continued. "We had to climb up a dumpster behin' it then jump up to the fire escape to get up there." She paused, mouth pulling into something close to a smile. "There was this one guy, Elston. He was real into me. And that's how I ended up fuckin' on a rooftop in Swainsboro."

Gabrielle snorted a laugh. Then it broke into a full laugh, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "Not quite as romantic as a rooftop in New York City."

Laney turned back around to the bar. A slight smile touched her face. She picked up her drink and looked down into it, watching the ice shift. "What I ain't know is he had a girlfriend. Mae ain't forgive me yet."

Gabrielle shook her head. She turned back to the bar as well, adjusting her stool to face forward again. She picked up her mojito and took a drink. When she set it down, she looked over at Laney. "What changed?" she asked. Her voice was careful, curious. "If you don't mind me asking. It seems you used to really live."

Laney downed the rest of her drink. The whiskey burned smooth down her throat, then settled warm in her chest. The cherry sat heavy at the bottom of the glass, syrup coating her tongue.

"They prayed a lot for me," she said.

~~~

Caine sat at the bar with his beer sweating in his hand, the glass cool and slick against his palm. Dwight was on his right, Matt on his left, Keanon and Jaylen past Matt. The five of them spread along the counter in their usual arrangement, bodies loose from a long day of practices, film sessions, and meetings. Spring camp had just started and already his shoulders felt tight, his legs heavy.

The bartender wiped down the counter near them, not saying anything, just moving the rag in slow circles.

Dwight slapped Matt in the chest with the back of his hand. The sound was sharp, cutting through the noise. He pointed at Caine. "I told you this nigga always be out there trying to show off," he said. His grin was wide, teeth flashing. "I know you saw that shit he did at the end of the drills."

Caine sucked his teeth. He set his beer down and turned his head toward Dwight. "Yeah, I threw the ball to where it was supposed to go."

Dwight laughed. "No, motherfucker, you ain't." He leaned back on his stool, one hand gripping the edge of the bar. "You telling me the first read is the deepest route? The shit that take seven seconds to develop?"

Matt held up a hand as he sipped his beer with the other. His eyes flicked between them. "He kinda got you there, bro."

Jaylen shifted on his stool, leaning forward to see past Matt. "He gotta remind you niggas that he good and it ain't just because of Dylan and them last year."

Keanon snorted a laugh. He picked up his drink and tilted it toward his mouth, then stopped. "Don't kill me but that white boy wasn't that good," he said. "We could've beat Miami if he ain't turn into a bitch in the playoff."

Caine shook his head. He grabbed his beer and brought it to his lips, taking a long pull before setting it back down. "Anyway, ain't nothing wrong with showing off some arm strength. It's motherfuckers that done got to the NFL just because they can sling that bitch 70 yards down the field."

Matt's eyebrows lifted. He leaned his elbows on the bar and looked at Caine. "So are you the motherfucker getting there for that because you fuck people's mama or because you drinking lean on the side all the time?"

Dwight jumped in immediately, pointing at Caine. "He do got a baby mama."

Caine shoved Dwight's shoulder. The push was light but firm. "That shit ain't the same."

Jaylen laughed. The sound carried over the music playing from the speakers overhead. "It might not be the same but you is the nigga I think is most likely on this team to be knocking down some old baddie in the car line."

Keanon, Dwight, and Matt joined in the laughter. Their voices layered together, bouncing off the walls. Caine shook his head, mouth pulling into a reluctant smile.

"I don't know how I became the dude on the team that's supposed to be so freaked out when y'all motherfuckers be running trains on Deltas," he said.

Matt nodded. He took another sip of his beer. "He got a point."

Dwight straightened in his seat. He raised one hand. "I ain't never disrespected any of our Black queens by suggesting they get a train run on them."

Keanon's grin widened. He pointed at Dwight with his bottle. "He ain't say nothing about them Phi Mu bitches, though."

Jaylen laughed harder. "Because he'd be lying if he said that."

Dwight spread his hands wide. "I am from Miami," he said. His voice dropped lower, theatrical. "If your ho only knew. Choo, choo, bitch."

The group erupted. Laughter filled the space around them.

Caine stood up from his stool, shaking his head. "I gotta get something out my car.”

He walked toward the door, weaving between tables and people holding drinks. The air outside hit him cool and clean after the warmth inside. He headed for the Lexus parked near the back of the lot. His keys were already in his hand, metal clinking soft against itself.

"Caine."

He stopped at the driver's side door. Turned around. Rylee was breaking off from a group of her friends near the entrance, heading his direction. She walked fast, purposeful, her jacket open and bouncing against her sides.

She stopped close in front of him. Close enough that he had to look down to meet her eyes. She smiled, bright and easy. "I heard you got a new car but damn I ain't expect it to be this nice."

Caine laughed. He glanced back at the SUV. "It ain't all that."

Rylee reached out and took the keys from his hand. Her fingers brushed his palm. "Lemme see the inside."

Caine moved out of the way. She unlocked the back door and pulled it open, climbing in without hesitation. She looked around, running her hand along the seat, then moved to the third row and sat down. She looked back at him. "You just gonna stand out there?"

Caine got in. He closed the door behind him and sat next to her.

She looked around again, eyes scanning the interior. "Lot of room back here," she said. "Even with your big ass back here."

Caine nodded. He stretched his legs out between the two second row seats. "That's why I got it. That Buick was fucking up my knees."

Rylee's mouth curved. She leaned back against the seat. "Thought you got it 'cause you gonna be fuckin' back here."

Caine laughed. "I got a whole apartment for that, Rylee."

She shrugged. Her shoulder brushed his. "Car sex is fun, too."

"I try to limit the things I could get arrested for," he said.

Rylee nodded. Then she shifted and threw her leg over his lap. She straddled him, settling her weight on his thighs. Her hands came up to his face, palms warm against his jaw. She lifted his chin so he was looking directly at her.

"See," she said. Her voice dropped lower. "Ain't too many cars you can really ride it in."

Caine laughed again. Before he could respond, she leaned down and kissed him. Her mouth was soft and insistent. He kissed her back and things heated up fast. Her hands moved from his face to his shoulders then to his chest, fingers pressing in. Her hips shifted forward.

When she grabbed his hands and placed them on her ass, Caine pulled back. "Slow down."

Rylee's eyes opened. She looked at him, confused. "Caine, I want you," she said. Her voice had an edge to it, frustration creeping in. "Why don't you want me anymore?"

"I ain't say that," Caine said. He kept his hands where they were. "But if you just want what we had, cool, but seem to me that ain't what you want."

