Trey counted silently as his chest lowered to the cold concrete floor for the hundredth time. His triceps quivered as he pushed back up, exhaling through clenched teeth. Sweat dripped from his forehead, forming tiny dark circles on the gray surface beneath him.
One-oh-one. One-oh-two.
The prison around him was just beginning to wake. Footsteps echoed down the metal walkway outside his cell. Someone coughed three doors down. A toilet flushed somewhere on the tier above. The familiar symphony of morning in the pen, sounds that had become as routine to him as his own heartbeat.
One-oh-three. One-oh-four.
The muscles across his back tightened as he lowered himself again. The buzzer sounded, signaling the morning unlock. Cell doors throughout the block slid open with a synchronized clang that vibrated through the concrete under Trey’s palms.
One-oh-five. One-oh-six.
…
The parking lot was empty when Keshawn pulled in, his headlights cutting through the pre-dawn darkness. He killed the engine and sat for a moment.
Keshawn grabbed his gym bag from the passenger seat and made his way to the entrance, punching in his code. The facility lights flickered on automatically as he entered, the empty hallways stretching out before him.
The weight room was dark and silent. He flipped on just enough lights to work by and dropped his bag on a bench. The walking boot made each step awkward, but he’d gotten used to the imbalance. He strapped himself onto the incline bench and began his first set of chest presses, the metal clanking in the empty space.
An hour later, his shirt was soaked through. He was halfway through a set of seated rows when the training room door opened. Walter stopped short when he saw Keshawn, his coffee sloshing in his travel mug.
“Good morning?“ Walter checked his watch.
Keshawn finished his rep before acknowledging him. “Morning.”
“How’s the ankle feeling?”
“Like a sprained ankle,” Keshawn replied, reaching for his water bottle.
Walter studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Well, since you’re here, we might as well start your treatment early.”
Keshawn followed Walter to the treatment table, the boot making a heavy thud with each step. He sat down, unlaced the boot, and removed it.
“Give me a few minutes to set up and we’ll get started,” Walter said.
Keshawn nodded, pulled his headphones from his bag, and slipped them over his ears. The music drowned out everything else as he closed his eyes, letting his mind focus on nothing but the bass line and the dull throb in his ankle.
…
DJ ended the call and set his phone down on the nightstand. He stared at the dark screen for a moment, then pushed himself off the bed.
The bathroom light flickered as he flipped the switch. DJ splashed cold water on his face, letting it drip down his chin as he examined himself in the mirror.
He dried his face with a towel, then moved through his morning routine. He pulled on his work clothes and checked the time. He reached under his bed and pulled out the metal lockbox, entering the combination.
The weight of it pressed against his spine as he grabbed his keys and lunch from the counter. He paused at the door, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness.
…
“She just fell back asleep,” Jessica stepped aside to let him in. “She’s been waking up super early recently and then just crashes again."
Vic nodded, keeping his voice low. “That’s cool. I don’t mind waiting a bit.”
The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the dishwasher and some cartoon playing softly on the TV. Toys were scattered across the living room floor, evidence of Yesenia’s early morning energy burst.
“Can I grab you something? Water?” Jessica asked, already moving toward the kitchen.
“Yeah, that’d be good.” Vic followed her, stepping carefully over a stuffed giraffe and what looked like half of a LEGO castle.
Jessica pulled down a mug from the cabinet, the one with the chipped handle that she always gave him.
“Actually,” Vic said, leaning against the counter, “I wanted to talk to you about the other night.”
Jessica poured the coffee, steam rising between them. “What about it?”
“I’m sorry about Keshawn. I don’t know what got into him,” he took the mug she offered, taking a small sip.
Jessica laughed. “It was actually kind of funny seeing him drunk and loose like that. Even in college, he was always so buttoned up."
“Yeah, I guess,” Vic sighed, staring down into his coffee.
The silence stretched between them for a few seconds, neither uncomfortable nor easy.
“Listen,” Vic started again, setting his mug down. “I also wanted to apologize for dropping that on you the other day. About picking the wrong person.”
Jessica’s eyes met his, steady and unreadable.
“I know we’re trying to focus on co-parenting,” he continued, “and I shouldn’t be sending mixed signals like that. It’s not fair to you. I’m sure you’re trying to do the best you can with this situation and I feel like we’re actually starting to do really well as co-parents and I don’t want to do anything that would like put that in jeopardy or make you feel a way or not feel a way and just—”
Jessica’s lips curved into a smile. She set her coffee down and stepped closer.
