The trap house was alive at one in the morning, its dingy walls pulsing with the bass of a cheap speaker and the haze of blunt smoke.
Davion sat slouched in a worn armchair in the corner, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on nothing. His boys were sprawled across the couches and milk crates, passing around a bottle of Hennessy and yapping about their latest licks with the casual arrogance of men who had never faced a real consequence in their lives.
"Nah, nah, listen," Rico said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his durag slightly askew. "This little college kid, right? Freshman. Baby face. Never smoked a day in his life. Comes to me looking for a dime bag, hands shaking like he's about to piss himself. I tell him the price, he pulls out like three dollars and a gift card to Applebee's. Three dollars! What am I supposed to do with three dollars?"
The crew laughed, a chorus of low, mean chuckles. "So what'd you do?" Marcus asked, passing the blunt.
"What do you think I did? Told him there's another way to pay. He looked confused for a second, then I grabbed him by the back of his little designer hoodie and bent him over the hood of my car. He was crying before I even got my pants down. Saying 'please sir, I've never done this before, I'm a virgin.'" Rico put on a high, mocking voice for the last part. "Like I give a fuck. We ran a train on him right there in the parking lot. All five of us. By the end he wasn't crying anymore. He was moaning and pushing back and asking for more. Greedy little slut. Gave him the weed after. Told him to come back when he needs more."
"Shit, you should've charged him extra for the lesson," Jamal said, shaking his head. "College kids need to learn how the real world works."
"Real world worked him over pretty good," Rico agreed, and the crew laughed again.
Marcus leaned back, scratching at the scar through his eyebrow. "That reminds me. My nephew turned eighteen last week. Little dude's been sheltered his whole life. Never been to a party, never had a drink, definitely never had his dick wet. So I told my Brother I was taking him out for a 'birthday dinner.'" He made air quotes with his fingers. "Took his ass straight to the Diamond Club."
"The strip joint downtown?" Rico asked, grinning. "The one with the femboys who do the special dances?"
"That's the one. Little man's eyes were about to pop out of his head the second we walked in. He didn't know where to look. Asses everywhere. Cocks. Lace. He was hard before we even sat down." Marcus took a long drag from the blunt, letting the smoke curl out of his mouth. "I bought him a private dance. Told the stripper to give him the full experience. You know, break him in proper."
"How long was he in there?"
"Fifty minutes. Fifty minutes! I thought he died. I was about to kick the door in when he stumbles out, pants around his ankles, covered in glitter and cum, looking like he'd just seen God. The stripper drained him dry. Literally. His legs were shaking so bad I had to carry him to the car. He passed out before we hit the freeway." Marcus shook his head, half proud, half amused. "Woke up the next day and texted me asking when we could go back. Little man's hooked now. I created a monster."
"You're a good uncle," Rico said, raising the bottle in a mock toast. "Teaching the next generation. That's what family's about."
"Family's about setting your nephew straight," Marcus agreed. "He was too soft. Needed to toughen up. Now he's a man."
Trey, who had been quiet for most of the night scrolling through his phone, finally spoke up. "Yo, you remember that old boy who used to run the corner store on Fifth? The one with the fat ass and the bad attitude?"
"The one who carded everyone even if they had gray hair?" Jamal asked.
"Yeah, him. He retired last month. Sold the store to some new guy. Real pretty boy type. Soft hands. Probably never worked a day in his life. I went in there yesterday to scope it out." Trey's grin turned sly. "Told him protection in this neighborhood ain't free. He tried to play dumb, said he didn't know what I was talking about. So I explained it to him. Slowly. With my hands."
"Bet he understood real quick," Rico said.
"Real quick. Bent him over the counter right next to the candy display. Fucked him so hard the Snickers bars fell off the rack. Told him that's the monthly fee. He was moaning and nodding and saying he'd have the money next time. But I ain't interested in money." Trey shrugged. "His ass is better than cash anyway."
The crew erupted into laughter and approval, fists bumping, bottles clinking. The stories continued, overlapping and escalating, each one trying to top the last. A femboy who got caught stealing and had to work off the debt in the back room. A professor from the community college who got jumped in the parking garage and ended up begging for more. The yapping was constant, a background noise of conquest and dominance that usually made Davion feel like a king.