Rylee shook her head. The motion was quick, almost impatient.

"Then I don't want you thinking I just want to fuck," Caine said. His voice stayed steady. "If I just wanted some pussy, I can get that anywhere. If you want something else, we gotta do it right."

Rylee sighed. She sat back on his knees, putting space between them. Her hands dropped to her sides. "I hate that you be makin' sense sometimes."

Caine shook his head. "C'mon," he said. "Your friends gonna be wondering where you disappeared off to."

Rylee sucked her teeth. She moved off him, shifting her weight to slide past. "Still don't see why we can't fuck while doin' it right."

She slipped by him to get out of the car. The door opened and she stepped out into the parking lot. Caine ran his hand through his dreads. He exhaled heavily. The air left his lungs slow and controlled. The third row felt smaller than it had a minute ago. Then he followed her out, closing the door behind him.

[Soapy]

"Igual que haces con la lengua"

[redsox907]

not sure why we beating a dead horse. Jaslene wants to date Mireya, is clearly trying to make her jealous. Mireya is so desensitized she doesn't see it

maybe its Young Melph getting back at 39 for wiping out Tito

"Then I don't want you thinking I just want to fuck," Caine said. His voice stayed steady. "If I just wanted some pussy, I can get that anywhere. If you want something else, we gotta do it right."

for being able to read the plays on the field, this is a terrible misthrow on Caine's part. Now she gonna expect Caine to ACTUALLY be trying to have a relationship with her

[Caesar]

"Igual que haces con la lengua"

Sir! They have sex with each other at work! As part of a paid ecosystem!

not sure why we beating a dead horse. Jaslene wants to date Mireya, is clearly trying to make her jealous. Mireya is so desensitized she doesn't see it

maybe its Young Melph getting back at 39 for wiping out Tito

"Then I don't want you thinking I just want to fuck," Caine said. His voice stayed steady. "If I just wanted some pussy, I can get that anywhere. If you want something else, we gotta do it right."

for being able to read the plays on the field, this is a terrible misthrow on Caine's part. Now she gonna expect Caine to ACTUALLY be trying to have a relationship with her

She can't be genuinely into Diego? She's said in a previous chapter that she once had a long relationship with a man. Jaslene ain't no lesbian either.

but does Young Melph enough know that was 39?

Players fuck up, too. This is what happens when you get too used to compartmentalizing.

[Caesar]

Causa Sufficit

Caine dropped back with the other quarterbacks, feet finding their rhythm on the turf. Matt stood to his right, Turner and Dillon spread out past him, Terrell and Tyler anchoring the far end. They formed a line facing the receivers downfield. Jeremiah, Femi, Kenneth, Javier, Quindarius, Jaylen, Josh, and Brian stretched out in their own formation, helmets gleaming under the late morning sun.

The turf felt firm under his cleats. Stiff and artificial. Heat radiated up from it even though the air stayed cool. Sweat already gathered at the back of his neck.

Coach Mizell blew his whistle. Short and sharp. "On my count," he called. "Let's go."

Caine settled into his stance. His fingers flexed once, then stilled. The ball sat in his hand, familiar weight and grip. He felt the laces against his palm.

This was different now. No fighting for the starting job. No looking over his shoulder wondering if someone else was taking his reps. The number one spot was his. The first time since he was a sophomore in high school that he didn't have to prove himself every single day.

Sophomore year felt like ages ago. A lifetime with a year in jail sandwiched between it all.

Coach Mizell's whistle cut the air again. Caine moved.

He dropped back three steps, eyes tracking Javier as he streaked down the right side. Javier's legs pumped, shoulders square, head steady. Caine planted his back foot and let it go. The ball arced up and over, dropping just past Javier's shoulder. Perfect placement. Javier reached up and pulled it in without breaking stride.

Coach Mizell nodded. His eyes found Caine's for a beat, approval without words, then he turned. "Stop patting the ball before you throw it," he said, voice carrying down the line to Dillon. "You're always a touch late because you do that."

Dillon shifted his weight. "My bad, coach."

Caine walked back to the line. His chest rose and fell steady. The sun pressed down on his shoulders. He grabbed the hem of his jersey and wiped his face, fabric rough against his skin.

Coach Mizell set them up for the second rep. The whistle blew.

Caine took the snap and immediately moved right. His feet found the gaps between the pads. He kept his eyes downfield as his body adjusted, hips turning, shoulders following. Javier broke open on a crossing route. Caine stepped up and fired.

The ball cut through the air. No arc this time. Just velocity. It hit Javier's gloves with a sharp pop. Leather against leather. The sound carried.

Javier shook his hands out as he jogged back, tossing the ball underhand to one of the ball boys. "Stop trying to break my fucking fingers, man," he called over. "Y'all gonna need me this season."

Caine laughed. "Soft hands, bro," he said. He caught the ball when it came back to him. "Then you wouldn't have them problems."

He glanced toward the sideline. A couple NFL scouts stood near the equipment carts, clipboards in hand, eyes tracking the field. They were here for the seniors mostly. Looking for undrafted talent they could develop next spring. Caine knew they watched everyone though.

He turned back to the drill.

Coach Mizell whistled again. "Corner route," he said. "Hit 'em in stride."

The whistle blew.

Caine dropped back. Five steps. His eyes stayed on Javier. Watched him eat up the yards. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen. Javier's foot planted. Caine's arm was already moving. He stepped up into the throw and launched it.

The ball spiraled down the field. Javier's head whipped around and the ball was already arriving. His hands shot out. He caught it clean, secured it against his chest, stayed in bounds as he jogged upfield to finish the rep.

Coach Mizell's whistle pierced the air. "Nice throw, Guerra."

Terrell's voice came from down the line. "Fucking show off."

Caine caught the ball when Javier tossed it back. He turned toward Terrell, grin pulling at his mouth. "I was just giving you an example on how it's done, man." He bounced the ball once against the turf, caught it. "For when you ready to take them training wheels off and really start slinging that bitch."

Laughter rippled through the line. Matt shook his head, smile breaking across his face. Terrell laughed too, shoulders rolling with it.

Coach Mizell raised his hand. "Alright, alright.” His voice cut through the noise. "Let's work, gentlemen."

The laughter died down. Bodies shifted back into position. Hands gripped footballs. Eyes locked forward.

Caine settled into his stance again. The turf pressed firm under his feet. Sweat ran down his spine. The sun burned overhead. His fingers found the laces. His breathing steadied.

Coach Mizell's whistle hung at his lips. He looked down the line, eyes moving from player to player, making sure everyone was set.

Then he blew it. Short and sharp.

And they went again.

