With You

Better

November 15th
5 a.m.

Clovel pulled the sleek black hoodie over his head, his movements deliberate and swift. Before slipping out of the room, he pressed a tender kiss to Tiana's forehead, a silent promise lingering in the air. With stealthy precision, he closed the door behind him, descending the stairs with a silent determination that matched the darkness of his attire.

In the garage, his steps purposeful, he retrieved a duffle bag from the trunk of his car, his movements betraying none of the urgency coursing through him.

Mindful of the watchful gaze of cameras, Clovel descended to the lower level where Jon's vehicle waited. With a practiced ease, he slipped into the car, the fabric of his ski mask shrouding his features in anonymity.

Desmond's hands moved deftly as he opened the bag, revealing the tools of their trade. Clovel's fingers grazed the familiar weight of his weapon, his gaze steely with determination as he prepared for the journey ahead. With a silent nod, they set off towards their destination, the night swallowing their intentions whole.

Jon maneuvered the vehicle down the block, finding a discreet spot to park as Leon waited in the idling Escalade nestled in the shadows of the alley. Clovel, Jon, and Desmond melded seamlessly into the darkness, their figures barely discernible as they awaited their target.

Shawn ambled towards his car, a bottle of liquor in hand, the rattling of skittles accompanying his steps. Without a word spoken, Clovel and Desmond communicated silently, their movements fluid and coordinated.

As Shawn rounded the corner, Clovel emerged from the shadows, his ski mask concealing his identity as he delivered a swift, punishing blow.

"You forgot the oath, nigga,"Clovel growled through clenched teeth, the tension in his muscles palpable as he unleashed a fierce punch.

Sprawled on the ground, Shawn looked up, confusion and fear clouding his expression.

"What the fuck?" he managed to sputter before Clovel's gun clicked ominously into place, the barrel trained unwaveringly on him.

"All rats gotta die," Clovel declared, his resolve unyielding as he prepared to carry out their grim directive.

Spitting blood onto the ground, Shawn defiantly met Clovel's gaze. "You ain't gone pull dat trigga—ain't a real kill—"

Before Shawn could finish his sentence, the crackle of gunfire shattered the night air. Clovel swiftly pulled his ski mask back into place as Desmond rifled through Shawn's pockets, planting evidence of a botched robbery.

With a mocking laugh, Desmond tossed the fabricated wallet onto Shawn's chest. "Broke ass ain't had nothin' to steal," he taunted.

Their phones buzzed, a stark reminder of their dwindling time. Clovel and Desmond sprinted towards the adjacent block, their movements swift and purposeful. Slipping into the waiting Escalade, they vanished into the night as Leon deftly navigated the streets.

Clovel grew weary of words; it was time for action. Those who dared to cross him and his team would face the consequences. He was done playing games; now, it was time to bury the betrayers.

After discovering that Shawn was a rat, Clovel couldn't turn a blind eye to his betrayal. Despite no longer being part of OHB, Shawn's actions went against their code, and Clovel couldn't allow him to roam freely, undermining their trust and endangering their operations.

In the aftermath, Desmond shed his coveralls, discarding them in a nondescript garbage bag, while Clovel removed his gloves, disposing of them with a sense of finality. Their task completed, they melted back into the anonymity of the city, leaving behind only whispers of their presence in the night.