But tonight Davion was silent. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair in a restless, agitated rhythm. The Hennessy bottle had passed him three times and he hadn't taken a single sip. His boys didn't notice. They were too busy reliving their victories, too caught up in their own hype to see the storm brewing behind their leader's eyes.
In his head, the scene played on a loop. The parking lot. The van. Kota's fist connecting with his jaw. The cold metal of the van against his cheek. The weight of Kota's body pinning him, holding him, overwhelming him. The feeling of that massive cock pressing against his ass through their pants. The way his own traitorous body had responded, his tiny cocklet hardening, his breath catching, his brain short circuiting into something he couldn't name and didn't want to examine.
He had lost. He had been overpowered. Pinned. Dominated. And some sick, twisted part of him had liked it. The memory made his skin crawl and his cock stir at the same time, a combination so confusing and infuriating that he wanted to punch a hole through the wall.
"Yo, Davion." Rico's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "You've been quiet all night, man. What's up? You still thinking about that flat ass nigga you beat down at the concert?"
Davion's head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "What?"
"The guy from the parking lot. The one who fucked your brother. You handled that shit, right? We heard the hits landing. Saw you walk away like a boss." Rico grinned and raised the bottle toward him. "You're a legend, man. That dude's probably still in the hospital."
The rest of the crew murmured agreement, nodding their heads, throwing out compliments about Davion's fighting skills and how they always knew he was the toughest guy on the block. Davion stared at them, his expression unreadable. They didn't know. They genuinely believed he had won that fight. The crowd, the phones, the broken window, they had seen what they wanted to see. The big bad Davion, undefeated, untouchable.
The lie sat heavy in his chest.
"We should celebrate," Marcus suggested, leaning forward. "I know a couple booty calls who've been asking about you. Real freaky ones. The kind who like it rough. We could link up, run a train, blow off some steam. Whatever's got you moody, that'll fix it."
"I'm good," Davion said flatly.
"Come on, man. When's the last time you got your dick wet? You've been sulking for days. A good fuck will clear your head."
Davion stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. The room went quiet. His boys stared at him, their expressions shifting from confusion to wariness. Davion's hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his chest heaving with breaths he was trying very hard to control.
"I said I'm good," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. Then he turned and walked out, slamming the trap house door behind him with enough force to rattle the windows.
The crew sat in silence for a moment. Then Rico shrugged. "He's probably just tired. You know how he gets."
"Give him a day," Jamal agreed. "He'll be back to normal."
They resumed their conversation, the stories picking up where they left off, Davion already forgotten.
The streets were empty at this hour, the streetlights casting long orange pools across the cracked asphalt. Davion walked with no destination in mind, his sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The anger was still there, simmering under his skin like a fever. He was pissed at his boys for being so stupid. Pissed at Magnus for getting throat fucked on camera and starting this whole mess. Pissed at Kota for humiliating him. And most of all, pissed at himself for the way his body had betrayed him in that moment against the van.
He turned a corner and collided with someone hard enough to send the other person stumbling backward. A college kid, by the look of him. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Neat sweater. Glasses slightly askew. His massive ass, barely contained by his tight jeans, jiggled with the impact.
"Watch where you're going!" the kid snapped, then looked up and saw Davion's face. His expression shifted instantly from annoyance to fear. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I wasn't looking—please don't—"
Davion moved before he could think. He grabbed the kid by the front of his sweater and shoved him hard against the brick wall of the nearest building. The kid's backpack fell off his shoulder and hit the ground with a thump. His glasses slipped further down his nose. His breath came in short, panicked gasps.
"You think you can just bump into me and walk away?" Davion growled, his face inches from the kid's. "You think you can talk to me like that?"
"I'm sorry! I said I was sorry! Please, I don't want any trouble—"
Davion's grip tightened on the sweater. The kid was trembling, his whole body shaking with fear. But then Davion's eyes dropped lower, and he noticed something. The kid's tight jeans were tented. His tiny cocklet was visibly hard, pressing against the denim. His cheeks were flushed, and not just from fear.
"What's this?" Davion's voice dropped, the anger shifting into something darker, more dangerous. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "You're scared. But you're also hard. You like this, don't you? You like being pushed around."
The kid opened his mouth, probably to deny it, but no words came out. His blush deepened, spreading down his neck. His cocklet twitched visibly against his jeans.
Davion's grin widened. He grabbed the kid by the wrist and dragged him toward the alley around the corner, the darkness swallowing them both.