📍Top Lane, Warwick Avenue
Big Yard

DARIO

The shot splits the night like a blade.

Gravy's body jerks, the Guinness bottle tipping over beside him, dark liquid spilling onto the concrete like blood.

He doesn't make a sound.

For a moment, I don't move. The gun is still raised, my breath trapped in my windpipe, ears ringing from the gunshot. The world around me feels distant, like I'm watching it from underwater.

Then his body slumps forward, his weight folding onto itself like a puppet with cut strings.

Dead.

I exhale sharply, lowering the gun, my pulse hammering against my temples. My fingers are numb, but my hands move on instinct, wiping the weapon down before tucking it back into my waistband.

The silence is like a vice, pressing in from all sides.

But it doesn't last.

Broken by footsteps. Voices.

"Bloodclaat!" someone hisses from the darkness. "A who dat?!"

Shadows move in the yard, figures shifting toward me. The smell of gunpowder still lingers in the air.

I take a step back, my jaw tightening.

Then another.

And then I turn and run.

.                      .                         .

I don't clearly remember how I got back to my room.

I barely remember pushing open the door, stumbling inside, or locking it behind me.

But I remember the blood.

Not Gravy's. Mine.

My hands are shaking so badly I didn't even realize I'd cut my palm on something sharp when I slammed the door. The sting barely registers even now. The gun is heavy in my waistband, pressing into my skin like a brand.

I stagger to the sink, gripping the edges so tight my hands tremble.

Gun oil.

The smell clings to my skin, just like the blood, just like the guilt gnawing at my chest.

I killed him.

I killed Gravy.

The only father-figure I've known for so long.

And the fucked-up part?

He let me.

The sound of my own breathing fills the small room; loud, uneven.

I turn on the faucet, watching the water swirl red as I scrub my hands.

But no matter how hard I scrub, the residue of my betrayal seems to stain my hand more than the blood itself.

I scrub harder, watching the blood swirl down the drain, but it doesn't feel like it's coming off. It's under my nails, in the creases of my fingers, soaked into my fucking skin.

I brace my hands on the sink, staring into the cracked mirror. My reflection is a stranger——wide eyes, clenched jaw, a tension in my facial muscles that won't ease.

Gravy's words loop in my head.

'Mi proud a yuh, yute.'

Proud of what?

That I did exactly what Lester wanted? That I shot and killed the only man who ever gave a fuck about me?

In cold fucking blood?

I grip the edges of the sink until my fingers hurt. The same vice-like heaviness settles in my chest, pressing down, crushing my ribs.

Then there's a knock.

Sharp. Urgent.

Then another.

I jerk away from the sink, reaching for the gun before I even think. My pulse pounds in my ears.

"Dario!" the person shouts my name.

I recognise it to be Kimbo's voice.

Another one of Lester's men.

The only one, besides Gravy, who I allow close enough to me.

"Yah!"

I wipe my hands on my jeans, trying to steady my breath before unlocking the door.

Kimbo steps in fast, shutting it behind him. His face is tight, his energy wired.

"Mi just hear di news," he says, voice low. "Dem find Gravy body."

I don't react. Just nod once.

Kimbo watches me closely. When I give him nothing else, he says, "Lester a call fi yuh stillz."

Figures.

Di way this yah man yah can call call fimi, yuh woulda think mi a him gyal to pussyclaat.

I push past him, grabbing my hoodie off the bed. My movements feel automatic, like I'm outside of myself, just going through the motions.

Kimbo follows me out, and as we move through the yard, I'm back to feeling uneasy. My eyes scan over the faces of the men littering the yard, some of whom nod in silent approval, their expressions unreadable.

They know what I did.

And in their world, that makes me more than just another soldier.

It makes me a killer.

Lester is waiting in his usual spot——the big iron chair in the corner of the yard, smoking. His eyes lift to mine as I approach.

"Dario," he drawls, his usual slow smile spreading across his face. "Mi hear di good news, yute."

Like that's so fucking hard to believe.

I stop a few feet away, my hands in my pockets, the scent of weed and rum tickling my nostrils.

A period of silence stretches between us.

Lester leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Gravy was a good soldier, enuh."

My jaw tightens.