“Vic?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
She leaned in, her hand finding the back of his neck as she pressed her lips against his.
…
Stacks leaned back against the worn leather couch, his fingers moving as he counted the stack of twenties.
“We straight?” Benji asked from the kitchen table where he was portioning white powder into small baggies.
“What you think?” Stacks replied, not looking up from his count.
Antwan and Ray-Ray sat across from Benji, helping him bag it up.
Stacks’ phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, checking the caller ID.
“Hurry up with this shit,” he told Benji, handing him the stack of bills. "I ain’t trying to be in this bitch all day."
…
The white sedan idled at the curb, engine purring softly in the night air. DJ’s fingers tapped against the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the apartment complex across the street. Third floor, corner unit.
“That’s the one,” Peanut said, pointing toward the illuminated window. “Unit 304.”
DJ didn’t respond. He checked the piece tucked into his waistband, then returned his attention to the building.
“So...” Peanut shifted in his seat, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “When you going in there? They should be done with count soon."
DJ turned slowly, studying Peanut’s face in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.
“I ain’t going nowhere, Blood,” DJ said finally.
Peanut’s mouth fell open. “What? I thought—I thought you was handling this part.”
“You thought wrong, nigga,” DJ’s voice remained level, emotionless.
“Come on, man. I already did the work for you, you just gotta-“ Peanut stopped himself, glancing nervously at the apartment building. His leg began to bounce rapidly, heel tapping against the floorboard. “I don’t know, man.”
“Too late for I don’t know, family,” DJ said. “You already made your choice. When you took the money. When you got in this car."
Peanut’s leg bounced faster. “Yeah, but I didn’t think—“
“That’s your problem,” DJ cut him off. “You didn’t think. But here we are, and there ain’t no backing out now. They’re waiting for you."
Peanut stared straight ahead, his breathing becoming more rapid.
“You understand what happens if you don’t do this?” DJ asked, his tone unchanged. "You’ve already fucked Stacks over. Been fucked Dro over. You sure you want to add Trey to that list, Blood?"
Peanut closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh before reaching for the door handle.
…
The highway stretched ahead, a straight line cutting through the desert as the sun beat down on the car. Stacks stared out the window, his knuckles whitened as he punched his fist into his palm, again and again, the dull thud marking time like a metronome.
Charlene glanced over from the driver’s seat, her hands steady on the wheel. "I’m serious, Khalif."
Stacks didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes fixed on the horizon where heat waves made the asphalt shimmer. “I know.”
“No payback,” she said, her voice firm. “No coming back."
He nodded once, a sharp jerk of his head.
“I need to hear you say it,” Charlene pressed. “I need you to promise me.”
Stacks finally turned to look at her, his eyes bloodshot. “I promise.”
The car fell silent again except for the hum of tires on pavement and the whisper of the air conditioning. A green sign flashed by: LAS VEGAS 112 MILES.
Stacks watched the desert landscape roll past, all sand and scrub brush and distant mountains shimmering in the heat. He flexed his fingers, trying to release some of the tension coiled tight in his chest.
“Why?” he asked finally, his voice rough from disuse. “You could’ve just let it happen. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
Charlene sighed, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel. She shook her head slowly.
“You and Trey been by each other’s side since y’all were babies. Watching y’all kill each other—“ Her voice caught. “It would make me feel like there’s no hope in the world. Like if you from here, the only way you going out is in that motherfucking van in a body bag."
Stacks nodded. He turned back to the window, watching as a dust devil spun itself out on the desert floor, rising and falling before disappearing altogether.
The miles continued to roll by, the silence in the car no longer quite so heavy. Stacks closed his eyes, exhaustion finally catching up to him as the rhythm of the road pulled him toward sleep.
…
DJ calmly walked up the steps of the apartment building, each step deliberate and measured. He reached apartment 304, found the door already cracked open.
He pushed it inward with two fingers, stepping into a scene of carnage. Three bodies sprawled across the living room floor, dark pools spreading beneath them. Benji lay face down, half his head missing. Peanut was a better shot than he expected. The other two were slumped against the wall, their expressions frozen.
Peanut stood in the center of the room, gun hanging at his side. His chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Hurry up and bag the dope and money,” DJ said, his voice even.
Peanut’s eyes were wild, unfocused. “Stacks ain’t here, man. He wasn’t here when I got here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” DJ closed the door behind him, scanning the apartment. Bags of white powder were scattered across the kitchen table, some spilled onto the floor. Stacks of bills lay in disarray. “Bag it up. Cops will show up eventually, even in the Jungle.”