~~~

Mireya stepped out into the aisle, legs stiff from sitting too long. Trell slid out of the row behind her and stood close enough that she felt his presence before she turned around. Close enough that she smelled his cologne, faint after hours in the recycled air.

He reached up into the overhead bin. His hands found her suitcase first, pulling it down smooth and controlled. Then his duffel bag. He slid the suitcase forward to her. The handle pressed into her palm, cool plastic against her skin.

She started walking. Her carry-on bumped against her hip with each step.

People crowded the aisle ahead of her, shuffling slow. Someone struggled with a bag two rows up, blocking the flow. A baby cried somewhere behind them, the sound thin and insistent. The cabin smelled stale, recycled air and bodies pressed together for hours. Her throat felt dry.

Her mind turned the absurdity of it over and over. She'd gotten off work last night and gone to Trell's. Just for a little alone time. Maybe get something to eat. Watch a movie. Instead, the first thing he'd told her was to go home and pack a bag because they were going to San Diego.

She could've said no. Could've rejected the idea out of hand. She should've.

Instead, she'd gone to Sara's to spend a little time with Camila. Left Camila there for the weekend. Went home and packed that bag. And now here she was, stepping off a plane in California.

They moved through the jetway, wheels of her suitcase clicking over the seams in the floor. The sound echoed off the narrow walls. People pushed forward, eager to get out, to be somewhere else.

The gate area opened up around them. Bright and loud. Voices layered over each other in languages she couldn't parse. English. Spanish. Something else she didn't recognize. Screens overhead flashed departure times and gate numbers in rotating displays. The smell of coffee drifted from somewhere nearby, mixing with cleaning solution and the faint sweetness of cinnamon from a pretzel stand.

Mireya looked around. Another new place. Another city added to her list. Atlanta. Statesboro. Montgomery. Savannah. Miami. Now San Diego. She'd seen more of the country in the past year than she had in her entire life.

Trell stepped alongside her. His hand found her lower back, settling there with familiar weight. The pressure of his palm through her shirt reminded her who she was here with, why she was here.

"We gonna go to the hotel and sleep for a couple hours," he said. His voice stayed low and even. "Then it'll be time to work. You good with that?"

Mireya looked up at him. His face was unreadable. She nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said. "I slept some on the plane."

Trell nodded. "Good. You gonna need to be rested."

They moved through the terminal. Signs pointed toward baggage claim, ground transportation, rental cars. People flowed around them in currents, pulling luggage, checking phones, calling out to companions who'd gotten ahead.

"Is it gonna be the usual thing like in Miami and with Julio?" Mireya asked.

Trell shook his head. His hand stayed on her back, guiding her toward the escalators. "Nah. They were normal. Gustavo." He paused. "He ain't."

Mireya glanced at him. "I don't know if you can call a bunch of Klansmen normal."

Trell shrugged. The motion was small, dismissive. "At least I knew what they thought about me as soon as I walked up," he said. "I don't know shit about this nigga other than he Julio people."

The words settled heavy. Mireya felt dread creep up her spine, cold and insistent. Trell was sending her into something he didn't have all the information for. That wasn't how it usually worked.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

She pulled it out. The screen lit up with a text from Jordan.

i miss you. when can i see you? i wanna take you out soon

Something in her chest loosened. She smiled a little, thumbs moving quick across the screen.

I'm with Camila's grandma but I'll see what I can do. I miss you, too.

She hit send and slipped the phone back in her pocket.

They stepped onto the escalator. It carried them down toward the lower level. The air shifted as they descended, cooler and thicker. The sound changed too, voices echoing different in the wider space.

Mireya looked over at Trell. "You got us a nice hotel to stay in?"

Trell snorted a laugh. "Bitch be for real," he said. His mouth pulled into a grin. "You know I ain't about to sleep nowhere that ain't got Egyptian cotton sheets."

Mireya laughed. The sound felt good in her throat, cutting through the tension that had been building since he'd told her to pack a bag.

They reached the bottom of the escalator and stepped off. The floor was smooth under her shoes, polished and slick. Signs pointed toward exits, rideshare pickup, taxis.

