After Emyr left her sitting in jail, Zahara returns for revenge. But will she truly get back at him? Or will he manage to slither his way back into her life?
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𝐄𝐌𝐘𝐑
THE warehouse smelled like oil, old wood, and gunmetal — the kind of scent that clung to your clothes long after you left. Afternoon light bled through the high windows in dusty streaks, catching on the smoke hanging low in the air. Tariq, Ghost, Red, and Lo were already posted up at the table near the back, cards in their hands, bottles cracked, guns sitting out like they were just another set of chips in the pile.
I walked in slow, like I owned the floor — because I did. They barely looked up. Tariq grinned, Red gave a nod, Ghost flicked his card like he was too deep in the hand to care, and Lo muttered something I didn't bother catching.
"Y'all look too fucking comfortable," I said, pulling out a chair with my foot. "What, my business just runs itself now?"
"Business been handled," Tariq said, flashing the gold on his wrist as he threw down his cards. "Unlike you nigga, we actually on time."
I smirked and sat down, pouring myself a glass from the nearest bottle. Whiskey. Cheap shit, but it burned nice. "On time for poker don't count as business bitch. Don't act like winning fifty bucks off Red means you're building empires."
Red leaned back, side-eyeing me with that irritated calm he always had. Big man, built like he was born for intimidation, but I knew him too well. Red wasn't about money games — he was about loyalty. And if he was at the table, it was just because Tariq had dragged him in.
"Fifty? Man, Tariq owe me two hundred already," Red rumbled.
"Bitch that's a lie," Tariq shot back, grinning.
"Swear to God, you couldn't bluff your way out a paper bag," Lo muttered, finally pushing his cards in.
I watched them argue, sipped my drink, and let it roll over me. This was what power bought — not the cards, not the booze, not even the cash. It was the ability to sit back and know every man in this room would kill for me.
Still, they talked too much.
"Y'all sound like bitches," I cut in, leaning forward on my elbows. "If I wanted to hear grown men complain over money, I'd sit in on Wall Street."
They laughed, but not too hard. None of them wanted to give me the satisfaction.
Ghost finally laid his hand down, deadpan as always. "Full house. Pay up."
"Goddamn," Tariq muttered, shoving bills across the table. "You cheat, Ghost."
Ghost didn't smile. He never did. Just slid the money into his pocket and lit another cigarette, his face half-hidden in the smoke.
