Girls Love Beyoncé

85

THIRD POINT OF VIEW

Onika sat low in the passenger seat, hood up, quiet as the car crept down the block. Waka was driving, tapping the wheel with his ring, humming like he wasn't steering straight into enemy territory.

"You sure about this?" he asked, smirking but his eyes cutting toward her like he already knew the answer.

Onika didn't flinch. "Yeah. They gotta see me."

The car rolled slow, tires crunching glass. Streetlights flickered overhead. Across the street, the Kings were lined up outside their spot like a wall posted, watching, smoking, a couple cleaning their pieces right there in the open.

No smiles.

Waka let out a low whistle. "They deep tonight."

"Not deep enough." Onika adjusted her jacket, sliding her phone into her pocket. She could feel the stares burning holes through the tinted glass.

One of the Kings stepped forward as Waka parked—tall, dreads, chewing a toothpick like he'd been waiting. He didn't move until Onika and Waka stepped out.

"Is that a bitch?" one of the Kings hollered from the back, laughing.

Onika adjusted her jacket once, face straight. She'd been working on her anger, but this? This had her tight. The Kings talked, loud and sloppy, but all she could hear was the rush in her ears when she spotted her.

Jhene.

Pressed up against one of the King's sides, laughing at something he said. Her eyes flicked up once, just enough to catch Onika's, then slid away like nothing.

Playing her role perfectly. Knowing damn well if the Kings caught a hint of what she was really on, or if Onika slipped up and let her temper talk for her, that would be a bullet through her head.

Onika wanted to clear the street, have a shoot-out right here and now just to rip her off his arm. But she knew better.

Knew Jhene wasn't hers—not here, not tonight. She'd get her back later. She just had to stay tucked a few more days, keep her cover tight, and then it would all be over.

Onika adjusted her stance again, steady. She didn't blink. Didn't let the Kings see what she was really watching. But in her head, it was already written Jhene wasn't theirs.

She was coming home.

"This ain't your block," the man in front said, voice low, steady.

Onika met his stare, calm but sharp. "Shit, it ain't yours either." She tilted her head.

The man looked her up, down, side to side, then barked a laugh. "Then whose is it? Last time I checked, we run this shit." He stepped up slow, trying to tower.

"That's how you felt while I was out getting money," Onika smirked, wiping her nose quick. "But I'm home now."

"And who even are you? Aye, y'all know this bitch?" he asked, glancing back at the Kings. Heads shook. Nobody knew who they were really pressing.

A while ago, Onika had bark with no bite. But running with Polito? With the people she ran with now? She had more than bite. She had teeth. And she knew how to sink them.

"You ain't gotta know me. I prefer it that way." Her tone dropped, deadly. "But you niggas need to get off my corner before your new color turns red."

He pointed right at her chest, then at Waka standing beside her smirking. "And who gon' make us? Your skinny ass and this nigga?"

His crew erupted, rowdy, clowning Onika and Waka like it was comedy hour.

Onika let them. Patient. Bored, even. She waited until their noise choked itself out—then a single green beam lit up the leader's chest.

Silence.

"This your problem," Onika said, chuckling as she stepped back. "You niggas run your mouth but don't pay attention."

One by one, more beams danced across their shirts. Red dots. Green dots. Sliding over every King in sight. Car doors clicked open up and down the street—silhouettes stepping out, heavy, ready. Onika's people. They'd been here. Sitting quiet, watching. Days. Weeks.

The Kings thought this was their block. They were just borrowing it.

Onika's smirk widened as she tilted her chin.
"This your block? My people been sitting on it all day." More lights sparked across their chests, more movement from blacked-out cars.

It was finally silent—exactly how Onika wanted it.

"Imma ask again. This your block?" she stepped up with a daunting smirk.

He was silent, on edge. Didn't know who he was messing with, and Onika liked that. She enjoyed it.

"Get off my corner," she said flatly, waving him off.

He clenched his fist but didn't move. Windows rolled down, people sitting out of them, barrels shining underneath the streetlight. He finally stepped back, and Onika nodded.

They all cursed, mad that this was their reality—moving back, clearing the block exactly as she told them. She walked back to the car just as Waka slid into his seat.

Onika looked back one last time, her and Jhene catching eyes. Onika threw up two fingers, then got in the car. Waka pulled off swiftly, his burnout sounding like bullets.

"That went well," Waka said, which made her chuckle.

"They're gonna want it back. Somebody's gonna end up paying for that shit. I know how it feels to be beneath a motherfucker. Shit don't feel good," she said, checking her phone.

There were messages from Beyoncé that surprised her slightly. It sounded like she really needed Onika. She shot her a text back, letting her know she'd be right over.

"I think I need to go make sure Jordyn is straight, she keeps—" Waka spoke, but ringing cut him off. He answered the phone, putting it on speaker.

"You and Nikki need to head over to the warehouse now. There's a new drop of guns, but apparently someone's skimping us," her uncle's thick accent filled the speakers, leaving the pair with a heavy sigh.

"We got it. We'll be right over," Waka said, hanging up. They didn't say another word as they drove straight to the warehouse.

—

Thoughts?

Onika?

Waka?

The third ward kings?

Hang on tight 😚

Juthescientist 😍