Trell's hand stayed on her back. Guiding her through the airport.

~~~

Ramon, Tyree, E.J., and Tessa sat in the living room of E.J.'s apartment. The air was close and still. The AC rattled somewhere down the hall but didn't reach this far. Light came through the blinds in thin lines, cutting across the carpet in uneven stripes. Dust hung in the beams.

Tessa and E.J. sat on the couch together. His arm was draped around her shoulders, fingers resting on her upper arm. She sat forward a little, hands folded in her lap, one thumb rubbing over the other. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a few strands loose at her temples. She wore jeans and a tank top, bare feet pulled up under her on the cushion.

Tyree had pulled one of the kitchen chairs into the living room and sat with his legs spread wide, elbows on his knees. His hoodie was pushed up to his forearms. He watched Tessa with an expression that stayed neutral, curious but not pressing.

Ramon leaned against the wall near the window, arms crossed over his chest. He watched Tessa's face, tracking every flicker of hesitation, every moment where she might decide this wasn't worth it.

She took a breath. Her chest rose and fell.

"Alright, look," she said. Her voice was steady but careful, words chosen with precision. "I'm willing to do whatever y'all need me to do, but I need to know what y'all going to do because I'm not gonna be involved in anything that's gonna get anyone hurt."

E.J. pulled her a little closer. His hand tightened on her shoulder. "Bae, I told you that we ain't gonna do shit that's gonna hurt nobody.” He looked across the room at Ramon. "Just gonna plant something on him. Right, Ramon?"

Tessa's eyes shifted to Ramon. Her hands stayed folded in her lap but her fingers pressed tighter together.

Ramon nodded once. "All we need you to do is get him somewhere other than his or your house and bring me his phone," he said. His voice stayed flat. "I need about 10 minutes then I'll give it back to you and you put it back."

Tessa's eyebrows pulled together. She leaned forward slightly, her weight shifting on the cushion. "What are you going to put on his phone?"

E.J. cut in before Ramon could answer. His hand moved to her back, rubbing slow circles. "The less you know about everything the better."

Tyree leaned back in his chair. The legs creaked against the floor. "Yeah, just in case you change your mind and suddenly wanna go talk to the people."

E.J.'s head snapped toward him. His jaw tightened. The muscles in his neck went taut. He shot Tyree a look that could've cut glass.

Tyree held his hands up immediately, palms out, fingers spread. "I'm just saying it's a possibility."

Ramon pushed off the wall. He took a step closer to the couch, his weight shifting from his back foot to his front.

"E.J.'s right, though," he said. He looked down at Tessa, holding her gaze until she met his eyes. "If shit goes sideways, you don't want to be sitting in an interrogation room lying to the jakes. Easier to just say you don't know nothing because you don't know nothing." He paused, letting the words settle. "All you know is that you were with him at this time and whatever else happened is between the wind and God."

Tessa nodded. Slow. Her thumb kept rubbing over the back of her other hand. She looked at E.J. Then back at Ramon. Then at E.J. again. Her eyes moved between them, searching for reassurance, for certainty, for something to hold onto.

"How am I supposed to distract him for 10 minutes?" she asked. Her voice was quieter now.

Tyree clapped his hands together once. The sound was sharp in the small room, loud enough to make Tessa's shoulders jump slightly. Then he spread his hands wide, grin breaking across his face. "Spread them legs, girl."

E.J.'s body tensed. His arm dropped from around Tessa's shoulders. His mouth opened, words already forming.

Ramon jumped in before E.J. could say anything. His voice cut clean through the tension. "That's up to you," he said. He kept his eyes on Tessa. "I don't know the nigga so I can't tell you what's gonna work."

E.J. shifted on the couch. His arm went back around Tessa's shoulders, pulling her against him. "Order some food or something and just drag out eating," he said. His voice was quieter than before, tighter. "You know his ass love to eat."

Tessa rolled her eyes. The motion was quick, almost reflexive. Then she sighed, shoulders dropping as the tension leaked out.

"Okay, okay," she said. Her voice came softer now, resigned. "As long as he doesn't get hurt."

Ramon nodded. "Alright.” He pushed off from where he'd been standing. "E.J. will let you know when."

He headed for the door. His footsteps were quiet on the carpet. On the way past Tyree's chair, he reached out without slowing and grabbed the back of Tyree's hoodie. He lifted.

Tyree stood without resisting, the motion smooth. The chair scraped back across the floor with a soft scraping sound.

Ramon stopped at the door and turned. He held his fist out. E.J. stood up from the couch and met him halfway. Their fists bumped together, the contact brief and solid. T

Tyree stepped forward and did the same. "Don't let y'all emotions get in the way now," he said. His eyes flicked to Tessa for half a second, then back to E.J.

E.J. pulled his hand back. His jaw worked. "Get the fuck on, nigga," he said. "Damn."

Tyree laughed. The sound filled the small living room as he walked out the door behind Ramon. His voice echoed in the hallway outside, fading as they moved toward the stairs. The sound of their footsteps receded. Then the stairwell door opened and closed with a dull thunk.

E.J. sat back down on the couch. Tessa stayed quiet beside him, her hands still folded in her lap.

~~~

Mireya sat across from the man. Gustavo. His button-down shirt was tucked into slacks, only a few buttons done up. The fabric hung open, exposing his chest and the multiple gold necklaces that sat against his skin. Thick chains. Heavy links. They caught the light when he moved. His chest hair was visible beneath them, dark against tan skin.

She wore what Trell had picked for her. An extremely short halter neck dress, backless, the neckline plunging almost down to her waist. The fabric was thin and tight. It left nothing to imagination. The air conditioning in the room raised goosebumps on her exposed skin.

She crossed her legs and leaned on one hip to give him a better view. Her thigh caught the light. The dress rode higher. She felt his eyes on her, felt the weight of his gaze tracking every inch of exposed skin.

The table between them was covered with plates. Every inch. Meats. Cheeses. Fruits. Bread. Olives. Empanadas. Tamales. More food than two people could eat in a sitting. The smell was rich and heavy in the air. Garlic and cilantro and something sweet underneath.

Gustavo looked at her. His eyes moved slow. Deliberate. Appraising. Taking inventory of what Trell had sent him. Not a person. A product. A tool to be evaluated. He reached forward and grabbed food from one of the plates. A slice of cured meat. He held it between his fingers.

"So," he said. His voice was smooth and ccented. "Are you the opener or the closer?"

