In the gritty streets of Harlem, where loyalty is everything and danger lurks around every corner, two seemingly perfect couples, Krystal and Shakur, live a life of wealth and allure. Married for two years, they present a polished image to the world...
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CHAPTER THREE
Across the city Sin sat in his high rise, his jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he stared out the window, barely paying attention to the woman on her knees infront of him. He hissed—not because it was enjoyable, but because it was that terrible.
A sharp breath escaped his lips as he climaxed, splattering her face with his semen. His chest barely rose with exertion.
"Done, get the fuck out," He muttered coldly, not bothering to glance down at her, his voice flat and dismissive.
"Bu—" She started to protest, wiping at her face, the remains of his semen still clinging to her skin.
"Now," he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. He finally looked down at her, empty and detached.
As she scurried out, the door clicking shut behind her, Sin stood and paced the room, his fist clenching.
The heavy door to his office creaked open. Dre stepped inside without knocking, his face set in a hard expression and the air between them felt thick with unspoken tension
Sin glanced up, his cold eyes locking onto Dre's figure. He wasn't in the mood for surprises, not tonight.
Dre's thick frame moved with a sense of urgency as he shut the door behind him. His usual swagger was gone, replaced with a seriousness.
Sin crossed his arms, waiting for Dre to speak. He already knew something was wrong; Dre wasn't the type to visit without calling, unless, things were about to go south.
"Yo, we got a problem Sin," Dre said, voice low but tense as he moved closer.
Sin's eyes narrowed, his pacing stopped dead. "What now?" he growled. "Talk."
Dre sighed, running a hand over his head, the frustration evident in his stance. "Quan flipped."
A dangerous silence filled the room. Sin's temper was legendary, but he didn't explode like most men in his position. His eyes narrowed as Dre's words sank in.
Quan wasn't just any street level runner. He knew critical details; routes, contacts, the kind of shit that could cripple Sin's operation if it got into the wrong hands.
"Dre," Sin said slowly, his voice calm but deadly, "You tellin' me one of my people feedin' niggas on the outside?"
"Quan's working for Kash now," Dre continued, his tone grim.
And Kash was the wrong hands.
"He turned on us. Gave up the locations of two drops last week. That's why Kash has been hitting us so hard lately. He's feeding her everything."
