“Oh, you and Monica a thing now?” I asked, tugging my own mask into place.
“Not officially. But she knows what it is.”
Fontaine nodded toward the house. “Ayo, look.”
A pretty dark-skinned woman stepped onto the porch with a baby balanced on her hip and headed straight for the Audi truck parked out front.
“This nigga got his girl coming in and out the trap?” Slim shook his head.
We all watched as she buckled the baby into the car seat and pulled off. Ain’t no way in hell I’d bring my girl—let alone a baby—into a spot that could get hit any second. That’s sloppy as fuck. But at least she left before we went in. No need to traumatize her more than she will be once I killed her bitch ass baby daddy.
We waited an extra ten minutes to make sure she didn’t double back. Thankfully, the block was dead. A few junkies were hanging around the bandos, but the Eastland Crew didn’t sell on this street, so we weren’t worried about lookouts.
“Aight, let’s move,” I said, popping the car door. The others slid out behind me—Slim and Jelani circled around to the back while Fontaine and I crept up the sagging porch.
Fontaine looked over at me as we took our positions on either side of the door.
Go time.
I stepped up and kicked the door off its flimsy hinges with my black Air Forces.
The music was blasting, so it took them a second to realize what was happening.
“What the?—”
I popped the one sitting closest to the door in the leg. He screamed, clutching his knee as blood soaked through his jeans. That got the attention of the other four, who were glued to the Madden game on the TV.
Daemon, the nigga I came for, reached for his strap just as Slim and Jelani stormed through the back of the house. Slim hit him over the head with his gun, knocking him out cold.
“Turn this shit down!” I barked.
Fontaine shot the Bluetooth speaker, which cut the noise instantly, minus the dude crying on the floor and the game still running on the TV.
Hands went up fast. They didn’t even try to put up a fight. Fucking pathetic.
“This y’all stash house?” I bunched up my face, scanning the room. The shit was trifling—it smelled like stale sweat and weed. Empty takeout containers and bottles of Olde English were scattered all over the carpet, which was crusted up with God knows what. It was trash like the niggas who ran it. “How the fuck y’all get anything done in here?”
Jelani clapped his hands and stepped into the middle of the room. “Here’s what’s finna happen. Y’all getting robbed today. Wasn’t the plan, but my girl’s mad I left early—and now I gotta buy her something nice to make up for it.”
“And your boss is dying,” I deadpanned.
I looked around. “Which one of y’all drove the day of the block party?”
They all turned to the dude I shot.
“Bet.” I raised my gun and put one in his head. Blood splattered on the wall behind him.
“Now, show him where the stash at,” I ordered, nodding at Jelani. “And starting today, we’re taking forty percent off everything y’all make.”
Two of them stood, visibly trembling. Jelani followed close behind with his gun trained on their backs.
Daemon groaned on the floor, starting to come to.
I nudged him with my foot. “Wakey, wakey, bitch.”
He blinked up at me, dazed. “The fuck is this?”
“A stick up,” I replied, nodding at Slim to grab him. He yanked Daemon off the floor and dumped him onto one of the filthy couches.
