Page 23 of The Price of My Sins

I looked up at him then, throat tight. There was more, and it was time I stopped running from it. I leaned back in my chair, eyes locked on the ceiling for a second like the answers were written up there in bullet holes.

They weren’t.

It took me a minute to find the words. The kind of truth I was about to speak wasn’t easy to say—not because I was ashamed, but because once it left my mouth, there was no stuffing it back in. There would be no pretending it hadn’t happened, but I owed them the truth, so I told them everything.

From the first time I saw my father’s fist crack across my mother’s face to the way she’d cover for him over and over again, keeping her bruises hidden under long sleeves and silence. I told them about the night it all went down. The yelling. The blood. The gun in my hand. I revealed everything, including the moment I pulled the trigger.

I told Deuce and Boston how my mother stood over my father’s body without hesitation and said it was her instead of me. How my mother took the charge before the cops even asked a question. How I watched the only person who ever protected me walk out in cuffs so I could have a life she never did. By the time I finished, the room was still—thick with the kind of quiet that comes when people aren’t just listening—they’re feeling it. I sat back, chest still tight and throat burning more than before I revealed my truth.

Finally, Deuce exhaled through his nose and looked me dead in the eye. “Damn, Bo,” he said, voice low. “You've been carrying this shit this whole time?”

I nodded once, face rigid.

Deuce shook his head slowly. “That ain’t no weight a kid should’ve ever had to carry. You were just a boy… and your pops…” He paused, his eyes dark. “That wasn’t no man. That was a coward who had power over the wrong people.” He walked closer and dropped into the chair across from me. “And your moms…” He tapped his chest. “She’s a real one, my nigga. Took that bid so you could breathe free. I would’ve done the same for my kids and my wife. You don’t owe her your guilt. That wasn’t your burden to hold alone. Not then. Not now.”

I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until he said it. I felt like a weak nigga right now, and I hated it.

Deuce leaned in, his voice steady but firm. “Whatever comes next—whatever that crooked-ass detective tries to pull—you ain’t facing it alone. We locked in. Ten toes… no matter how deep this shit gets. So, what’s the move?”

I exhaled, eyes dark with resolve. “I need to get my mother out of that prison. Now. If Reggie’s got something up his sleeve, he might try to come at her next, and I’m not letting that happen.”

“Say less.” Boston stepped forward, already pulling out his phone. “Give me a day or two. I got some weight in some corners that I’m tapped into. If there’s a string to pull, I’ll find it. We’ll shake the tree ’til something breaks.”

Deuce nodded, jaw set. “While you handle that, I’m about to hit up Tariq. I need everything on this detective and that Josh nigga.”

“Let’s shake some shit up. It’s been a minute since I killed a nigga or two.”

“That’s because you've been under Denim’s ass.” Deuce joked, causing me to relax my face slightly.

“Fuck you, nigga!” Boston sounded before we all let out hearty laughs.

The lights hit me hard, blinding and hot, but I fed off the heat like it was oxygen. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floor, matching the rhythm of my hips as I moved across the stage as if I owned it. And I did at that moment, for every eye in the room was on me, and every dollar in the air was because of me.

However, as I danced, what usually had me on a natural high had me feeling off. My body was moving through the motions, but my spirit was somewhere else entirely.

The crowd was loud, the music was perfect, and the money was flying, but none of it hit the same. Usually, I felt electric, powerful, and untouchable. The way the lights caught my skin, the way the bass synced with my heartbeat, the way the crowd fed off every turn of my hips—the club was mine.

Tonight, I didn’t want it, though. It felt like a performance I wasn’t even in. I was watching myself from a distance, trying to remember why this ever made me feel alive in the first place, but deep down, I knew what was missing.

He was missing.

He wasn’t there in his usual spot, smoking his cigar with his eyes locked on me like I was the only thing worth watching in the room. That quiet intensity of his always lit something in me,even when we were at odds. But now, all I felt was the echo of that space he used to fill. No amount of stage lights or these wrinkled-up bills could replace it.

Snapping back to reality, I hit the last spin slowly and let my back arch. My heels clicked hard against the polished stage as I dropped low and gave them one final look over my shoulder. I walked off that stage like it owed me something. My exit echoed down the narrow hallway that led backstage. The buzz of the club faded behind me, replaced by the murmur of dancers talking and laughing, music muffled behind the walls.

I headed straight toward the dressing room, needing space to breathe and shake off whatever cloud was sitting heavy on my chest. But I didn’t even make it through the door before I spotted Bambi. She was posted up against the wall next to my area. It was evident she’d been waiting for me.

“You swear you the shit,” she said, her eyes beaming with envy.

I stopped mid-step, letting my eyes trail over her without emotion. “I see that ass-whipping ain’t do nothing to stop that mouth. All that hateration doesn’t look good on you, sis!” I cackled. “There’s only one Storm in this bitch. You’re just a fake runner up.”

“Psst! Please. Ain’t nobody hating on you. Why would I? I done fucked both your niggas. I say… we’re close to being sister wives.”

I raised an eyebrow, then smiled like she just told me a bedtime story. “Aw, that’s cute. You want a medal? A T-shirt? Sounds like you out here handing out that stretched-out pussy like Pokémon cards. Bitch, you for the streets.”

Bambi sucked her teeth and took a step forward, but I didn’t flinch and instead continued with my read. “You think screwing niggas I been with makes you the winner? Nah, sweetheart. It makes you desperate. See… when a man loves a woman, noamount of backseat hookups or drunk decisions can erase her from his heart. That’s why you’re standing here mad, and I’m still the one with the crown. You got five seconds to walk away, Bambi,” I said coolly, adjusting my robe. “Because if you say the wrong thing next, we gon’ repeat history. And this time, ain’t nobody here to break that shit up.”

She stood there frozen, jaw tight, nails twitching like she wanted to swing but knew better. Kissing her teeth, she turned on her heels and left the dressing room.

---