Tyree

King

A bunch of white women in scrubs stole wary glances at me that I ignored as I prowled through the hospital, aiming for my cousin’s room. Antiseptic and death hung heavy in the air, threatening to clog my throat and choke me.

I’d always hated hospitals, but after a few too many stays from knife fights and gunshots—a hazard of the job—hatred strayed close to fear, like if I lingered too long, Death would come for me too.

How ironic that this time, I wasn’t the one who’d gotten on the receiving end of a blade. Good ole Tyler—quiet, reserved, and walking around with haunted brown eyes—got himself stuck but good. Pity my brother did the sticking. Family fighting family always left a sour taste in my mouth, and even though I understood where my brother was coming from—defending his auntie—it didn’t make it right.

Tyler was blood, and I was here to bury the hatchet, so to speak—not that I think he’d come after me or anything. Despite what my aunt thought, her kid wasn’t stupid. He just didn’t have the same street sense as the rest of us, and there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with that.

May he graduate and get the fuck out of this raggedy ass town.

I knocked on his door, listening for his low voice. It came a few seconds later, like he debated whether or not he wanted anyone to see him.

Not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, I shoved the door open and stepped inside, my eyes immediately landing on the Asian male at my cousin’s side. His dark eyes bore into me, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Who are you?”

I arched a brow. “His cousin and I need to have a word with him.” I glanced at Tyler meaningfully. “Alone.”

“Yeah?” The dark-haired male crossed his arms over a broad chest. “Are you going to stab him like the last one?” he snapped, rage sparking in his onyx eyes.

I smiled, baring all my teeth, and he flinched like my gold-plated grillz on my canines offended him.

Touch shit.

I paid good money for them and wore them proudly. “No, but I might stab you if you don’t get the fuck out.” My eyelids drooped as if the entire conversation bored me, but my back muscles tightened, and my hand itched to slide the blade I always carried with me out to show I meant business.

Tyler lifted a hand, placing it on his friend’s arm, who I assumed was the one behind the whole damn mess. If the man hadn’t fucked my aunt and then my cousin, maybe my family wouldn’t be beefing with each other and my brother wouldn’t be behind bars.

“It’s fine. Just give us a few minutes. Please.” Tyler’s voice came out raspy, like he hadn’t used it in a while. His partner nodded and scowled at me as he strode from the room, careful to avoid bumping into me.

Smart man.

“King,” he croaked, addressing me by both my last name and nickname. Only my mother called me Tyree and that was only when she was pissed. “You here about your brother?” His eyes narrowed, hinting at a steely core I thought he lacked. “Going to finish the job?”

I shook my head, taking the seat near the bed. Beeping came from the monitors, and cool air kept swirling that damn antiseptic smell around, making my stomach cramp.

“Nope. Came to check on you.”

Tyler blinked, confusion flickering across his face. The harsh lights made his cinnamon skin appear ashen. The kid needed some sunlight.

“I’m surprised you know my name,” he commented dryly.

I smirked. “We’re not close, but we’re still family.” I cocked my head. “Speaking of…I wanted you to know there’s no bad blood between us over what went down with you and Kyren.”

His lips parted, shock dancing in his almond eyes. A muscle leapt in my jaw. Tyler was too easy to read—no wonder he had no street skills.

“Your brother said, ‘Snitches get stitches.’ No one else gonna come after me?”

I shook my head. “Nah, you’re good. Whoever got a problem with you can take it up with me. So,” I leaned forward, planting my elbows on my thighs, “I hope this means you’ll come around more, maybe even bring your boyfriend to the cookout.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Josh is invited to the cookout?”

I shrugged. “Look like he’s got a lil Black in him, and I ain’t talking about you.”

Tyler barked a laugh, and I joined in, the tension in the room and woven through my body slipping away like smoke.

Life was too short to hold trivial grudges with family over dick. Kyren could use the time to sit and screw his head on right.

In the meantime… I had a business to run.

###

King

I leaned against dirty bricks, a blunt between my lips and shadows dancing along my skin from the low street lights. My eyes swept left and right, assessing for threat while I waited for my prey to leave his apartment building. Callum owed me money, and I gave the guy plenty of time to pay me back. He was about to find out that generosity and mercy had limits.

