The King I Can't Arrest

Chapter 8

Onyx

"Damn, O..." Tone breathes as the last note fades out.

He leans back behind the board, rubbing a hand over his bald head like he's still trying to process what he just heard.

I can see it in his face.

He felt that.

He was supposed to.

My chest's still tight from everything I bled into that track.

Grief.

Rage.

Guilt.

Love.

I haven't slept. Been locked in this studio all day chasing a sound that could do my brother justice.

And what came out?

Straight fuckin' fire.

"s**t heavy," Trigg mutters from the couch. "Vonn would've f****d with this."

I don't answer.

Because I already know he would've.

Tone taps a button, rewinding to the hook.

Javon's voice floods the room again—rough edges and all. Perfect in a way polishing would ruin.

"Drop this," Tone says after a beat. "Tonight."

I lift a brow, studying him.

"You serious?"

He holds my gaze.

"Deadass. You don't sit on somethin' like this. Not now. Not with everything that just happened."

He taps the board again, replaying the verse I laid down an hour ago.

My voice cuts through the speaker.

No pen.

No rehearsal.

Just everything sitting heavy in my chest with nowhere else to go.

Rawest freestyle I've ever spit.

Tone nods towards the monitors. "Pain like that don't age well. You either capture it while it's fresh... or you lose the truth of it."

Trigg nods slowly. "He's right, boss. Streets already talkin'. This'll hit hard as f**k if it drops while folks still feelin' that loss."

I lean back, dragging a hand over my jaw, stubble rough under my palm.

Part of me hates how right they sound.

The rest already knows this decision was made the second I hit record.

This ain't just a track.

It's a eulogy.

A warning.

A promise wrapped into one.

"You clear the sample?" I ask, my voice gravel from hours on the mic and no sleep.

Tone smirks. "Already handled. Hook's original anyway. Vonn wrote that s**t himself."

Of course he did.

That was his gift—turning hurt into something people could sing back.

I stare at the screen, the blinking cursor pulsing like a heartbeat waiting for mine to sync.

"Push it to the team," I say finally. "Cover art. Distribution. Everything."

Tone's fingers fly across the controls, already setting the wheels in motion.

"Title?" he asks.

I don't even have to think.

"Legacy."

The word lands heavy, filling the space between us like smoke.

I stand and pace, energy buzzing under my skin like I swallowed lightning.

"After this drops," Tone says, glancing up, "all eyes gon' be on you."

"They already are," I reply flatly.

That don't bother me.

What's the difference if a few more eyes start watching?

Either way... I'm still walking around with a target on my motherfuckin' back.

Tone claps his hands once. "Aight. Let's move."

Everything speeds up after that.

Phones out.

Laptops open.

Messages flying.

Trigg's already lighting up the label chat, typing like his life depends on it.

"Artwork in a few. Distribution ready."

Tone tweaks the mix again, shaping sound like it's something alive.

I don't sit.

Can't.

Not until this is done.

I pace the studio like a caged animal, burning off energy I can't kill.

Every few seconds, Vonn's voice cuts through again.

Hook.

Silence.

My verse.

Silence.

It's haunting.

Like he's still in the booth next door.

Like he might walk through that door any second, grinning, talking s**t, ready to get back to work.

Tone finally turns the monitor.

“Cover's in."

It's simple.

Black background.

A single gold chain laid across it.

Javon's name engraved on the pendant.

LEGACY—Onyx ft. Young Vonn.

My chest tightens.

"Cool?" Tone asks.

I nod once. "Run it."

One click.

That's all it takes.

The loading bar crawls across the screen.

Nobody breathes.

Then—

"Live," Trigg announces.

Just like that... it's out.

My phone starts vibrating immediately.

Then again.

Then nonstop.

Tone lets out a low whistle. "They been waiting on this."

I don't respond.

I'm watching numbers climb on the dashboard—hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands.

Already trending.

Minutes in.

My throat feels thick, like something's lodged in it that won't move.

"Congratulations," Tone says quietly.

Both him and Trigg are looking at me.

I shake my head. "Don't feel like that."

Because this ain't success.

It's a flare in the sky.

And somewhere out there...

The same motherfuckers who killed Vonn just heard it.

Which means they know I'm still coming.

And now?

So does the rest of the world.

Tone stretches, then claps me on the back. "Go home and get you some sleep, man."

A dry laugh leaves me.

Sleep.

Yeah.

Like that's even a f*****g option.

My mind's still moving too fast.

My pulse still locked in survival mode.

"I'll crash later," I mutter. "Still got moves to make."

He studies me like he wants to argue, but settles for a nod.

"Just don't burn yourself out, O. Vonn wouldn't want that."

That lands harder than anything else he's said tonight.