"In fact, one a di best." The likkle greyhead pussyhole takes another drag from the blunt. "But, I'm a man of principle. And loyalty comes first."

I don't respond.

Lester smirks. "As a principled man, mi affi tell yuh say mi impressed. Know yuh talented, but mi did a wonder if yuh wouldn't able fi carry out tha task yah. Yuh prove mi wrong. And mi impressed."

"Wul a seat yasso, and mek wi' reason lilly bit."

I move robotically to the seat beside him.

He smirks when I sit. "Wah yawh drink?"

"Wah yuh have?"

He turns to one of his soldiers behind the counter of the makeshift bar a few feet away. "Yow, Knockiss, bring di Dawg a cold Dragon deh!"

Soon Knockiss is walking over to us with the neck of the liquor bottle nestled between his fingers. He hands it to me, and I offer a simple nod before reaching for the lighter in my pocket and flicking off the cap.

Lester leans back in his chair, tapping the side of his beer bottle with his fingers, watching me. "How it feel?"

"How wah feel?"

"The level a power yuh earn tonight?"

Power. That's what you get as a man brave enough to challenge and defeat the best soldier, the baddest "killa" in the camp.

I think on his question.

How it feel? How about...like a fucking nightmare!?

But I don't say that. I take a swig of the liquor, the cold burn sinking into my chest. It helps——just a little. I turn my eyes back to him, trying to steady my breath.

"I just did what needed to be done," I say, and my voice feels foreign even to me. Like it's coming from someone else's mouth. Cold. Heartless. Proud.

Lester chuckles, low and slow, like he's entertained. "Yuh cold eno, Dario. Eh man don't even blink. Just like yuh fucking daddy."

I clench my jaw, looking away. The words are stuck in my throat. They won't come out because I don't even know how I'm supposed to respond to that.

Instead, I bring the liquor bottle to my lips and take another huge swig.

His statement echoes into my head.

'Just like yuh fucking daddy.'

I internally scoff.

I'm nothing like my father.

.                             .                            .

The liquor doesn’t do enough.

Neither does the weed.

My thoughts are racing, circling around the same image: Gravy's body jerking back as the bullet pierced his skin, the Guinness bottle slipping, his blood spilling onto the ground.

I exhale, needing to shut my brain off for a while.

The Dragon bottle is still cold in my grip, it's the fifth one for the night, but it’s not enough to drown the anger, the confusion...the guilt.

I need something stronger.

Something warm. Preferably tight.

Something to make me forget.

By the time I make it back to my room, I already know what I’m going to do.

And with whom.

.                   .                    .

10:00 P.M.

Kenisha is on me the second I walk through the door, her hands clawing at my shirt, her lips hot and impatient against my neck.

I let her do her thing.

Mentally following her movements as her teeth scrape against my skin, while her fingers caress my crotch, massaging the growing bulge in my jeans.

I don’t speak.

I don’t need to.

I simply relax and let her dominate. For now.

"Mi like it rough," she tells me, her hands fumbling with my belt buckle now.

Good.

Because right now, I have no intention to be gentle.

With a grunt, I grab her ass, lifting her as she wraps her legs around my waist, her back pressing against the cool wall.

Her breath hitches, her head tilting back, and I take the opportunity to kiss down her neck, biting down, when I reach a particular spot, just enough to make her gasp.

Kenisha moans, grinding against me, her hands tugging at my belt to loosen it. My mind is blanking out, and that’s exactly what I want. No thoughts.

"Mi can feel yuh inside mi now?" she asks, her tone low and breathy, hot air fanning my ear when she speaks.

I don’t answer. Instead, I reach between her parted legs and pull her panties to the side, feeling the heat between her thighs under my fingers.

She's wet as hell, already.

I smirk.

Using my knees, I spread her legs wider, my thumb finding her swollen clit while my middle finger slides back and forth between her folds.

Kenisha moans loudly the moment I sink my finger into her wet and throbbing pussy.

I feel myself harden, drawing a tent in my pants.

After a few minutes of finger-fucking her, I release her and she drops to her knees in front of me.

Reaching up, she finally manages to loosen my belt, staring up at me through her long lashes.

