The Qat Widow | NEON LIT

The qat business killed Geedi Hassan.

Rivals. A bullet to the chest. They never found who did it.

His widow, Hawo, took over.

Forty-nine years old. Thick. Ruthless. Everyone expected her to sell the business, run away, crumble. Instead, she expanded.

Now she needs security.

That's where I come in.

"You were military," she says, reviewing my file in her office.

"Marines. Two tours."

"Mashallah." She looks up. "You can kill?"

"If necessary."

"Good." She sets down the file. "My husband's killers are still out there. I need someone who can protect me."

"I can protect you."

"Day and night?"

"Twenty-four seven."

She studies me. I study her back.

Two hundred and forty pounds of criminal enterprise. Wide hips. Heavy breasts. Sharp eyes that have seen her husband buried and her enemies defeated.

"The job is seven days a week. You live with me. Follow me everywhere." She stands. "Can you handle that?"

"Haa."

"Then you're hired." She extends her hand. "Welcome to the family business."

Living with Hawo is an education.

She works constantly—meetings, calls, shipments. The qat flows from Kenya to Minneapolis like clockwork. She commands her network with iron authority.

And at night, she's alone.

I sleep in the next room. Hear her pacing. Sometimes crying.

"You're awake," she says one night, appearing in my doorway.

"Security doesn't sleep."

"Neither do widows." She sits on the edge of my bed. "Geedi was a bastard, you know. Cheated constantly. Beat me when I complained."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. His death was... liberation." She looks at me. "But also imprisonment. I'm trapped in his business. His enemies. His legacy."

"You could walk away."

"And go where? Do what?" She laughs bitterly. "This is all I have. This xaaraan business. This empty bed."

"It doesn't have to be empty."

She freezes.

"Warya—"

"You hired me to protect you. Day and night." I reach for her hand. "Let me protect you from the loneliness too."

She doesn't resist.

Doesn't fight when I pull her onto the bed. Doesn't argue when I undress her.

"This is crossing a line," she whispers.

"Lines are drawn to be crossed."

She melts against me.

Her body is a fortress.

Heavy breasts built for nurturing. Soft belly marked with survival. Wide hips that have carried the weight of an empire.

"No one has touched me like this," she says as I worship her. "Geedi was rough. Quick. Didn't care about my pleasure."

"I care."

I prove it.

I bury my face between her thick thighs.

She screams.

"ILAAHAY!" Her hands grab my hair. "What are you—ALLA—"

I lick her slowly. Give her what her husband never did.

"Coming—" She's shaking. "I'm coming—ALLA—"

She explodes.

"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—please—"

I position myself.

"Ready?"

"Haa."

I thrust inside.

She screams.

Her walls grip me—tight, wet, years of neglect making her impossibly snug.

"Alla—so big—you're filling me—dhammaan—"

I start to move.

I fuck the criminal kingpin.

The widow of my employer. My boss. Her massive body bounces beneath me.

"Dhakhso—faster—" She wraps her legs around me. "Give me what he never did—"

I pound her.

The bed slams against the wall. She screams and screams.

"Coming—" Her eyes roll back. "Ku shub—fill me—"

I let go.

I flood Hawo.

Fill her where her husband never satisfied her. She moans as she feels it.

We lie tangled together, gasping.

"Macaan," she breathes. "Best hire I've ever made."

"This complicates things."

"Everything is complicated." She pulls me for a kiss. "But this—this is simple. You protect me. I need you."

"Day and night?"

"Day and night." She straddles me again. "Starting now."

Two Years Later

The business is booming.

Rivals eliminated. Territory expanded. Hawo Hassan controls more qat than her husband ever did.

And I control her nights.

"Macaan," she moans, as I take her. "My bodyguard. My soldier. My man."

Security has many forms.

Some require weapons.

Others require something else entirely.