A/n: barelyyy proofread
———
Y/n's POV
Houston, Texas
____
It ain't been three weeks since I got on with Mr. Knowles, and already this nigga callin' me up to the big house like I done somethin' wrong. Shit felt like a trap, but I ain't flinch. I don't do all that nervous shit. You move like you scared, niggas treat you like you food and I ain't never been no plate.
I pulled up clean though. Chain tucked. Glock left in the whip 'cause I'm tryna show respect. This his turf. His rules.
The maid let me in. Big ass house smellin' like fresh wood polish and expensive ass cologne. Paintings on the walls, marble floors, them old school Black family portraits that let you know they really built this shit. I followed her down the hallway, hands stuffed in my pockets, chewing on the corner of my lip like I ain't halfway starved from skipping lunch.
She knocked once. "Mr. Knowles, she's here."
"Send her in."
Door opened. Man was already sittin' behind this heavy ass desk, fingers steepled like a nigga been waitin' to grill me.
"Y/n." He said, lookin' me dead in the eye. "You know why you here?"
I stepped in, leaned back into the door to close it with a soft click. "Not really, sir. But I figured it ain't for small talk."
He gave me that cold ass grin. "You funny, huh?"
"Nah." I shrugged, still standin'. "Just honest."
"Sit." He gestured to the chair across from him.
I sat, leaned back, legs slightly apart, hands still tucked. No tension in my shoulders. I wasn't gon' give him the satisfaction of catchin' me off balance.
"I got eyes on you." He started, voice low and firm. "You move quiet. Don't talk much. But when I asked you to take care of that situation on Lyons Ave, I noticed it was handled quick."
"Yeah. Wasn't nothin'."
"Nothin'?" He raised a brow. "You took out two niggas, sent a message, and still made it to your shift on time."
I grinned. "Efficiency."
He chuckled, just a lil' bit. "That's what I need. But this next one ain't clean like that. It's messy. Real messy. You gon' have to follow orders, no shortcuts. I'm givin' you a chance to prove yourself again."
I nodded. "Say less. Just send me what I need."
He leaned forward. "This ain't no corner shit. You understand? This ain't hustlin' lil' dimebags or settlin' street beef. This is grown folks business. You fumble, you don't just die. People you care about do too."
"Yeah." I said, voice low. "I know."
We were locked in, eyes sharp. He must've seen it. Whatever he was lookin' for in me, 'cause the tension in his jaw loosened up.
And that's when the door creaked open again.
"Daddy?"
I turned my head, slow.
Damn.
Lil' mama was in some black sweats and a matching cropped cami, honey blonde hair down her back, skin glowin' like she just stepped off a Neutrogena commercial. She was fine, but not the loud type. Real soft around the eyes, lips glossy, voice sweet as syrup.
"Oh." She said, surprised, eyes landing on me. "Hi."
I tilted my chin up just a lil'. "What's good."
She smiled, warm and wide.