My erect dick springs free when Kenisha pulls my pants down, bringing the Calvin Klein underpants with it.

Her eyes light up when she sees what I'm working with.

I smirk, pulling my finger up to her face and tucking it into her accepting mouth. She flicks her tongue out, swirling it around my finger a few times to rid it of her juices.

When she's through, I grip her cheeks and squeeze them together, before reaching for the gold packet buried inside my pants pocket.

It takes me less than ten seconds to roll the rubber on.

I'm not the type for foreplay, unless affi finga a gyal, or get brains...so I pull the little browning to her feet, push her back against the wall, hoisting her leg off the ground and draping it over mine, before settling back into our former position.

Gripping my tool, I run its head along her slit, repeatedly.

Then stop when I find the spot I'm searching for.

Bucking my hips, I push inside her hard, my grip firm on her hips. She gasps, hands gripping my shoulder, nails sinking into my flesh, but I don't ease up.

"Shit—Dario—" she moans, rocking back against me.

"This feels so...good..."

I grunt.

"Yes! Fuck me, baby..."

In one swift motion, I scoop her up, walking over to the bed with my dick still buried inside her.

My hands grip her thighs, dragging her forward, my body pressing her into the mattress. She gasps, her nails digging into my back. I don’t ease up. Nor do I slow the intensity of my strokes.

I fuck her like a man who just got broken out of jail. Roughly. Mercilessly.

“Jesus...! Ease up likkle deh, babes, yuh ago kill mi,” she pants, after a while, pressing her palm flat against my chest and pushing to get me to ease the pressure.

I don’t oblige.

Instead, I pull all the way out of her pussy, before slamming back into her. Hard.

She screams, but I silence her by placing my finger on her lips and shaking my head.

Stop di fucking noise.

Crouching over her, I pull her hands above her head, pinning her down, as I grind into her slow, and deep. She cries out, struggling to grip the sheets. I feel her tighten around me, but I barely react.

I just keep going.

I needed this.

The body heat, the friction, the feel of her body writhing under mine. Her moans echo around me. It’s the only thing drowning out the chaos in my head, the noise that hasn’t stopped since I pulled the trigger.

I shake my head to clear the thought.

Kenisha's breath hitches when I flip her over onto all fours, pressing her into the sheets. My fingers dig into her waist, forcing her to take me how I need to give it. She moans, arching, her back bowing as she meets me stroke for stroke.

I'm tempted to close my eyes as the sensation travels throughout my body, but I don't.

I can’t.

Because every time I do, I see things I don’t want to see.

So I watch her through the mirror instead. The way her lips part, the way her breath comes in short, sharp pants, the way her body shudders under mine.

The bed creaks beneath our weight, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin amidst the sound of quiet whimpers every now and again.

I fuck her like I’m trying to break something. Maybe her, maybe myself.

Kenisha moans loudly, reaching behind her to grip my arms, her nails biting into my skin, but I don’t slow down. I grip her waist tighter, drag her back onto me, forcing her to take all of it.

Sweat slicks between us, beeding on my forehead before dripping onto her back. Her gasps settle in my ears like a melody, my breath coming heavy and ragged.

Bucking my hips, I sink deeper, until I'm balls deep, I pull all the way out and repeat.

The pressure builds, my muscles burning, my body coiled so tight it feels like something might snap. I grip her shoulder, dragging her body back against me, fucking her harder, faster...chasing the high, the release, the nothingness I fucking need.

And when it finally crashes down on me, the tension snaps like a live wire, and I feel it coursing through me.

"Mi a come...fuck!" I hiss, my strokes more urgent and uneven.

"Mi a come too...!"

Her arch deepens and her grip on the sheet tightens, as I feel her clench around my cock, squeezing me.

It's what I need to go over the edge.

Kenisha's legs start shaking and she releases a gut wrenching scream as she comes undone around me.

I follow shortly behind her, emptying my jizz inside the condom buried deep inside her pussy.

We stay still for a few seconds, catching our breath, before I slowly pull out, staring down at her gaping pussy.

I feel satisfied.

Normal again.

But it doesn’t last.

Because the second it’s over, the emptiness creeps back in, seeping into my bones, settling in my chest.

