“Use me. I’ll do it. One time and then you’re done. Then we plan this wedding, and you put this Crew shit behind us. You go legit.”

Isa stood and unlocked the cuff, then went right back down to his knees as he lingered between her thighs as she sat on the edge of the bed. She put her hands on his face, and Isa tried once more to offer her the blunt. She took it in this time, eyes lowering a bit before she exhaled it in his face.

“Absolutely not,” Isa protested. “Fuck I look like using my girl on a lick? You use bitches that are expendable. Bitches who you willing to toss in the fire.”

“Then it’s not happening, because you bring any other woman around for the sake of”—Aria put her fingers up in air quotes—“business and I’m done. I’m not having it.”

Isa blew out a breath of frustration and massaged his forehead as his eyes closed.

“This is exactly what I feel every time you walk out the door,” Aria explained. “We take the risks together from now on. It’s me and you. I’ll be fine, Isa. Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Ethic and Hendrix occupied the small space of the holding cell. They didn’t speak as they faced off. Ethic dragged a slow hand down his beard before rolling forward, leaning onto his knees as he shook his head. He had been filtering his words for the past hour. He was trying his hardest to withhold the buildup of anger that he was feeling in this moment. Hendrix was the second young boy he had given a chance. Somehow they always disappointed him. He cuffed his knuckles, keeping his hands busy to avoid wringing Hendrix’s neck. This second time was supposed to be different. This mentoring of sorts was supposed to work. He had tried to do things differently this time around, yet things had still ended in disaster. He had to stop getting his heart involved with these young boys. They didn’t value what he tried to teach them enough to put action behind the lesson. When Ethic saw the silver bracelets close around Hendrix’s wrists, his heart broke. His own arrest, he could handle that. He could beat that case like Ike beat Tina. His lawyer was on speed dial. He had no worries about that, but Hendrix … the loyal, witty, smart, and finessing-ass little nigga Henny had gotten caught red-handed with product and a loaded, unregistered weapon on him. He knew there was no walking away from that unscathed. Another good one lost to a cold world with a fucked-up system, and Ethic’s soul was crying.

“What you have on you?” he finally asked, voice low, but the disappointment was loud.

“A quarter,” Hendrix answered, head leaned against the wall.

Two hundred and fifty fentanyl pills.