Harmony is a spirited young woman navigating the vibrant yet gritty world of a strip club, where she dances to support her dreams amidst the shadows of her past. Following the mysterious disappearance of the original owner, the club is abruptly take...
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Torah Dayvon Banks Three Days Later | 05/26/21
Torah leaned back in the leather chair behind his desk. The faint bass from the club pulsed beneath his feet, but his mind wasn't on the business tonight.
It was on Harmony.
And the fucking mess of blood he'd walked into.
He prided himself on keeping his composure, on staying two steps ahead of whatever situation landed in his lap. But nothing—not the shootouts, not the bodies he and Durk had buried, not the sight of a man's insides spilled out onto pavement—had prepared him for that.
Memories of Harmony curled up on her shower floor, her breath ragged, her skin pale as hell. Blood staining the tiles, smeared against her thighs, soaking through whatever she had on. It had been everywhere, enough to make his stomach drop in a way he didn't like to admit.
He wasn't stupid. He was a grown ass man with common sense. He'd been educated on women's cycles, understood the basics enough to know that the shit wasn't pretty, and it wasn't something men needed to make comments about. His mother had raised him better than that. She always said a man who ran a strip club had no business being ignorant about women.
But what he'd seen back at Harmony's place? That wasn't just a period.
He'd heard of excessive bleeding before. Knew that some women had conditions that ranged from PCOS, fibroids, and many other things that made it worse. He knew, too, that another cause of that kind of bleeding was abortion.
The thought twisted something deep in his chest and made his mind wander deeper into thought.
Had she been pregnant? Was she losing something? Someone?
And if she was...
His jaw clenched. It wasn't his business. Not yet, anyway. But the image of her, weak and shaking, haunted him.
Torah had seen a lot of things in his life and had done worse. But something about this—the helplessness of it, the silence of it—felt different. It was a kind of violence he didn't know how to fight nor could he fight it.
And he fucking hated it.
"We lost one of the girls that was makin' a lot of money fa us." Durk complained as he scanned over the paperwork with money calculations, pulling Torah from his thoughts as he unlocked his phone to text Harmony.
"I wonder the hell why." Muwop murmured, his head turning in Torah's direction.
"Aye, don't start wimme today. I ain't in the fuckin' mood." Torah retorted, a frown plastered on his face as he locked his phone, immediately checking his notifications afterwards.
Durk and Muwop both looked in his direction, their eyebrows knitted. "The hell you mean don't start wit' you today? Nigga, this shit yo fault. You kept fuckin' Moni and cakin' up." Durk countered, pushing aside the paperwork.