Mireya smiled. "I'm whatever you need me to be, papi."

Gustavo laughed. The sound came loud and genuine. He popped the meat into his mouth and chewed. "Julio told me that Trell got him one of us to, you know," he whistled, the sound sharp and suggestive, "smooth the wheels, huh?"

He leaned back in his chair. It creaked under his weight. "You trust them? The mayates?" He waved his hand dismissively. "I mean, I don't know if I would put someone as beautiful as you in a room alone with a man she's never met."

Mireya shrugged. One shoulder lifted and dropped. "This isn't my first time around the block. Puedo cuidar de mí mismo."

Gustavo laughed again. He leaned forward suddenly, the chair scraping against the floor. The sound was harsh. His hand reached behind him. When it came back, he was holding a gun. Gold. Polished. Ornate. The metal gleamed under the light. It looked expensive. The kind of thing you bought to show off, not to use.

He looked around the table, searching for somewhere to put it, but there wasn't a single clear spot. Every inch was covered with plates. Food piled high.

He shrugged then he set it down on top of a bunch of grapes. The fruit compressed under the weight. Juice leaked out, dark and wet against the white tablecloth. The barrel pointed across the table. Directly at Mireya. Right at her chest.

Her eyes dropped to the gun. Just for a second. Long enough to register it. The angle. The deliberate placement. Then back up to his face. The smile stayed on her face.

Inside, her pulse quickened. Her stomach tightened. A cold thread of fear ran down her spine but she didn't let it show. Didn't let anything crack through the surface.

She kept her breathing even. Kept her posture relaxed. Kept the smile on her face.

Gustavo grabbed a piece of cheese. He gestured with it as he spoke. "You know, Muñequita, I have never been one to like when people just bring new people along for business." He bit the cheese. Chewed and swallowed. "It leaves a bad taste. Like we're not all friends. You don't trust me. I don't trust you. You think you need to bring other people." He paused, eyes locked on hers. "Todos somos amigos, ¿verdad?"

Mireya nodded. "Claro que sí."

Gustavo picked up a slice of ham. He gestured at her with it, the meat dangling from his fingers. "But your man. He's smart. Sends you. Not some other guy with a gun. You're not talking business. You don't care how much I charge him for a key. How much weight he needs." He popped the ham into his mouth. Spoke as he chewed. "You're just here to what? Fuck me if I wanted?"

Mireya nodded and shrugged. "If that's what you want. Or we can sit here and talk. I'm a good listener and cheaper than a therapist." She tilted her head slightly and let her smile widen. "And a therapist won't listen to you naked, but I will."

Gustavo laughed, louder this time. The sound filled the room. "Estás jodidamente bien entrenado, ¿eh?"

Mireya's smile didn't falter. "I told you this isn't my first time, papi."

Gustavo waved his hand across the table. The motion was expansive, inviting. "Eat, eat. You'll need your energy." He snapped his fingers a few times. Pointed at her. "I like the, uh..." He snapped again, searching for the word. "Honey packs."

Mireya laughed. She reached forward and picked up a slice of ham. Her fingers were steady. She brought it to her mouth and took a bite.

~~~

Laney carried the box from the storage room, through the church hallway, the cardboard corners digging into her forearms. The box wasn't heavy, just awkward, big enough that she had to angle her hips to clear the doorframe. Her footsteps echoed soft on the linoleum, the sound lonely in the empty building. The church was quiet. Empty. No one there except her.

It was a rare thing. Most days she was ordering people around or chasing behind children who'd snuck away from the daycare, her voice hoarse by afternoon from calling after them. Today she had silence. Just her and the work and her thoughts. She moved through the fellowship hall, the afternoon light cutting through the windows in pale rectangles that stretched across the floor. Dust hung in the beams.

She set the box down near the bench seats that lined the far wall. The cardboard scraped against the floor. She knelt down, knees pressing into the hard surface, and reached into her pocket for her keys. The metal was warm from her body. She used one to slice through the packing tape, the blade dragging through with a soft ripping sound.

She pulled the flaps open. Fresh cushions sat inside, wrapped in plastic that crinkled as she moved them. She grabbed one and pulled it out, setting it aside.

Footsteps sounded on the walkway outside. Slow and deliberate. Heels clicking on concrete.

Laney stopped. Her hand paused over the cushion. She turned her head and glanced back toward the door.

Claire appeared at the top of the steps. She wore slacks and a blouse, put together and polished as always. Her hair was pulled back neat. She walked up the steps without hurrying, her gaze already locked on Laney through the open door.

Laney took a deep breath. She stood up slowly, brushing her hands on her jeans. She turned to face Claire fully.

"Claire," she said. Her voice came flat and cool.

Claire stepped inside. She stopped just past the threshold. "Delaney.”

Laney's jaw tightened. "What you doin' here?"

Claire's expression didn't shift. "I was on my way to see Tommy and saw your van outside so I figured that I would stop."

Laney's hands flexed at her sides. "You got some nerve comin' into the Lord's house talkin' so freely 'bout seein' another woman's husband."

Claire smiled. There was no kindness behind it. Just amusement, cold and sharp. "The same way you stand here as if you're the pious one when you've sinned more than any of us and are sinning right now?" She tilted her head slightly. "Or does adultery only count when it's other people?"

Laney rolled her lips into her mouth. Her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists. The pressure stung. "What you tryin' to get from this?" she asked. "You had your chance to marry Tommy and you ain't do it. You okay with bein' the other woman?"

Claire took a step closer. Her heels clicked once on the floor. "You think I couldn't get him to divorce you if I really wanted to?"

Laney scoffed. The sound came out harsh. "He wouldn't."

"Maybe, maybe not," Claire said. She shrugged, the motion elegant and dismissive. "But we'll never know because you went and got knocked up three times and the last thing I need in my life is to be stepmother."

Laney's breath came shorter now. Her chest rose and fell.

Claire's eyes narrowed slightly. "What about you, Delaney? What's your endgame? Keep fucking that felon?"

"I ain't doin' that," Laney said. The words came quick, defensive.

Claire snorted a laugh. "I was born on a day, but it wasn't yesterday."

Laney's hands trembled at her sides. "Well, I don't know what to tell you, 'cause I can explain it to you but I cain't understand it for you."

Claire shook her head. She looked at Laney for a long moment, something calculating in her expression. "You know I remember the first time I met you," she said. "Think it was right before you had Knox. You remember that?"

Laney nodded once. "Yeah. The first time you popped back up."

Claire's smile widened just slightly. "You were fucking stupid then and you're fucking stupid now." She paused, letting the words land. "Just stop. Accept your lot in life."

Laney's arm shot out. She pointed toward the door, hand shaking. "Get out my daddy church."

Claire shook her head slowly. "That's not very Christian-like, Delaney."

Still, she turned on her heel. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked back toward the door. She stepped outside and disappeared around the corner of the building. Her footsteps faded.

Laney stood there. Her chest heaved. Her hands were still clenched into fists so tight her nails bit into the skin of her palms.

She turned back to the box. Grabbed a cushion. Yanked it out of the plastic. Then she reared back and flung it across the hall with everything she had.

The cushion sailed through the air and hit the far wall with a soft thud. It fell to the floor.

Laney screamed. The sound tore out of her throat, raw and jagged, echoing off the walls of the empty fellowship hall.

