Power (Romantic Suspense) by Kenya Wright

but Domingo had grown up in a two-bedroom apartment in the projects. Not only did his mother and three sisters live there, but his grandmother, uncle who was in and out of jail, and a pregnant cousin that had nowhere to go.
    Even with all the money that we were making, Domingo still didn’t have his own place. By then, he’d been taking care of them all and bunking at his main chick Vivian’s place at night.
    Domingo continued, “Yeah. Do something nice with this. Don’t let it fall into waste, man. That would break my heart.”
    I opened my eyes and turned his way. “Are you really serious?”
    “Hell fucking yes.”
    Rasheed still held the blunt. The greedy bastard had never followed the proper rules of a weed cipher—puff, puff, and pass. If anything, he had to be forced to give the blunt back.
    Too high to care that evening, I let him babysit the ganja as an idea bloomed in my head. “How many months is Vivian?”
    “Four months.” Domingo shifted into his nervous habit, fucking with that stupid silver cross hanging around his neck. “And with each month, she becomes even more of a bitch.”
    “But you love her.” I laughed.
    “Yeah. She’s still a bitch, though.”
    “Man, you’re about to be a father.” I blew out a long breath. “What are you going to do?”
    “I’m caking money now. That’s why we got to do that big bust man. Take some people down. Make some power moves.”
    “I don’t know,” I said.
    “Yeah. You don’t know, because you’re the only one getting rich.”
    “What are you talking about? You were just bragging about your pinky ring.” I didn’t like the topic reverting to that again, but I couldn’t ignore it. “I get the same cut like everyone else. I just have less mouths to feed.”
    Domingo and Rasheed’s families lived in poverty. Every relative had their hand out, begging for something. Mom and Dad expected nothing from me. I still gave them a lot, but it didn’t compare to my friends’ troubles.
    “Let’s do this bust,” Domingo continued.
    “Naw.” I shook my head. “It’s not the right time.”
    “I got a kid on the way.”
    “And I have a better idea.” I stuck my hands in my pockets and slung the house keys over to him. “Take the house. It’s yours. I’ll put everything in your name.”
    Domingo didn’t even pick up the keys from his lap. I thought he would’ve been overjoyed. Instead his gaze went dark. “I ask you about doing a deal and you try to have my first child grow up in a hand-me-down house?”
    The room went still. Rasheed continued to smoke, glancing at both of us.
    I checked the distance from my hand to the gun. Three feet at the most. Domingo’s weapon was next to mine. We both had a good chance to grab it before the other. It would be the Wild Wild West, if anyone rushed for their pieces.
    Domingo and I stared at each other. No peace or calm remaining between us. Sometimes a man didn’t have to utter words to get a point across. Sure, we’d just been smoking and reminiscing, but we’d also been through a lot. The biggest thing that differentiated the three of us was when it came time for someone to kill, it was usually my finger pulling the trigger.
    I never complained. Like the allure of the streets, I’d earned an appetite for murder. Rasheed kept score of our kills on a dingy board in the back of his garage.
    Rasheed: 3
    Domingo: 2
    Noah: 25
    It was that very reason no one ever disrespected me, in anyway.
    My voice went cold. “Pick those keys up and say thank you.”
    Domingo’s mouth didn’t move, but his hands did. They shook in fear and told me all I needed to know.
    “We don’t do the bust, because the streets are hot and our names are already on too many lips.” I rose from the chair, grabbed my gun, and cocked it. “We don’t do the bust, because the men we killed were supposed to be untouchable, but I fucking touched them, and now they’re dead. Their men are going to be looking for the people who did