Here's What I'd Say To Anyone Reading This Shit : Stop Chasing What's Killing You. Stop Holding Onto Pain Like It's All You Got Left. & For God's Sake, Don't Wait Until It's Too Late To See The People Who Really Care. Life Don't Slow Down For Nobody, & Regret Ain't Something You Wanna Carry To Your Grave.
- 𝒥uan Collins
ILLMATIC II.
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𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 II| VOLUME TWO. ❝ BACK TO THE ENEMY ❞ [ HARLEM, NY ]
Roki's heels clicked sharply against the cold pavement as she made her way towards the familiar, menacing glow of Lucky's club. The evening air was thick with the tension of her decision, every step a weight on her chest, pulling her deeper into a world she'd sworn to leave behind. Scar's words still stung in her mind—accusations of weakness, the belief that she was nothing without him. The nerve of him. Well, tonight, she was going to show him just how wrong he was. The club loomed ahead, its flickering neon lights casting long shadows down the alley, a familiar beacon of decadence and destruction. As she approached the door, her hand tightened around her purse, the cool metal of the lock mirroring the chill creeping through her veins. She hadn't been here in weeks, but it felt like coming home to a place that both nourished and corrupted her.
As soon as she entered, the heavy scent of stale smoke, cheap booze, and regret hit her like a punch to the stomach. The place was quieter than she remembered, its former chaotic energy replaced by a thick, oppressive stillness. A few strippers lingered in the shadows, their bodies draped across the worn furniture, eyes half-lidded and bored. The kind of women who were used to being forgotten. They barely spared her a glance, their glares sharp and bitter, like daggers lodged deep in her skin. She wasn't here for them, though—she was here for one person, and one person only. Lucky. He was sitting in his usual spot behind the velvet ropes, the man who thought he owned her once, the man who believed he could make or break anyone he pleased. His large, imposing frame was draped lazily in the high-backed chair, a glass of whiskey perched at his side, catching the dim light. He didn't bother to stand when she approached, but his eyes slid over her with a familiar, possessive gleam. And then that grin—a mixture of smug satisfaction and condescension—spread across his face. He was enjoying this already.
"Well, well, look who came crawling back," Lucky drawled, his voice smooth as honey, but with an edge that cut through the room like a blade. He stretched his legs out in front of him, the tip of his shoe tapping rhythmically against the floor, a steady beat that matched the pulse of the tension in the air. "Thought you'd moved on, huh? All high and mighty with Scar now. What'd you think, babe? You were gonna find something better than what I gave you?" Roki didn't flinch. Her eyes locked onto his, cold and unwavering. This wasn't the time for weakness. She wasn't the same woman who had left him months ago—broken, afraid. She was different now. Stronger. More certain. And she sure as hell wasn't about to let him think she was still his toy to control. "I didn't come back to reminisce, Lucky," she said, her voice sharp and controlled, like a knife edge. "I'm here to use you."