~~~

Caine sat against the headboard in his bed. Laney sat between his legs with her back to him. His arms rested around her stomach, warm and solid. His fingers traced slow lines across the backs of his hands. Skin against skin. The touch was idle. Comfortable.

The apartment was quiet around them. Just the low hum of the heater pushing warm air through the vents and the occasional sound of a car passing outside. The sheets were tangled at their feet. The pillows were askew. Neither of them had bothered to straighten anything. They'd just stayed where they'd ended up, her back against his chest, his chin resting near her temple.

She tilted her head back against his shoulder. Her hair shifted against his chest. Strands stuck to his skin where sweat had cooled. "You know someone who can take someone out with anyone knowin'?"

Caine snorted a laugh. "You want me to really answer that, or you want me to say what I should say?"

Laney looked over at him. Their faces were close. Then she laughed. "Of course, you fuckin' do."

Caine held one of his hands up. Palm out. "I ain't say nothing of the sort, your honor."

Laney shook her head. Her body moved against him with the motion. "Everytime that bitch Claire is 'round me, I just want to choke her to death." Her voice had an edge now. Sharp. "I'd have a problem with her just 'cause everythin', you know? But she's just a condescendin', insufferable cunt, too." She paused. Her jaw worked. "Maybe if she was gettin' better dick than whatever Tommy is givin' her then she'd loosen the fuck up."

Caine laughed. The sound rumbled in his chest. "Is that why you came here instead of going home? Getting some good dick so you can loosen up?"

Laney nodded. "Yeah, it was either you or the little vibrator so I had to make a business decision. I knew you wasn't gonna go all night and I gotta get home and make dinner."

Caine's hands stilled on her stomach. "Always you with the jokes."

Laney rolled her eyes. She tilted her head to look at him again. "You love it."

Caine snorted a laugh. His fingers resumed their slow movement. Then he said, "You know at some point, you're just gonna have to sit down and figure out what the fuck you doing here and what you doing with your husband and his side bitch."

Laney sighed. The sound came deep and weary. She sank back against him more. Her weight settled heavier. Her head found the curve of his shoulder again. "I could keep stickin' my head in the sand and waitin' for it to blow up, but it ain't blow up yet and I don't know why if I'm being honest."

Caine was quiet for a moment. His thumbs moved against her skin. Small circles. Absent patterns. "Because Tommy getting his cake and eating it, too. Motherfucker ain't gotta do shit at home but exist because of you then he can leave whenever he wants and go fuck Claire." He paused. Let the words sink in. "I'm a little jealous of him to keep it a buck with you."

Laney turned her head so she could look at him properly. Her neck twisted. Her eyebrows pulled together. "Ain't you suppose to be on my side?"

"I am," Caine said. His voice stayed even. "I'm just giving you a man's perspective. He living the good life right now. Even got his crackhead brother living in y'all yard."

Laney scoffed. "Don't remind me."

She was quiet for a beat. Her fingers found his where they rested on her stomach. She traced one of his knuckles. The skin there was slightly rough. Callused from work. From the weight room. From all the ways his hands stayed busy. "I really don't know what to do with this anymore. I was just waitin' it out, but I cain't keep waitin' forever if he doesn't do anythin' 'bout it. Shit's drivin' me crazy."

Caine let that hang in the air between them. The heater clicked off. The room grew quieter.

Maybe that's his goal. Make you do something so he can look like the good guy. 'Look at my crazy ass wife who fucking all kinds of Black dudes. Ignore me, the good military dude.' type shit."

Laney let that thought settle. Her body went still. She stared across the room at the wall. Then she shrugged. The motion was small. "Don't sound all that crazy when you think 'bout it. He cares a lot about his reputation."

Caine just hummed in response. Low and noncommittal. The sound vibrated in his chest against her back.

The conversation dropped there. They lapsed into silence. His arms stayed around her. Her back stayed pressed against his chest. Her breathing slowed. Matched his. The rhythm synced without effort.

Outside, another car passed. The sound grew loud then faded. The heater clicked back on. Warm air pushed through the vents. The temperature in the room shifted slightly. Neither of them noticed.

