𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘, ᵁᴺᴰᴱᴿᴳᴿᴼᵁᴺᴰ ᴿᴬᴾᴾᴱᴿˢ & ᴿᴬᴾᴾᴱᴿˢ

TARGETED, PT 2

IN WHICH... HE GETS BACK FOR YOU AFTER YOU HAD GOT JUMPED.

THE NIGHT AIR WAS STILL BRICK, BUT THIS TIME?

I ain't feel it at all. My body was on autopilot, running off adrenaline and rage. My jaw hurt, and my ribs were screaming, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was what was about to happen next.

Sugarhill was moving. Fast.

Taevin was out in front, hoodie up, face set like stone. Bloodie was right next to him, rolling his shoulders like he was getting ready for war. Dee had his hands in his pockets, but I already knew what that meant—he was gripping something dangerous. The rest of the guys? Quiet. Focused. Ain't no laughs, ain't no side talk.

Niggas had murder on their mind.

I kept up the best I could, my body still aching, but I wasn't about to sit this out. I needed to see this shit for myself.

Crescent Park.

I could still feel them niggas' kicks on my ribs. Hear they voices laughing like this was a game. Feel the cold ass milk soaking through my hoodie.

Nah. Ain't no way they was getting away with this.

Taevin had already peeped they moves. "They always at the benches, right?" he muttered, barely looking at me.

"Yeah," I whispered, throat dry as hell.

He nodded once. "Bet."

And just like that, we was closing in.

I spotted them first.

Same niggas. Sitting at the benches, phones out, probably watching the same video they recorded of me getting jumped. One of them had my Jordans on his feet. My fucking sneakers.

Something in my chest burned hot.

Taevin saw them too. "Oh yeah," he murmured. "Got 'em."

I ain't even see him move at first. One second, he was next to me. The next? He was already on the first nigga, rocking his shit with a right hook so nasty, I swore I felt it.

Everything popped off instantly.

Bloodie snatched a bottle off the ground and cracked it over another dude's head. Dee dragged somebody clean off the bench, slamming him into the pavement so hard, the whole ground shook. The rest of the guys? Jumped in like a pack of wolves.

It was chaos.

I stood back, breathing heavy, watching it all unfold. The same niggas who had me crying in the street? Screaming now.

One tried to run. Didn't even make it two steps before Taevin caught him, yanking him back by his hoodie and dropping him with a punch straight to the gut.

"Run now, nigga!" Taevin snarled, echoing the same words they threw at me. He ain't even wait for a response—just stomped down on his chest, making the nigga choke on his own breath.

The dude wearing my Jordans? Bloodie handled that. Ripped them shits right off his feet and tossed them to me. "Go 'head, sis," he smirked.

I caught them, fingers gripping tight. My body was shaking, but not from fear this time.

From power.

From knowing these niggas wasn't untouchable.

Taevin came back to me, breathing heavy, knuckles split open. His eyes met mine, and just like before, they softened for a second.

"You good now?" His voice was low, still laced with that lingering rage.

I looked at the niggas laid out on the ground, groaning, faces leaking. Looked at the Jordans in my hands.

Then I looked at him.

I nodded. "Yeah," I muttered. "I'm good."

He exhaled slow, eyes running over me like he was making sure one last time. Then, he grabbed my chin, tilted my face up, and kissed me.

Hard.

The rest of the guys was still laughing, hyped off the fight, but all I could feel was Taevin. His lips on mine, his fingers gripping my waist, his breath mixing with mine.

"Next time?" he murmured against my mouth. "Ain't gon' be no running."

I smirked, licking the blood off my busted lip. "Nah," I whispered back. "Ain't gon' be no next time."

And with that, we left them niggas where they belonged.

In the dirt.