This is the sequel to Heart Ain't a Brain. If you haven't, read that first!
They say don't fall in love, it's a mistake.
The trajectory of one's life can change in the blink of an eye. So what happens when a series of tragic events changes the cour...
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Dreka
Tell me what are you gon' do for respect? What are you gon' do for that check? What chu gon' do moms late for the rent? What chu gon' do if that boy try to flex?
Don't let me find out you gon' stun with that tech Don't let a nigga run down on the clique Don't let a nigga come straight for your neck
Pulling my keys out of the ignition, I let out a slow, heavy sigh while resting my hands on the steering wheel. For a moment, I just sat there, staring through the windshield at the building in front of me. A tightness twisted in my chest.
The last time I was here, Clyde had found the address that led us to the house where Raelle was being held in Stone Ridge, and that was the day everything cracked open.
Not just for Raelle—but for me. That was the day my marriage truly began to fall apart. Kevin had looked me in the eyes and told me I wasn't going with them. He told me it was too dangerous, too unpredictable, and that someone needed to stay behind. But the truth was, he didn't believe I could handle it. And maybe a part of me believed that, too.
So I stayed. I stayed behind while they drove off to rescue my best friend. And I remember the feeling, like the floor had dropped out from under me. Like I'd been locked out of my own life. I felt helpless. Powerless. As if I were watching everything happen through a thick pane of glass I couldn't break.
And nothing had been the same since.
My eyes drifted back to the building. Everything about it looked different now. Too different.
The warehouse had always been intentionally nondescript, even borderline decrepit. Cracked bricks, peeling paint, busted security lights hanging by frayed wires. It was meant to be invisible—just another forgotten structure in an industrial dead zone, the kind of place cops didn't look twice at. But now... now it looked like someone had erased the past and built a new identity over its bones.
My eyes narrowed as I took it all in. The exterior had been power-washed and painted a deep slate gray, clean lines giving it an almost corporate feel. The rusted roll-up doors were replaced with reinforced panels bearing a discreet logo: B.P. Technologies—black font on brushed silver signage. The name alone made my brow knit in confusion. I'd never heard of it. Not until now.
The cracked pavement in the rear lot had been repaved—clean asphalt with painted lines and numbered spaces, like an actual employee lot. Low LED floodlights mounted on newly installed metal poles cast a sterile glow across the concrete. Security cameras blinked from the corners of the building, and fresh fencing ran along the edge of the property, electrified by the look of the warning signs. What used to be a back entrance with a single rusted door was now a steel security checkpoint with reinforced double doors and a mounted keypad scanner glowing red.