I snap the condom from my dick, tie the end into a knot, then drop onto the bed.

Kenisha sighs, stretching beside me, a silly little smile stretching her full lips. Reaching over, she runs her fingers along my abs, tracing the outline. "I always pegged you as the type who knows how to fuck , and you didn't disappoint."

I don’t answer.

Better yet...

I swing my legs off the bed, reaching for my pants. The heat surrounding me has already started fading, the cold slowly creeping back in.

She props herself up on her elbow, watching me get dressed. She quirks a brow. "Yuh nah stay?"

I zip up my jeans, pulling on my hoodie. "Nah."

"That simply mean seh yuh just did a look a release then."

I keep silent, my face drawing its signature blank expression.

She studies me for a few long seconds, then smirks. "Mi nuh know who yuh a try fuck outta yuh system, but mi hope she worth it."

I still don’t respond.

Because it’s not a person I’m trying to fuck away.

It’s myself.

Without a second glance her way, I reach for my keys, grab my gun, and walk out the door.

.                    .                   .

11:20 A.M.

The night feels colder than usual. The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement as I make my way through the quiet neighborhood.

Usually this community doesn't sleep until after hours, but rumours of the killing has plunged the place into silence.

I keep walking, my one hand shoved deep into my hoodie pocket, the spliff between the fingers of the other one burning low. I flick the ash to the ground before bringing it back up to my lips. I take another long drag, letting the smoke settle in my lungs before exhaling slowly.

I cough.

Before I even realize it, I’m outside Kimbo’s house. The front door is open, the faint hum of music drifting from inside. I step in without knocking.

Kimbo is sprawled on the couch, a woman curled up beside him, her nails tracing lazy circles on his chest. His eyes are hooded, his fingers slowly tapping a rhythm on his knee, the scent of weed stifling, enveloping the small room like a thick blanket.

He looks up when he sees me, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“Dawg,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Mi did a wonder if yuh ago pass through. Weh yuh deh from night man a look fi yuh?”

I sigh and drop into the chair across from him. "Did go mash a endz, yuzeet. Free mi mind likkle bit."

Kimbo studies me for a moment, then passes me a freshly rolled spliff without a word. He has about three more laying on a platter on the arm of the couch he's on.

I take it, light it, tuck it between my lips and pull deeply, holding it in my lungs until it burns, then release it slowly.

"Hope it good fi yuh eno, because a bare bush weed the fucka dem have a sell up so."

I nod, taking another drag. "Right now, mi nuh too fussy..."

"Yuh good, dawg?"

I consider his question for a while.

When I finally speak, my voice is quiet. “Mi feel like mi cyaa breathe, bredda.”

There's no use pretending.

Kimbo leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes lock onto mine, unreadable. "Since...?"

He doesn't need to elaborate. He won't either, with her here. I sigh.

And he reclines in his seat, snaking his arm around the woman's waist once more. "Welcome to di fuckery, mi G."

I let out a short laugh, but there's no humor in it. I lean back in my own chair, my head tilting up to the ceiling, the smoke curling around me.

The silence stretches, but not as heavy, nor suffocating.

After a while, Kimbo speaks again, his voice lower. “Yuh regret it?”

I don’t answer right away. I just stare at the ceiling, my fingers tightening around the spliff.

Finally, I shake my head. “Mi nuh know.”

Kimbo nods like he expected that answer. “Yuh soon alright man, nuh worry yuh head.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe one day, I’ll stop thinking about it. Stop seeing it every time I close my eyes.

"Yuh know wah mi a say? Ano di first mi a do sum'n like this. In fact, mi been a do way fucking worse. So why this have mi so?"

"Like yawh function, but yuh nawh feel noth'n doh? Like yawh look pon the world a move round yuh, outside a yuh fucking body. Mi know dem way deh. A so mi did feel di fuss time mi mek mi fuss duppy. Could I sleep di night?" He chuckles. "Mi bloodclaat! Swear mi woulda mad out, dawg. But mi get ova it after couple days."

"Yeah, mi get that. But this ano my first."

"Mi know, man. But yuh know a why yuh feel so fuck up? A because a who."

True.

