I stood, cut the water on hot, just how she liked it. Burning hot. I stepped out, grabbed her pajamas, her pads, her witch hazel, her bonnet, her whole recovery kit. I came back and helped her into the water, slow and careful. And she let me, even though she wanted to do it herself.
“Thank you,” she whispered as I dried her off, towel warm from the heater vent.
“I got you for life.” I kissed her lips and let my hands slide down to her ass.
“Really, Seth?” she said, laughing a little, blushing through her fatigue.
I grinned. “I don’t give a fuck about those granny panties. You still the baddest I’ve ever laid eyes on and them pads lucky they closer to your pussy than I am.”
She shook her head, chuckling. “You so damn inappropriate.”
“Nah,” I said, pulling her into me, “I’m just in love with my wife.”
I helped her back into bed, adjusted her pillows and covered her up. She glanced at Shiloh asleep in the bassinet.
“You made a hit,” I said, staring at our son.
She reached for my hand. “We made a hit.”
She was out before she finished the sentence. The meds kicking in. I sat beside her, watching the two people I loved most in this world and all I could think was this world ain’t ready for the war I’m about to bring to its doorstep. They touched my family. They don’t get to walk away from that.
I sat in that plastic hospital chair and watched Stormi sleep like the whole world had finally agreed to shut up and let us be. My hands were fists half the time. Other times they shook like I’d been hit by the cold. I wanted to put a bullet through every motherfucker who’d had anything to do with her getting shot. I couldn’t believe Noah, her own brother, could be that lost, that disconnected from what was happening around him. Even when you grew up with gunfire as background noise, you check. You go see. You don’t keep walking like nothing happened.
“I’m supposed to be giving my wife the world, not watching her fight for her life,” I said, loud enough for the machines to hum around me.
Rich came in like thunder, eyes already on Shiloh sleeping in the bassinet. “Niggas gonna pay for this,” he said, hands stuffed in his jacket.
Rich was my brother in blood and business. We’d had more downs than ups, but we rode the same wave. When Stormistepped into our chaos, she fit like she’d always belonged. I’d never planned for family my plans were stacks, properties, the next move. Then she came and everything I once cared about changed. Now she was bleeding and those plans felt like they’d been torn to pieces.
“I’m disappointed in myself,” I said. “My wife and my son? Of all things to touch, Dre touched them.”
I stood too fast and the air felt thin. Hospital walls close in when you don’t want them to. I needed fresh air. I needed the night, the street, some place where I could let the animal out for a minute.
“Watch my family until I get back,” I told Rich and walked out before he could argue.
I dapped up southside and a nod to the boys posted outside. The hospital had eyes now. Word about the shooting hadn’t gotten out and I didn’t want any fucks thinking they could finish the job. I slid into the Denali; windshield fogged from the night air as I drove west.
By the time I hit the warehouse, the crew had the kind of calm that comes right before a storm. I killed the engine like it was an ordinary night and walked in like I owned the place which I did. The loading stopped, hands fell from straps, conversations died. Eyes came to me.
“Ten niggas,” I said.
Faces were blank. I kept walking until I stood in the middle of them and everything closed in on me; the smell of money, drugs and hungry niggas filled the air.
“I stand here surrounded by ten niggas who I don’t know if they want me dead or alive,” I said. “So, I’m gonna ask some simple questions.”
“Marco, what were you doing a week ago around six, seven?” I asked the door guard, making my voice neutral, casual like I was talking about the weather.
“Dinner time, man. Probably gettin’ a plate at my girl’s,” he said.
“Nix?” I turned to the other side. He smirked, joking, “A nigga like me was probably out jumpin’ some pussy,” like this was a joke and not his final minutes.
“How many of y’all cool with Dre?” I asked, slow. I watched faces like they were pages I could read.
Marco dropped his eyes. That movement spoke for him. I didn’t hesitate. One shot straight to the head. He went down with a dull, heavy thud that left an uneasy silence behind it. I felt something ease inside me for a second, like ripping off a bandage.
“A week ago, I was rushin’ my pregnant wife to the hospital after she was shot by Dre,” I said, voice flat. The warehouse swallowed the sound.
“Stormi,” some young kid piped up.