I nod once, grab my keys, and head for the door.

Trigg's already pushing himself off the couch to follow.

Sleep can wait.

What's coming next can't.

We make it halfway across the lot before security jogs toward us, radio buzzing on his shoulder.

"Yo, O."

I stop.

He jerks his chin toward the entrance. "Cops out front. Noise complaint... and they say somebody reported suspicious activity."

Trigg mutters, "Man, what the f**k now..."

I don't react.

Shit like this comes with the territory.

Red and blue lights strobe across the brick building as a patrol car idles near the gate.

Doors open.

Two uniforms step out.

And of fuckin' course—

It's her.

Officer Banks.

Her eyes catch mine—widen for a split second, then sharpen, suspicion snapping right back into place.

Officer Dustin Hayes climbs out beside her, scanning the lot like he's expecting trouble to jump out the shadows.

Trigg shifts closer. "You want me to handle it?"

I shake my head.

Normally, I'd let security deal with this.

Not tonight.

Since Ms. Officer came all the way out here, I might as well greet her myself.

I approach before they even make it to the door.

Banks stops a few feet short—posture rigid, expression locked down like she just ran into the devil.

"Evening, gentlemen," she says. Professional. Controlled. Careful. "We got a complaint about loud music and possible suspicious activity."

I glance back at the building. Then at her.

"You mean a studio makin' music?"

Her mouth presses into a thin line.

Hayes cuts in. "Anonymous caller said there's been traffic all night. Looked... unusual."

That's cap.

We been locked in since this morning, and Tone just pulled up an hour ago.

Trigg scoffs under his breath.

I ignore him, keeping my focus on her.

"So what exactly do you need from me, Officer?" I ask, my voice dropping just enough to test how steady she really is.

Something shifts in her eyes.

Not fear.

Resistance.

Curiosity tangled up with defiance.

My d**k twitches in response, hard enough to remind me that whatever she thinks of me... she's still the most dangerous thing standing in this lot.

The air tightens between us.

Like she's waiting to see who makes the first wrong move.

Then her jaw locks, snapping the tension clean in half.

Hayes starts talking again. She cuts him off without looking.

"Just making sure everything here's legitimate," she says evenly. "Mind explaining why you're out this late?"

I hold her gaze and let silence do the work.

Long enough for her to feel it.

Long enough to shift the balance back where it belongs.

"Workin'," I say finally. "Same as you."

She rolls her eyes. Slow. Unimpressed.

"Something tells me your version of work looks nothing like mine."

The corner of my mouth lifts.

Yeah.

She's got bite.

She catches it immediately and folds her arms. "You think this is funny?"

I shrug, knowing it'll only piss her off more.

"Never said that."

She studies me like she did back at the club.

Like if those pretty brown eyes burn into me long enough, something under my skin might crack.

It won't.

I don't break for people like her.

But my body doesn't give a damn about logic.

Heat slides low and sharp, blood running hot through me. My hoodie keeps my hard d**k out of sight, but I feel every slow pulse of it.

Fuck.

What the hell is it about this girl?

I deal with women on the daily.

None of them ever had me reacting like this.

Hayes shifts beside her, clearly uncomfortable with the silence stretching this long.

"Uh, look, man," he says, clearing his throat. "We just need to verify there's no illegal activity going on here."

I drag my gaze off her long enough to look at him.

Then back.

Because he's not the one holding my attention.

"You mind if we take a look inside?" Banks asks.

There it is.

That edge.

That need to assert control.

I c**k a brow. "You got a warrant?"

A muscle in her jaw ticks.

"No."

"Then you already know the answer."

One eye twitches—the only crack in that polished badge-and-backbone exterior.

Then she exhales slowly.

"Fine," she mutters. "We'll follow up if necessary."

Translation?

This ain't over.

At this point, it almost feels like Ms. Officer's looking for reasons to keep crossing paths with me.

Or digging into me.

Either way...

I don't hate the idea.

She turns first, that professional mask snapping back into place like nothing just passed between us.

Hayes lingers a beat, watching her walk away. I catch his eyes drop, tracking the sway of her ass before he follows.

Grimy motherfucker.

My jaw tightens as I watch her get back in the cruiser.

Until the engine turns over.

Until red and blue fade into the distance.

Trigg glances at me. "You good, man?"

I don't answer right away.

Because the truth?

No.

I ain't good.

But I don't get the luxury of falling apart.

Kings don't bleed where people can see it.

Not for enemies.

Not for ghosts.

And definitely not for a cop who looks at me like she's deciding whether to lock me up...

Or burn down with me.

"Yeah," I say finally. "I'm good."

But something in my gut says this just changed the game.

And next time we cross paths?

It won't be this simple.