The room went silent, because they all heard the part of me I kept tryin to bury. The part that wasn't forgiving and didn't trust nobody , not even blood. The part that wasn't done huntin. they all felt it. Every last one of them. "What the fuck up witcha, man?" Juste growled, stepping forward. "I just told you to cool it on that hot boy shit." I let out a cold laugh, shaking my head. "Man, fuck y'all niggas, forreal." My voice dropped, deeper and darker. "I'm startin' to think you niggas pussy as a mu'fucka. Ain't nobody doin' shit about me bein' shot. Ain't nobody pressed to figure out who tryna take me out this bitch."
They faces tightened but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. "Nobody givin' a fuck," I hissed, jabbing my finger at the table. "Cause it ain't y'all wives wakin' up screamin' in the middle of the night. It ain't y'all women cryin' in they sleep from seein' shit over and over. It ain't y'all stuck up all night hearin' a nigga voice in the dark." My chest was rising fast, rage sittin thick in mythroat. "It ain't y'all walkin' round wit shadows followin' ya ass. It ain't y'all tryna sleep knowin' somebody out here still breathin' walkin' round and can brag that they almost killed you." Silence fell heavy. Jules stepped up, puffing his chest. "So what, nigga, you callin' yo self droppin' ya nuts or some?" I turned slow, eyes dead, voice flat. "Man," I said, every syllable carrying heat, "fuck y'all niggas." Pierre mumbled something under his breath. Juste's jaw clenched so hard I could hear teeth grind. I didn't give a fuck.
I pushed back from the table so hard it shook, standin up so fast my chair toppled over behind me. "I'm out," I snapped, walkin away. "Fuck this shit y'all niggas on."
The truth was burnin too deep in my chest to swallow: They wasn't movin' fast enough. They wasn't angry enough. They wasn't me. I was the one who died and came back.
____
I was standin' outside the airport leaned against the truck, one leg crossed over the other, eyes cuttin' across the crowd. Ayida was in my ear talkin' about startin' to work with her grandma again. I heard the hope in her voice, the softness. But my mind wasn't on none of that . I was lookin' for Enzi so we could transport this nigga. P been doin' it by hisself while I was down. He said it was routine. Normal. But nothin' been normal for me since I woke up .
Ayida ended her call sayin' she loved me and to be careful. I grunted my "love you too" back, pushin' the phone in my pocket just as a stocky, tall, dark-skinned nigga walked toward us in a navy-blue suit. He looked real business-like. He had a sharp cut fade, wore leather loafers, wrist was iced out with a Rolex that damn near flashed in the sun.
I watched Enzi and Pierre greet each other, some African handshake shit mixed with a hug. "This my lil brotha, Noles," Pierre said. "Noles, this Enzi." I nodded. He nodded back. Didn't smile. Didn't blink long. His English was clean as hell for him to be straight off the continent, each word crisp as he loaded his luggage. We piled up in the truck and hit the interstate. The hum of tires on asphalt filled the silence between us until I finally asked, "So where we droppin' him?"
"Pensacola," Enzi answered from the backseat before P could even open his mouth. "From there, my people take me to Miami." I glanced back at him. His tone, confidence, and comfort, all that shit rubbed me wrong. He settled back smooth, lookin' out the window like he was in a space he was a part of. "Since you talkin', you know anything 'bout what happened to me?" I asked, turnin halfway in my seat. He raised an eyebrow. "Why would I know anything about it?"
"Shit, nigga, ion' know you," I snapped. "For all I know, yo African ass uncle coulda set that shit up." Before Pierre could even speak, I reached down and snatched my gun off my hip, metal cold in my palm. Enzi leaned forward slightly.
"What is this man's animosity about, Pierre?" he asked, louder this time. I don't know why the fuck that set me off but it did. I clicked my safety off and turned around fully, upping the gun straight in Enzi's face.
The truck swerved so hard I thought we was gon' flip. Tires screamed. Gravel kicked up. Pierre jerked the wheel and slammed brakes, pullin us to the shoulder, chest risin and fallin fast. "Man give me that muthafuckin' gun!" Pierre barked, snatchin' it clean out my hand and flickin the safety back on. "Get out the car, nigga."
"What?" I stared at him wild. "Mannn get out the muthafuckin' car. Now!" he yelled, leanin over me to shove my door open. I shoved it wider and stepped out, slammin' it behind me so hard the truck shook. Pierre got out too, closin his door soft but comin' straight toward me, rubbin his temples like he was two seconds from swingin'. "Nigga, you really fuckin' trippin', brudda," he said, pointin' in my face. "How the fuck you gon' up fire on that man like dat? You don't know that fuckin' man to be doin' that shit."
"Dat nigga started with me," I snapped, wavin him off. "Nawl, nigga you got in the car on bullshit soon as we picked him up," P shot back. "I don't know what the fuck you got goin' on, but this biddness, nigga. And if you can't get yo head straight, maybe you need a timeout or somethin'."
"Man come on wit that bullshit," I growled. "I can't believe you niggas—"
"Nigga shut the fuck UP with all that cry baeeebbyyy shit!" Pierre barked so loud it echoed across the highway. "You think we sittin' around on our muthafuckin' hands? You our fuckin' brotha, nigga!" I clenched my jaw. "Just because we ain't movin' loud," he continued, eyes hard, voice steady, "don't mean we ain't movin'." looked away, jaw twitchin', chest tight with rage I couldn't place. I didn't know if it was toward him, toward Enzi, toward myself, or toward whoever put me in that coma. But I felt my pulse in my teeth. Pierre scrubbed his hand down his face, breathin' deep like he was tryin' to keep from swingin' on me. "Now get yo ass back in that car," he said, pointing toward the door. "And shut the fuck up and ride, nigga." He didn't wait for me to answer. I stood there on the side of the highway, breathin hard, knuckles white, my spirit pacin behind my ribs like it wanted out. I climbed back in the truck and werode in silence the rest of the way. The tension sat thick between me and Pierre , not loud, just heavy. Enzi kept his mouth shut too, eyes glued to the road ahead like he didn't wanna breathe wrong around me. Fine. Ion give a fuck. Let the silence scare him.
