Not This Time

Zion POV

She walked away from me again.

Again. Like it’s a habit. Like I’ve been letting it happen.

I don’t hesitate; I remain standing in the middle of the dance floor while everyone moves around me as if nothing happened moments ago. Bodies brush past me, music builds back up, lights flash, but none of it touches me. The room moves… I don’t.

“You know she was shaking like that because she’s scared of you right,” King says.

I ignore him and nod, once, slow, not thinking about that.

She left without permission.

That’s the only part that matters.

I glance toward the exit a second too long, before finally heading back to the office.

Once inside, I sit on the couch as Omari and Jalen walk in, their faces tense, probably more bullshit I don’t need now. The door shuts behind them with a quiet click that feels louder than it should.

I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Ghost.

“Are you where you’re supposed to be?” I ask when he answers.

“Yeah, boss, she’s still in her cab,” he replies.

Good. Right where I want her.

“You know your assignment,” I say, ending the call. No hesitation. No explanation. He already knows.

Ghost is called that for a reason, you can always feel him watching, but you never see him.

Same way Black Kings moves. You don’t see us coming, you just feel it when it’s already too late.

She told me she doesn’t belong to me and walked away, leaving me standing here.

In my club. In my city.

She’s been gone four years, four years of letting her believe she had space, that distance meant something.

And now, this is what she does with it.

Runs. Again.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, holding it there a second longer than needed, then acknowledge Omari and Jalen.

“What happened?” I ask slowly as King slips back into the office.

“One of our safe houses was robbed, and the warehouse in Far Rockaway was hit, too,” Jalen says, his voice tight, controlled, but barely.

That wasn’t just business. That was Black Kings territory.

Someone is fucking with me.

I don’t know if it’s Matteo again or Victor, but someone’s got to pay for all this shit being fucked with.

“What was in the warehouse?” I ask, standing and pouring myself a drink.

The liquor hits the glass harder than it should. I don’t slow it down.

I take a sip and set the glass down, resting my hands on the desk, leaning over.

“What was in the warehouse?” I ask again.

Nobody responds.

I turn slowly, glaring at both of them.

Slow. Deliberate. Let it drag. Let them sit in it.

“Did your ears suddenly stop working?” I demand, my voice calm but commanding.

The silence drags out, no one wants to say it aloud.

Jalen exhales sharply. “The rest of the shipment, weapons,” he finally states.

My jaw tightens as numbers race through my mind, the loss, how much it cost me.

How much someone thinks they can take from me… and still breathe.

“How many people knew about that warehouse?” I press.

Again, silence.

There it is.

That tells me everything I need to know.

“Only a handful of people,” Omari admits.

“So, I got a rat in the ranks,” I say bluntly.

And in Black Kings, betrayal isn’t a mistake, it’s a death sentence.

“King, find them. Bring them to me, and find out who took my shit.”

Use the club. Use the Kings. I don’t care how you do it, just bring them breathing.

I pick up my glass, swirling it in my hand.

The ice clinks. Slow. Controlled. The only sound in the room.

“Get out,” I command, and they all turn to leave.

“King, stay,” I order before he departs.

I study his face, among all my brothers, King is the most like me.

Which means if something’s off, I’ll see it before he says a word.

“What do you know?” I ask.

“The guy she was dancing with, he works for the Serranos. His name’s Lorenzo,” he replies.

I grip my glass tighter.

Too tight. The pressure building in my palm.

“What else?” I demand.

“She scared,” he says.

My jaw flexes. Once. Hard.

“I’ll handle it. Go,” I assert.

Listening to the door shut, I throw my glass against the wall.

It shatters on impact, sharp, loud, final. Glass scattering across the floor like a warning.

It’s time to remind everyone who the fuck I am.

Too many are getting too comfortable, disrespecting me, and moving around me like I’m weak.

Like Black Kings isn’t still running this city.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

Ghost.

[She’s home.]

I stare at the message for a second… then lean back slowly.

Because she really thinks distance means something.

That leaving… changes anything.

It doesn’t.

My thumb hovers over the screen on her name then I type.

[You ran again.]

I hit send.

Because this time… I’m not letting her.