Peanut moved toward the kitchen table, grabbing a black duffel bag from the floor. His hands shook as he swept money and baggies into it.
DJ watched him work, leaning against the wall. “Why’d you do it?”
“What?” Peanut didn’t look up.
“Why’d you betray your guys?” DJ asked again, his tone conversational.
Peanut’s movements faltered. “The fuck you mean? This was your idea.”
“Yeah,” DJ nodded slowly. “But you still went through with it.”
Peanut sucked his teeth, shoulders tensing. “You a weirdo ass nigga, you know that?”
He turned back to the table, shoving more baggies into the duffel. DJ’s eyes traveled over the bodies again.
“That everything?” DJ asked when Peanut zipped up the bag.
“Yeah,” Peanut tossed the duffel toward him, the weight of it landing with a soft thud at DJ’s feet.
DJ calmly raised his gun and fired twice. The shots were deafening in the small apartment. Peanut’s body jerked with each impact, a look of confusion crossing his face before he crumpled to the floor.
DJ picked up the duffel, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped around Peanut’s body.
…
The cigarette felt good between Stacks’ fingers, the smoke filling his lungs with each drag as he sat on the edge of the cracked concrete poolside. The water was an unnatural blue, too blue, like someone had dumped in twice the amount of chemicals needed. Not that it mattered. Nobody was swimming in this shithole.
He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift upward and dissipate against the harsh Nevada sun. His mind kept replaying the last few days, the last few months, the last few years. It had happened slowly and then really fast, all at once. His rise. His fall. Narrowly escaped being clipped in that apartment. Only to now be on the run for those very murders that he had nothing to do with. Not that the police would believe him anyway.
A throat cleared behind him.
“Sir.” The motel manager’s voice had that same annoyed edge. “I told you before. No smoking in the pool area.”
Stacks didn’t turn around. “Why not?”
“It’s a public area,” the manager said, his voice getting closer.
“Ain’t nobody else here,” Stacks gestured at the empty chairs, the vacant tables, the complete absence of any other guests.
The manager moved into his peripheral vision, a middle-aged white man with thinning hair and a polo shirt that had seen better days. “That’s not the point.”
Stacks finally turned to look at him directly, taking another deliberate drag. The man’s face tightened, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. Stacks held his gaze for a long moment, then flicked the cigarette out into the pool. It landed with a soft hiss, a tiny wisp of smoke rising before it sank beneath the surface.
“Better?” he asked, rising from his chair.
The manager didn’t answer, just watched as Stacks headed back toward his room, key already in hand.
Stacks unlocked the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. He turned, reaching for the light switch.
A figure sat on the corner couch, half-shadowed in the dim light filtering through the cheap curtains. The gleam of metal on his lap caught Stacks’ eye immediately.
Stacks scoffed, a smile creeping across his face despite everything. Of course. Of fucking course.
“You that little nigga, right?” he asked, recognition dawning.
DJ didn’t say anything, just leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable.
Stacks laughed, the sound hollow. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and struck the lighter. The flame flared between them, throwing both their faces into sharp orange light, one young and still, the other worn down to the bone.
Stacks took a drag and let the smoke drift out slow, leaning back against the door, the cigarette burning between his fingers. He closed his eyes and took one last drag.
Then the room went quiet.
Charlene set that man up.
G Keyonte George (1yr/$26.62m)
G Brandon Miller (4yr/$167.89m)
G Scoot Henderson (1yr/$13.3m)
F De'Andre Hunter (3yr/$42.31m)
F Michael Porter Jr. (3yr/$24.79m)
G Jordan Poole (3yr/$20.07m)
F Jaime Jaquez Jr. (3yr/$44.87m)
C Karl-Anthony Towns (5yr/$297.24m)
F Josh Hart (3yr/$26.17m)
G Jalen Green (4yr/$167.89m)
F Jeremy Sochan (3yr/$63.05m)
C Nikola Jokic (5yr/$357.22m)
F Ausar Thompson (4yr/$147.60m)
G Amen Thompson (4yr/$167.89m)
C Victor Wembanyama (4yr/$167.89m)
F Dillon Brooks (3yr/$21.73m)
G Scoot Henderson: 17 Pts, 6 Ast, 5-8 FG, 3-4 3PT
F Jayson Tatum: 31 Pts, 9 Reb, 12-29 FG, 4-17 3PT
@ 
(2-0)
@ 
@ 
C Victor Wembanyama: 19 Pts, 14 Reb, 5 Ast, 3 Stl, 8-14 FG
@ 
@ 
(5-6)
@