____
Once we crossed back over into Louisiana after droppin' Enzi at his destination, I checked my phone. The last message was from Ayida .Laying down. Call me when you headed home.My chest tightened a little, but I shoved the phone back in my pocket.
Pierre was quiet the whole ride back . His jaw kept flexin', like he was chewin' on what happened and tryin' not to spit it out in my direction. Instead of droppin' me off, he turned down the long driveway to Juste's house. His big ass mansion sat dark except for the backyard lights. Juste was outside smokin', pacin in circles, phone pressed to his ear. His silhouette looked irritated even from a distance.
Pierre parked, and we got out, followin' Juste through the side gate into the backyard. "Check this nigga out with the pajama set and shit," Pierre said, snickerin as we sat at the table. uste was in a full black silk pajama set , top and bottom. Chiana definitely picked that out. I snorted out a laugh. He kept pacin, talkin low and sharp into the phone. Pierre pulled a blunt from behind his ear and lit it, and we both watched Juste walk back and forth like somebody daddy who just got bad news from the school.
Finally, he hung up and dropped the phone on the table with a loud clap, grabbed the blunt from Pierre's fingers, took a deep pull, and blew smoke straight up into the night sky. Thenhe glared at me. "I told yo young ass long time ago," Juste growled, hands braced on the back of the chair as he leaned in, "don't up fie on a nigga if you not gon' kill him." His voice wasn't loud, but It was dangerous. "The fuck you pullin' ya gun out on that man for?" he asked, eyes narrowin'. "Noles, you aight, nigga? We needa get you some help or somethin'? Ya ass actin' like you got shot and lost your fuckin' mind." I knew he'd be pissed. I just didn't know he'd be this pissed. My head was still buzzin' from the long-ass ride, from Enzi's comments, from my own paranoia. I wasn't expectin' to be interrogated soon as I stepped in the yard.
"Man, Jus, you know exactly what type of time I'm on and been on since I woke up," I said, exhaling smoke. "I tell ya ass what," he said, eyes sharp. "Either ya ass find another type of time to get on or ya ass is out, baeeebbyy bra." I straightened up, heat crawlin' up my neck. "Fuck you mean 'or I'm out'?" I snapped. My voice was gettin' loud, and my face felt hot. This nigga was tryna pump on me now?
"I meant what I said," Juste replied, calm but lethal. "Ya ass startin' to become a liability, Noles. And you fuckin' up my money in the process. Nigga, I got too many kids runnin' round here for you to be fuckin' up my money." Pierre grunted and nodded his head, agreein' without even lookin' at me. The betrayal sat low in my stomach. "Forreal, nigga," Pierre added. "Wasn't you sayin' somethin' 'bout your wife earlier? How 'bout you focus on her? Boot her ass up with a baby or somethin'. You out here pullin' pistols, nigga I'd be somewhere gettin' lost in the pussy if I was out all that time." I waved him off and sucked my teeth.
"Put your time into makin' your home happy again," Juste said, flickin' ash off the blunt. "You makin' my nervesbadder than them damn kids." He reached under some papers and pulled out a black-and-white composition notebook, slidin' it toward me. The cover was worn, pages folded at the corners. I opened it to see names everywhere. Notes. Locations. Timelines. Pictures stapled. Cross-outs. Arrows. My daddy’s name crossed out. Abdul’s name crossed out. Other names I thought they ain't even know about, crossed out. People I forgot to suspect, listed and documented. These niggas been diggin'. I felt my chest tighten.
"Don't feel bad now, pussy," Juste muttered, smirkin as he blew out smoke. "Just get ya shit together." I felt something sharper than anger Guilt And clarity. Because they were moving. They just wasn't moving like me.
But the part of me that crawled back from death?
That part didn't give a fuck about notebooks or slow work. That part wanted blood. And my brothers could feel it, every last one of them.
A part of me knew I had to fall back. Just a lil. Get my head straight, because I'd been reckless as hell. This notebook had to be enough for now. Even if it wasn't enough for the demon in my chest. I slid the notebook back across the table and nodded once. a small, tight gesture of appreciation. "Ight," I muttered, exhaling smoke. "I'll chill. I hear what you niggas sayin'." Juste watched me hard, like he was weighin every syllable, makin sure I wasn't just bullshittin'. Then he leaned back, finally takin' a seat. "What's that shit you was speakin' on earlier 'bout Ayida anyway?" he asked, elbows on the table, blunt in hand.
I drew in a slow breath before answerin. "You know she all spiritual and shit," I said, taking the blunt rubbin my thumb it before inhaling smoke from it. "She see shit in a different waythan we do. But lately she been wakin' up out her sleep screamin, cryin, sweatin'. Every night." The admission tasted bitter as hell in my mouth. "Shit just fuckin' wit me," I said, leaning back in the chair, starin at the stars above Juste's yard. "How much this shit really fuckin' wit her."
I didn't go into detail. I passed the blunt to Pierre , as he shook his head. "Yo ass ain't been spendin' enough time at home, that's what that is." I snorted, but I didn't argue. "Enjoy your marriage," Juste added, tappin the back of the chair. "Nigga, you ain't even have time to do that before this shit kicked off. Level wit ya self."