Neither of them moved.

~~~

Trell walked behind Gustavo out onto the patio. The night’s air hung thick and warm. Heavy with moisture. Lights strung overhead cast a soft glow across the space. Moths circled them in lazy patterns.

The table was covered with food. Every inch. Meats. Fruits. Breads. Two cooks moved around it, replacing empty plates with fresh ones. Topping things up. Their hands worked fast and practiced. White uniforms. Neither looked up as Trell and Gustavo approached. They just kept moving. Kept working.

The smell was rich. Spices and salt and something sweet underneath. Trell could hear the cooks' shoes scraping against the stone patio. Could hear the faint hum of insects in the darkness beyond the lights.

Gustavo gestured toward one of the chairs. Wide. Sweeping. His gold chains caught the light. "Sit, sit."

Trell moved to the chair and sat. His posture stayed relaxed. He let his weight settle into the seat and his eyes tracked the food on the table. The cooks. The layout. The exits.

Gustavo sat across from him. The chair scraped against stone. He reached forward and grabbed a couple of grapes from a bunch. Shook them in his hand. The fruit rolled against his palm. Purple and plump. "Julio told me that you're not involved with any of the larger gangs in New Orleans."

Trell shook his head. "Nah. They like to shoot each other too much for my taste. I'll stay outside all that shit."

Gustavo popped one of the grapes into his mouth. Chewed. Juice ran over his tongue. "Smart. Big organization means big territory to keep every mouth fed. That's why wars always start."

Trell nodded. His hands rested easy off the edge the armrests. "You preaching to the choir, big brudda."

One of the cooks stepped closer. Set down a fresh plate. Empanadas. Golden and steaming. Moved away without making eye contact. The smell of garlic and butter drifted across the table. Mixed with the night air.

Gustavo leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked under his weight. "How are you going to get the drogas from here to Louisiana?"

Trell’s fingers drummed once against the armrest. Twice. Then stilled. "We'll figure that out. Couple dudes driving legs up cross the states."

Gustavo whistled. Low and sharp. "You know the naranja got CBP going crazy."

Trell's mouth pulled into something close to a smile. Not quite. Just the edges lifting. "Yeah, ain't nothing we can't handle."

Gustavo ate the second grape. Spoke around the chewing. His mouth worked as he talked. "I only talk to you. No number two, nobody else. I got guys who will talk to the soldiers but you don't mention me. ¿Entiendo?"

He paused. Swallowed. Tilted his head. His chains shifted. Clinked soft against each other. "Oh, wait. You don't speak Spanish. That's why you have that muñequita."

Trell shrugged. "I know what entiendo means. Yeah, I got you. I ain't too big on discussing business with niggas on the street myself."

Gustavo nodded. Approval in the movement. His hand moved to a piece of cheese on the table. He picked it up. Examined it. White. Crumbly. "Very well. We can talk numbers, quantities, tomorrow. See if we can come to an agreement."

Trell reached forward. Grabbed some plantain chips from one of the plates. The chips were thin. Crispy. Fried perfect. Salt and oil on his fingers. He ate one. The crunch was loud in his mouth. "That works for me. Hopefully we get this figured out so I ain't gotta drag my ass back out here for nothing."

Gustavo laughed. It filled the patio. Bounced off the walls. He set the cheese down. Wiped his fingers on a napkin. His eyes found Trell's again. Interest and curiosity flickered there. "By the way, where'd you find her?"

Trell ate another chip. Took his time chewing, swallowing. "Strip club."

Gustavo's eyebrows lifted. His mouth curved into a grin. "I might have to take her from you, amigo." He leaned forward slightly. His elbows came to rest on the table. "Mi mama, God rest her soul. She never liked that I couldn't find a good Mexican woman. One that looked like us, not the conquistadores, that is." He gestured with his hand. Made a dismissive motion. "She didn't like las rubias." He paused. His eyes held Trell's. "Then you have her trained so well."

Trell laughed. He reached for another chip. "You can borrow her but she gotta come back." He ate the chip. Let the statement sit. Then he added, "For a bit of a discount, I'll tell you how to train you one."

Gustavo laughed. Louder this time. His hand slapped the table once. Hard. The plates rattled. Silverware clinked. The cooks didn't flinch. Didn't look up. Just kept working. Just kept their heads down and their hands busy.

~~~

Rylee and Amie drove through Statesboro, heading toward the bar on the opposite side of town. The radio played low between them. The heater hummed. Streetlights passed overhead in steady intervals, throwing light across the windshield before sliding back into darkness.

Then brake lights bloomed ahead, red glowing in clusters. The line of cars stretched forward, unmoving.

Rylee sighed and dropped her head back against the seat. "Shit, I knew we should've just drove 'round town."

Amie leaned forward, trying to see past the cars ahead. "At least this gives guys time to start showing up so we ain't gotta buy our own drinks."

Rylee laughed. "I only need one or two of 'em to keep me drinkin' for the whole night."

Amie shook her head. "I don't like when there ain't enough of them that I can't just get one or two drinks from each. Don't want them thinking they gonna get something. You know that."

"Yeah, yeah," Rylee said. "I do."

She put the Jeep into park. The engine idled. She leaned down in the seat, resting her feet up on the dashboard, then reached for her phone in the cupholder. The screen lit up as she unlocked it. She started scrolling through social media, thumb moving in automatic patterns.

She glanced up from her phone. Looked out the windshield at the line of stopped cars. Then she looked left. They were just past Caine's apartment complex. She could see the sign from here. The entrance was maybe fifty yards back.

She thought about texting him. Asking if he wanted to come out with them tonight. Her thumb hovered over the messaging app.

Then she remembered. The parking lot. His new Lexus. Her on his lap. His hands on her. Then him pulling back. Saying they needed to do it right. Saying if she wanted something more than what they had, they couldn't just keep fucking.

She locked her phone and dropped it in her lap. The rejection still stung.

Amie looked up from her own phone. "Did you ask Rachael if she's coming with us to Tybee next week?"

Rylee shook her head. She stared ahead at the line of cars. "Think she's got a wedding to go to with Grant."

Amie started to say something. Her mouth opened. "Grant finally getting serious about—"

The words faded. Everything faded.

Rylee watched as a van pulled out of Caine's apartment complex. Not just any van. Laney's van. The one with the stickers for the boys’ schools in the back window for the car line.

