LUCID | BOOK II

🔥 TAPE II | TRACK 00 – “No Role Modelz” – J. Cole

Filed under: silent prayers and shots that never miss.

Date: December 28th

Time: 6:42 PM

Location: Lucid Motorsports, Las Vegas

The night was clear, and a mild breeze slipped through the partially opened window, carrying the faint rhythm of a city not yet asleep. Inside the shop, the glow from the front desk monitor traced Jazelle’s collarbone with soft warmth. She leaned in, elbows planted on the counter, the screen’s quiet hum brushing against her skin as she finalized the last few orders of the evening. Behind her, the printer stirred once more and released a fresh slip of paper.

At her feet, Gage lay curled with the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. His tail flicked occasionally, brushing the edge of a nearby metal cabinet. A Bluetooth speaker beside her phone played low R&B, its velvet melodies softening the room’s sharp edges. Her dark blue dress, structured and smooth, outlined her frame with quiet grace. It wrapped her figure like armor, intentional rather than vain. In a place shaped by grit and gasoline, her softness felt deliberate. In a world of labor and oil, softness wasn’t fragility; it was defiance.

Tonight had been one of those rare days she could call slow, secure, and peaceful in a way that once felt mythic.

Jazelle hummed lightly as she turned in her chair, eyes flicking across financial figures while she closed out the shop’s system for the night. Since stepping into the shop full-time, she had taken on every aspect of the business’s financials from processing invoices and managing orders to keeping the day’s records airtight. Though side hustles had started to bloom quietly behind the scenes, tonight her focus remained firm: end the day with clarity.

“Jaz, you almost done?” a voice called from the back.

“Yeah, give me a few more minutes,” she replied, her tone casual, her eyes never lifting from the screen. She moved with practiced rhythm, fingers dancing over the keys as she initiated the final logoff.

Then the bell above the door chimed.

Her chest cinched tight. The door. She had forgotten to lock it.

It was the kind of mistake that came from comfort or normalcy, even. The sound echoed through her now like a warning. Her gaze lifted, slow and cautious, expecting the ordinary of someone returning for a jacket or forgotten receipt. It wasn’t unusual for customers to return after hours, usually for something they left behind.

When she looked up, she realized it was the man from earlier.

He’d come by that morning about a restoration job. Jazelle remembered the faded hoodie, the fraying denim, and the stillness around him, quiet in a way that felt intentional, not insecure. Blaze had nearly passed on the job until he caught the car’s potential. Buried deep, but breathing. The kind of machine Blaze couldn’t ignore.

Now, the man stood in the doorway, his hands loose at his sides, his expression unreadable but calm. That same half-smile touched his lips, the kind that hinted at shared understanding. He kept the door open just enough to suggest he wouldn’t be long.

That was fine with her. She was ready to lock up, to shut the world out and retreat into the clarity she had built piece by piece. Peace didn’t come easy. It was carved out slowly, and tonight she was eager to return to it.

“Hey,” she greeted, offering the sort of smile worn down by long days and countless conversations. Her voice was light, steady. “Everything good with the car?”

He offered no verbal response. Instead, the energy in his posture adjusted purposefully, yet not confrontational. It suggested calculation, as though he anticipated a specific outcome and was waiting patiently for it to unfold.

Instead, he stepped aside.

And the temperature in the room changed.

Travis walked in like he had never left. He moved with the same entitled confidence, that same cold-blooded calm that used to tighten the air in her lungs. His steps were slow, familiar, unapologetic. Each one chipped away at her illusion of safety. He didn’t glance around like a visitor. He looked like a man reclaiming a space he still believed belonged to him. Like the air she breathed was borrowed. Like the life she built without him was temporary.

“Well, don’t you look beautiful, Baby Doll,” he said, voice slick with venom wrapped in charm. That smile twisted like a knife she’d seen before. Two men followed in behind him. One went straight to the door and locked it. The other hovered near the entrance, silent and unreadable. Neither looked like backup. They looked like intentions made flesh.

Jazelle’s expression dropped instantly. Her body stayed still, but her fingers slid off the keyboard in slow retreat. That old, familiar fear stirred inside her chest, rising in a suffocating wave. Travis hadn’t raised the gun in his hand, yet it hung in clear view, heavy with intent.

