Five Minutes

Zion POV

I didn’t come here because she was here, but finding out she would be here changed the night completely. I came here to handle business. A lot of people don’t know Avalanche is a business we use to clean money. I don’t come here often, and I usually don’t handle business here. But too many things are moving around me, and I don’t like that. I don’t like not knowing. Don’t like feeling like something is shifting around me without my say, especially not with the Serranos testing my territory and my name.

I sit in my office with my captain, who handles my Queen’s distribution. “Tell me something that won’t piss me off, Gregory,” I say, lighting a blunt. The lighter flicks once… twice… before the flame catches. I take my time pulling in the smoke, letting the silence stretch just enough to make him uncomfortable.

“Zion, we’ve been trying to keep the territory on lock, but the Serranos are popping off, my guys,” he says.

King stands at the door, ready for the signal. Still. Silent. Watching everything. He don’t move unless I say so.

Most people think I’m the one they need to worry about, but when I send my brother, they know I’m not playing.

“What are you doing to retaliate, and why did it take for King to go get my money for me to hear about this?” I say, voice calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that makes a man start second-guessing every breath he takes.

Me calm is never good.

“Zion, I was trying to make the money back before I came to you. I didn’t want to come to you if I didn’t have your money,” he says, fear in his voice. His fingers twitch. Eyes dropping. He already knows how this ends, because I don’t let things slide. Not when it comes to my money. Not my product. Not anything that belongs to me.

I stand slowly and walk around the desk. No rush. Let him sit in it. Let it build.

“Now not only do you not have my money, but you also don’t have my product,” I say, leaning against the desk. Close enough now that he can feel me. The smoke. The pressure.

“So you’re now in the hole. How much, King?” I say, not taking my eyes off Gregory.

“With all the product and the money for the re-up, 875,000,” he says.

“Now you owe me 875,000, and I got people stealing my product and trying to take what belongs to me,” I say. I click my tongue. Slow. Sharp. The sound cuts through the room like a warning.

“I got it" I say snapping my fingers. "I’m going to give somebody else Queens, and I’m going to use you to prove a point. Don’t fuck with my money, and don’t fuck with my product,” I say, walking over to King.

He hands me a knife. Cold metal settles in my palm like it belongs there. Familiar. Easy.

I walk up behind him, pull his head back, and slice his throat straight across. A wet choke leaves his mouth. Blood spills fast—too fast—hitting the floor in heavy drops. His body jerks once… twice… then goes still.

“Get somebody in here to clean this up,” I say, walking to the closet to grab a change of clothes.

Like this was nothing. Like he was nothing—because in my world, people are only as valuable as what they bring me.

My phone rings in my pocket. I wipe my hands on a rag and answer.

“Talk to me,” I say.

“Zion, Imani is here,” Ghost says.

A smile breaks out on my face. Slow. Real. The only real thing I’ve felt all night, everything else just business.

“King, go make my presence known to her,” I say, walking toward the bathroom.

After I change my clothes, I walk to the window and watch the moment she sees King.

The fear that flashes across her face is exactly what I need. That slight pause in her body. The way her shoulders stiffen. The way her eyes move too fast, scanning. Yeah… she feels me—same way people do when they know they just stepped into something they can’t control.

I want her to fully understand that she can’t run from me.

This is my city; no one moves here without me knowing, and nothing happens without my knowledge.

I stand and watch her take four shots back to back. Her throat works with each one. Too fast. Like she’s trying to burn me out of her system. It won’t work. It never does.

Alcohol won’t help you escape me, Imani.

I notice her outfit and how much she’s grown. The curve of her back. The way that pink sits on her skin. My jaw tightens without me telling it to.

I think back to the first time I met her—she was eleven.

She was mine from that day forward.

During my teenage years, I spent more time at Jalen’s house just to be around her. I forced King to be her friend so I could know everything about her. Every move. Every friend. Every little detail she thought nobody noticed.

Yeah, she has a twin, but Imani has a different energy about her, and I felt it at fifteen.

I’ve had my share of relationships, just as I let her have hers.

But Imani was always mine, same way everything in this city eventually falls in line.

I let Jalen think I respected his little rule, but truth be told, I’m Zion Carter—I do what I want.

A Spanish man walks up to her and says something that catches her attention.

I don’t like that.

He says something to her, then they walk onto the dance floor.

My jaw tightens, and my teeth grind. A slow crack in my control.

Who the fuck is this man, and why is he moving like he doesn’t know whose floor he’s standing on?

She must feel my stare because she looks right at me through the window.

I see it—the same fear she had when she looked at me that night.

Good.

You should be scared.

He says something to her, she responds, then he looks up to the window and makes eye contact with me, giving a look like he knows me.

My fingers twitch at my side. That… I don’t like. Not one bit.

And that’s a problem because nobody should ever know me, and I don’t know them.

She turns away from me and starts dancing with him, and my fists clench at my sides as I try to control the anger rising inside me. My chest tightens. Breathing slower… heavier… like I’m holding something back that wants out.

I pull out my phone and call King.

“Yeah,” he answers on the first ring.

“Find out who he is,” I say.

Silence.

“I’m on it,” he replies before ending the call.

I go to her contact in my phone and send her a message:

[Stop letting another man touch what’s mine, Imani.]

I watch her jump when she sees the message. Her whole body flinches. There it is. Same reaction, same panic. Like nothing about me changed in her head.

She pulls out her phone to check it, then drops it.

Her fingers shaking.

The guy picks it up and hands it to her.

She continues dancing with him.

Like she’s testing me.

She thinks I won’t teach her a lesson just because we’re in public.

Got it.

I like when people test me.

I lean closer to the glass, my reflection staring back at me—cold, steady. Decided.

“Five minutes,” I murmur, already turning away from the window.

I grab my jacket, my steps slow… controlled… but there’s nothing calm about what’s coming next.

Because if I get down there…

and his hands are still on her—

somebody’s not walking out of Avalanche tonight—

and it won’t be me teaching the lesson twice.