The van turned right and headed in the opposite direction. The taillights disappeared around the corner.

Rylee twisted in her seat. She looked over her shoulder, watching the van until it was completely out of sight. Making sure. Making sure she wasn't seeing things. Making sure it was actually what she thought it was.

Her chest tightened. Her breath came faster. Shorter. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

A hand grabbed her arm.

Rylee jerked. She turned her head. Amie was staring at her, eyebrows pulled together, concern etched on her face.

"Are you okay?" Amie asked. "You just started like hyperventilating out of nowhere."

Rylee ran her hand over her face. Slowly. Palm dragging across her forehead, down over her eyes, pressing against her cheeks. She nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."

But the words had an edge. Sharp and thin.

She dropped her hand. Swallowed. "You was sayin' 'bout Grant and Rachael?"

~~~

Jordan pulled up to Mireya's apartment, NBA YoungBoy's new mixtape playing through the speakers. He bobbed his head to the beat as he turned off the car. The engine ticked as it cooled. He grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat, pink and white roses wrapped in clear plastic. Then the bag of Mexican food. Tacos from that spot she liked on Magazine.

He'd decided to surprise her. She'd been complaining about midterms all week. Stressed texts at odd hours. Voice tired when they talked. He wanted to do something nice.

He got out of the car and shut the door behind him. The night air was cool. He whistled to himself as he walked toward the stairs, the plastic bag swinging at his side. His steps were light on the concrete.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor. Walked down the hallway to her door. Knocked twice with his knuckles.

Then he waited.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No movement. Just silence pressing back through the door.

His eyebrows furrowed. He leaned closer and pressed his ear against the wood and listened. The apartment was completely quiet on the other side. No TV. No music. Nothing.

He pulled out his phone and dialed her number. Held it to his ear. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Then voicemail clicked on. Her voice, bright and recorded, asking him to leave a message.

He hung up without saying anything.

Maybe she was asleep. Dead tired from studying. Passed out with her phone on silent.

He knocked again, louder this time. His knuckles hit the door hard enough to sting.

Still nothing.

Across the hall, a door opened. A little old lady peeked outside. White hair. Housecoat. Glasses hanging on a chain around her neck.

"You looking for that nice young lady that lives there?" she asked.

Jordan turned toward her. He nodded. "Yeah, do you know if she's home?"

The woman shook her head. "I don't think so, baby. She left this morning with a man and she had a suitcase with her."

Jordan's chest tightened.

The woman continued. "That one woman, I think her mama, maybe? She came and got that baby and all yesterday. She ain’t come back with her last night."

Jordan rolled his lips into his mouth. He nodded slowly. "Thanks."

The woman's eyes dropped to the flowers in his hand. She looked at him for another second. Then she retreated back into her apartment. The door closed with a soft click. The deadbolt turned.

Jordan stood there in the hallway.

He looked down at the flowers. The plastic crinkled in his grip. Then at the bag of food. Grease was starting to seep through the paper at the bottom.

This morning. With a man. A suitcase.

His jaw worked. His hand tightened around the stems of the flowers until the plastic squeaked.

His breathing came faster. Shorter.

He looked at the flowers again. The roses. The effort. The stupid fucking gesture.

Then he reared back and threw them. Hard. They hit the pavement at the edge of the staircase. Plastic tore. Petals scattered. The bouquet skidded across the concrete and tumbled down the stairs to the ground below.

He threw the food after it. The bag burst open when it hit. Tacos spilled out. Foil wrappers split. Salsa splattered across the pavement in dark streaks.

[Soapy]

it all falls down



and holy shit how much fucking eating is this nigga Gustavo gonna do lmao

[redsox907]

Gustavo gonna be gay and Mireya is useless

Tyree clapped his hands together once. The sound was sharp in the small room, loud enough to make Tessa's shoulders jump slightly. Then he spread his hands wide, grin breaking across his face. "Spread them legs, girl."

tellin your homies girl to slut herself out, in front of him, is diabolical

For someone that acts like she don't care, Laney sure does fly off the handle anytime she thinks Tommy is going to leave her

Laney let that thought settle. Her body went still. She stared across the room at the wall. Then she shrugged. The motion was small. "Don't sound all that crazy when you think 'bout it. He cares a lot about his reputation."

is she seriously just putting this together? good gawd

Rylee watched as a van pulled out of Caine's apartment complex. Not just any van. Laney's van. The one with the stickers for the boys’ schools in the back window for the car line.

This morning. With a man. A suitcase.

GOT EM BOTH IN ONE GO

[djp73]

Here we go

[Caesar]

it all falls down



and holy shit how much fucking eating is this nigga Gustavo gonna do lmao

He got money to blow even if he don't eat all that food. Power move type shit.

Gustavo gonna be gay and Mireya is useless

Tyree clapped his hands together once. The sound was sharp in the small room, loud enough to make Tessa's shoulders jump slightly. Then he spread his hands wide, grin breaking across his face. "Spread them legs, girl."

tellin your homies girl to slut herself out, in front of him, is diabolical

For someone that acts like she don't care, Laney sure does fly off the handle anytime she thinks Tommy is going to leave her

Laney let that thought settle. Her body went still. She stared across the room at the wall. Then she shrugged. The motion was small. "Don't sound all that crazy when you think 'bout it. He cares a lot about his reputation."

is she seriously just putting this together? good gawd

Rylee watched as a van pulled out of Caine's apartment complex. Not just any van. Laney's van. The one with the stickers for the boys’ schools in the back window for the car line.

This morning. With a man. A suitcase.

GOT EM BOTH IN ONE GO

a gay Mexican drug lord? That's how you get killed by your own crew.

Indeed it is, but you know Tyree don't give a fuck.

Because it would confuse the boys. Maintaining normalcy for her sons is paramount.

She wasn't thinking about that shit, bruh. She was just getting dicked down.

Here we go

[Caesar]

-