She rose from the chair with purposeful precision, every movement measured and intentional. Her instincts warned her not to panic. She inched backward, eyes locked on Travis with unblinking decisiveness. He slowly approached as someone who had returned not for conversation but for closure, which he thought he deserved.

At her side, Gage released a deep growl, stepping forward with instinctive vigilance. His stance was protective and firm, placing himself between her and the threat, prepared to respond to even the slightest provocation.

“You miss me, Baby Doll?” Travis asked, his tone calm, almost deceptively gentle.

“You shouldn’t be here,” She said, her breath unsteady. “You need to fucking leave.”

He let out a short and hollow laugh, stripped of humor. “I hate this version of you,” He muttered, his gaze crawling over her like he was trying to resurrect the woman he once manipulated. The one he believed he had crafted through fear and control. The one he assumed would never evolve beyond his reach.

“Oh, is that because you can’t control me anymore?” Jazelle asked, voice steady but laced with fire. Her eyes burned with the sharp edge of rage, layered over the fear she refused to let him see. “Because I finally found happiness that doesn’t include you.”

“You don’t get to be happy,” Travis snapped. “You think you the only one who ever bled for something? You think peace is something you just earn after what you did to me?” His voice sharpened, each word laced with venom. “You fucked up and cheated on me. Then had the nerve to act like you the one who got played. You gave yourself to that nigga Kahlil like I wouldn’t find out. You did that. You discarded yourself... and I just profited off of what was left.”

“You’re fucking sick,” Jazelle said, her voice cracking but unwavering.

Gage growled louder, the sound rising with his stress. His body shifted forward slightly, positioning himself between Jazelle and the threat. Still, Jazelle held her ground, every breath heavier than the last. Her back pressed fully against the wall now, the cold surface docking her to the moment. Her purse sat abandoned on the desk just a few feet away, but it might as well have been miles. Her gun was inside it, buried beneath receipts and wrappers. Useless to her now. Her window had closed.

“What the fuck do you fucking want, Travis?” She asked, her voice grinding from her throat like gravel. It cracked, but she forced it out.

“I want you dead,” He said with the cold-hard practiced truth. The smile that once curled at his lips was gone. Travis raised the gun and pointed it directly at her chest. “I want you empty. Fucking hollow,” He continued. “You walked away, built this fake-ass life like I didn’t lose everything just to get here. You owe me every fucking thing, and I’m here to take it.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” she fired back. “You owe me... for stealing my childhood. My body. My voice. You took everything I could’ve been. You beat me into silence and then blamed me for not speaking. You turned me into a survivor, and now you’re mad I learned how to live.”

Travis’ nostrils flared. His grip around the handle tightened until his knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched hard like he was barely containing the violence under his skin. The atmosphere between them thickened, dense with unspoken threats, ready to snap.

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he stepped closer. “You know what really gets me?” He muttered. “It ain’t that you ran. It’s that you found another nigga to stand behind. You always gon’ depend on the next nigga that tries to save you.” His voice dropped, coated in venom. “You already lost one nigga because of me. Watched that nigga Kahlil bleed out right in front of you. That broke you. I saw it, and you still ain’t fuckin’ learn.”

He smiled again, slower now, savoring the cruelty. “I could kill Blaze, sure. That’d be easy. Clean. Quick... but killing you?” His voice dipped, almost reflective. He shifted the gun slightly, never taking it off her. “That shit... that’s gon’ stay with him forever. You the common denominator in all this. You the one that always leaves destruction behind.” He stepped in one last time. “You the problem, and yo time’s up, Baby Doll.”

Behind him, his men stood silent and immobile. One shifted slightly, fingers brushing the edge of his waistband like he was waiting for a wordless cue. No one spoke. They moved like extensions of Travis’ intent: quiet, dangerous, and obedient.

Jazelle’s heart slammed inside her chest, its rhythm overwhelming every other sense. Her breath stuck in her throat, shallow and strained. Each inhale burned, her lungs seizing like they were rejecting the air.

Gage crouched low in front of her, the growl in his chest now unbroken and firm. His ears flattened against his head, his gaze locked on Travis. Every muscle in his body was taut with instinct, ready to launch. He was built for this kind of moment. Jazelle wasn’t sure she was.