"Juss gi' yuhself some time, mi fada. A thru it fresh."

I hum.

The place goes silent.

The spliff burns between my fingers, the smoke curling in the dim light of the living room.

After a while, I break the silence, saying, "Eh juss fuck up, Dawg. Eh dawg neva deserve this..."

"That a to we. Lester clearly thinks otherwise.

"Lester is a bloodclaat pussyhole!"

I hiss, then add, "Gravy was a far better man fi him bomboclaat. A that's why him get rid a the man. Because every man inna eh camp coulda see that tuh!"

The girl beside him shifts, clearly picking up on the tension between us, but she doesn't say anything.

Kimbo watches me closely, his expression unreadable. I take another slow drag, again, letting the smoke sit in my lungs before exhaling. It does nothing to settle me.

"Going after di man dem way deh was clearly a power play. And we know it. Lester muss always have the last say. Whether by will or by force. Wi know that tuh! Gravy did know it tuh. That's why di man not even bomboclaat retaliate." I sigh, feeling my chest tighten.

Tired fi a skirt 'round di issue.

"Be as it may," Kimbo comments after a while, "wi' done in a it already. We juss affi work wid it. Nuh suh?"

Wah di rass eh man a tell mi say?

Work wid wah?

"Nah, man. That a weh uno think. Work wid wah? Liff up wid that, badman! That's why the old pussyhole stay so, because wi' make him feel like a so it set. When wi' ago stop make him use we fi do him dutty wuk!?" I hiss. My voice is raised, but I don't care. "Just like how him rub out the most loyal man fi ever go round him, why wi think him ago 'fraid fi do di same, or worse, to any one a we?"

"Ever pree that?"

Kimbo's face hardens. "Yo, 'memba weh yuh deh, and lower yuh fucking voice, badman!"

"I don't give a fuck!"

The browning beside him shifts again, clearly uncomfortable, then stands.

My eyes scan her body. She's only wearing a large Tshirt. Nothing underneath. They'd clearly been fucking before I got here.

She turns to him, offering a small smile. Her bare ass is exposed to me when she bends over to peck his lips. I look away.

"Yuh good?" he asks her, eyes drifting to her.

"Yeah. Mi ago leff uno fi talk," she mutters, heading toward the back room.

Kimbo's house is one of the bigger houses in the lot. It's a two-bedroom, two-living room set up, with a small kitchen and a bathroom.

Lester owns the entire property. But each soldier has their own living quarters. His top killas getting the better ones. It's kinda like a tenament yard kinda set up, if you will.

But it's "home".

Kimbo waits until the door clicks shut behind his catty before speaking again. "Yuh good, dawg?"

His eyes narrow into slits.

He knows I'm not usually the vocal type, so to hear me react the way I just did, worse with Lester's guards lingering just outside these walls, is a clear indication that I'm not myself.

"Mi gov, man." I turn away, staring at the blank screen of the TV on the opposite wall.

Although I can still see him through my peripheral.

He smirks, leans forward and props his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands. "Yuh waa some pussy? Burn off some steam..."

"Just come outta one before mi come yasso. That never help shit."

The sex was a temporary distraction, but the moment I left her place, I was back to square one. So what's the point?

I know no amount of pussy, tight or not, can fix this. I just have to find a way to live with it.

"She never good enough den." He laughs. "A one a mi bad gyal dem from Bottom Lane mi woulda set yuh up pon, still. Tight pussy, throat goat...Bound fi mek yuh calm 'c'."

"Mi good, man. Just need fi cool off likkle bit, clear mi head," I mutter, my voice almost lost in the haze of smoke around us.

Kimbo studies me for a moment, then nods. "Ah. Mi have a move fi mek inna di night yah too eno. Yuh waa roll wid mi?"

I glance at him. I know the type of move he's referring to. I think about it. Maybe that can be the way to chanel some of this pent up anger into something I can control.

I roll my shoulders back, and flick the ash from the spliff in my hand, before tucking it behind my ear. My eyes burn, and I know they're red as blood. All the smoking and drinking I've been doing since night is finally setting in.

My face hardens. And I stand, adjusting the weapon in my waist, before flicking the hoodie over my head.

"Yeah."

Might as well.