And I ain’t that nice, either.

As long as no one fucked me over, they never found out just how mean I could be.

I exhaled, letting a cloud of smoke float in front of my face, and tensed when a scream ripped through the night—not unusual in that part of town. I listened, my eyes slicing through shadows for the source of the sound, but I wasn’t stupid. Running toward danger got you killed sooner rather than later, and while I’d be surprised if I lived to see my nineteenth birthday, I wasn’t rushing the grim reaper along. The fucker could take his time.

The scream came again, closer and…feminine. My brows rose, and I put my joint out before tucking it behind my ears, hoping it wouldn’t fall since my dreads were bound in a bun instead of free falling past my shoulders. I stalked toward the noise, adrenaline lighting up my veins—a high I rarely indulged in. My life was exciting enough without being an adrenaline chaser.

I kept my footsteps light and increased my pace, my heart kicking as the scream erupted again, tinged with more desperation.

Shit. Who and what the fuck are they doing to her?

My gut told me I didn’t want to know and would get there too late. So I mumbled, “fuck it,” and burst into a jog and rounded the barely lit alley where the noise came from. It took my brain all of ten seconds to take in the scene.

Two men, pale-skinned and not much older than myself, restrained a woman with fiery hair and green eyes that pleaded for me to intervene. She looked like the teacher type, her blouse ripped open to expose large breasts bound in a plain white bra and a black skirt that one of them had tried yanking down her generous thighs but it got stuck just below her round ass.

I didn’t think cause fuck, a part of my brain liked what I saw—too much and it sickened me.

I didn’t go for snow bunnies, not even the ones in clear distress. That was how brothers like me ended up where Kyren was.

“You don’t want to do that,” I warned the one on his knees, his hands under the woman’s skirt—probably aiming for her panties.

“Fuck off!” the blond securing her arms behind her back snapped, his eyes bloodshot like he’d had too much to drink and saw easy prey—her.

I grinned, pushing my shirt up to show my piece tucked into my waistband. “I said, you don’t want to do that. Let her go.” My fingers kissed the side of the metal warmed from my skin, my gaze hard and muscles taut. Shit happened fast, and I suspected this wouldn’t be any different.

The kneeler lurched to his feet, and I spied the glint of something shiny in his hand. Despite his obvious threat, I wasn’t worried. His stance was unsteady, and the obvious alcohol in his system slowed his reaction time. I met him halfway, my fist crunching against the bone in his nose, and he reared back before crumbling to the ground, blood streaming past his mouth.

The snow bunny—I should really not think of her like that—jammed her heel into Mr. Blond’s foot, loosening his grip. She jerked forward, reaching for me, and I yanked her out of his hold, shoving her behind me. Before her attacker could recover, I pulled my gun free and pistol-whipped him across the face. Like his friend, he folded like a sheet of paper, a meaty thunk ringing out as his body hit the concrete.

“You broke my nose—”

I aimed the muzzle at his face, a steely resolve creeping into my bones. It was a feeling I was familiar with, and this idiot wouldn’t be the first I’d put down. But she wrapped her hand around mine, her tremors barrelling into me, reminding me of her fear, of what almost happened.

“Please don’t. Can we call the police?”

My molars ground against each other, and I resisted rolling my eyes.

Yeah, I’m sure an officer rolling up to one unconscious white dude, the other bleeding while the white woman next to me looks like an animal got ahold of her, would believe I, the Black guy with the gun, was the fucking savior of this scenario.

“The name’s King,” I snarled as I lowered my gun, my words aimed at the bleeding predator. He didn’t need to know that was my last name—the one everyone, even my mama, called me.

And it’s because I am a fucking king.

“Ask around about me. Because I swear to God, the next time I see you is going to be your last, mark my words. Stay the fuck out my hood with this shit.” I memorized his face as I walked backwards—narrow, bleeding nose, thin lips, pinched dark brows and a receding hairline that was a bit premature for someone his age—the damsel glued to my side.

I meant every damn word, and I couldn’t say why I was behaving so fucking protective over a woman I didn’t know.

But you know what they say—fuck around and find out.

Let them find out the hard way, they call me King cause I play for keeps.

These were my streets.

I owned everything in it—the trembling red-head included.