Her arms hung at her sides, but her thoughts sprinted toward the back of the shop. The crew was deep in prep mode, gearing up for tonight’s job. It was supposed to be another Thursday. Laughter likely mixed with a casual focus in the backroom, the kind of rhythm they’d built together over months.

None of them knew what was unfolding just a few feet away. Jazelle couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the kind of moment that doesn’t let you return unchanged. Not just physically. Soul-deep. If this was a threshold, part of her had already crossed it.

The door to the back eased open with a low creak.

Slow, deliberate, and unnervingly precise footsteps followed shortly after. Each one landed with intent, echoing across the room like punctuation in a sentence too sharp to ignore.

Jazelle didn’t move. Her gaze remained fixed on the gun in Travis’ hand, but she felt the immediate shift in the air between them. His stance went rigid. His eyes flicked toward the sound. His jaw clenched hard like he already knew who had arrived.

She couldn’t see the man’s face. The overhead light cast him in silhouette, outlining a broad frame, squared shoulders, and a stance that arrived in willpower. There was no fear in him, only purpose.

“Put the fucking gun down, nigga.” The voice was composed but commanding, cutting through the room like a final warning.

Travis didn’t blink. Instead, he smiled again, slower this time, like he recognized the force behind the voice.

“Well, damn,” He muttered. “Didn’t expect you to show up tonight. What a nice suprise.”

The man held his ground, unarmed but not unready for what he had stepped into. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone told Travis everything he needed to know; he wasn’t going down quietly, and he wasn’t leaving without a fight.

Travis exhaled sharply, the sound brittle, almost amused. “I always knew it’d be you. Always stepping in front of a bullet that wasn’t even aimed at you.”

“You aiming at her is aiming at me,” The man said, his voice low and even, but firm enough to still the air around them. “You knew that then. You know that now.”

The man stood completely unmoving, his gaze steady despite the gun aimed squarely at him. There was no bluff in the way he held himself. No false bravado or performance. Only the quiet authority of someone who had already survived worse. His calm was not an act; it was a discipline carved out by experience and pain.

Every inch of his frame signaled determined intent. His silence was its own kind of warning. The gravity of his presence seemed to bend the room inward, as if time slowed in response. The tension thickened. Every breath became deliberate. Even Travis, armed and poised, couldn’t ignore the magnitude of what had just stepped between him and Jazelle.

“You think you about to save her?” Travis asked, his voice laced with disdain. “Or you just trying to make up for all the shit you ain’t stop when it actually mattered?” He snarled as he spoke, a cruel smirk curling at his lips, sharp with accusation.

The man advanced with measured intent, each step grounded in quiet resolve. Travis’ gun stayed trained on him, the barrel following every move like it already knew its target. Every motion was deliberate; a silent declaration of what he was willing to risk.

“You gon’ have to go through me before you touch her.” His voice didn’t waver. It wasn’t a threat, it was a fact. A solid promise.

He stepped fully in front of Jazelle, positioning himself as a barrier without flinching. He didn’t raise his hands or adjust his posture. He stood there, steady, centered, and unshakable; a living shield, present and unafraid.

Travis pivoted slightly, turning to face him. A smirk curled at the edge of his mouth, but his eyes remained flat, predatory. “You think I ain’t been waitin’ for this? Waitin’ for the right moment to drop one of you niggas?” he said. “Especially you.”

The man’s jaw tightened, but he stood firm. “Nigga, I promise you,” he said, voice strained, each word pulled from somewhere deeper than rage. “You don’t get to hurt her no more.” His voice cracked around the edges. “Not while I’m still breathing. You took everything from her. I ain’t letting you take what’s left.”

Travis let out a low, humorless laugh. “Ain’t nobody invincible. Not even you,” he said. “You walk around like you untouchable, like you above all this... but tonight? You gon’ feel what real loss tastes like.”

His stance tightened. The barrel found its mark.

Three gunshots tore through the shop like lightning through bone.

A body collapsed, heavy and final, the impact echoing louder than the shots themselves.

Blood splashed across the floor, warm and immediate, painting silence into the room. For a moment, the world held its breath. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, their hum the only sign that time hadn’t stopped altogether. Even the air refused to stir, like it, too, was mourning what had just been lost.

This prologue also appears in REM on Wattpad as a sneak peek. The rest of LUCID will only live here.

Date coming soon 🩵