After Eight years, Ghenesis Santiago leaves for Atlanta, Ga to try having a relationship with her father and his new family. While having to maintain her senior year in highschool and working with her brother and his Crew under her father's orders...
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It’d been a week since Charles made Zeus stick that poison up his veins, and he still wasn’t right. He wasn’t sayin’ much these days — just movin’. Focused, quiet, sharp when he needed to be, but gone in the eyes sometimes. Withdrawal was ridin’ him hard. He’d get real still, lips pressed tight, breathin’ like he was tryna stop his own heart from beatin’ too fast, sweating bad during the night. I kept a bottle of water on me at all times, kept protein bars in my purse, kept Vicks in my hoodie pocket like a nurse on duty. He ain’t ask for nothin’, but I was gon’ be there whether he did or not.
We was all up at one of the warehouses today — one of the main hubs where our real product moved through. Dice was countin’ off crates with Mason, Nico was goin’ over the ledgers, and I was walkin’ beside Zeus, watchin’ him keep his chin up even though his hands was shakin’ just a little at his sides. He ain’t eat breakfast. Said he wasn’t hungry. But I could see the strain around his mouth. Could see the toll this shit was takin’ on him. Still, he ain’t fold. He showed up for his people. For me. For Artemis. For all the things Charles tried to break in him.
One of the workers — young cat, around our age, cocky with a gold tooth and some half-done tattoos on his neck — walked up with a clipboard in his hand. “Aye, Zeus,” he called, “you want us to move them pallets to section B or keep ‘em near the freezer line?” Zeus didn’t answer right away. He just stood there for a second, blinkin’ like he was underwater, tryin’ to find his way back to the surface. I could see it, the fog creepin’ behind his eyes. I stepped up, calm and smooth, noddin’ once.
“Move ‘em to section B. We got a shipment comin’ in tomorrow night — need the space,” I said, firm but cool.
That’s when the boy made his first and last mistake.
He looked me up and down like I just spit in his drink. “I ain’t talkin’ to you,” he snapped. “I asked Zeus—”
But he ain’t finished that sentence.
Quicker than air, Zeus had him. One hand wrapped around that boy’s neck, liftin’ him clean off the ground like he weighed nothin’. Eyes black. Not Grey... Black — like death just showed up for roll call.
The whole warehouse went still.
“You open your mouth to her like that again,” Zeus growled, voice low and thick like thunder behind a storm wall, “and you won’t have a mouth left.”
He tightened his grip — not enough to kill, but enough to remind him that he could. “That’s my fuckin’ wife. My Kween. My existence. If she tell you to mop the fuckin’ ocean, you better start lookin’ for a bucket.” He dropped the man hard, like trash, and stepped back. The dude hit the concrete with a loud grunt, eyes wide as fear.
