“You heard her, man. She doesn’t wanna go with you,” Michael interjected.
“Get the fuck over here, Eris,” Rayzor commanded with a scowl on his face. Furrowed brows and raised chest.
“Rayzor, go home. How the hell did you even find me?”
“This my city, baby. You know that shit already. You just wanna test daddy, don’t you?” He paused. “That shit don’t matter though, get the fuck out the carriage.”
“I’m on a date.”
Michael, who was clueless, looked between Rayzor and I, hoping I didn’t leave with him.
“You can be at a funeral too,” he retorted.
The air choked me.
My eyes went to Michael.
“Who’s funeral?” Michael argued.
“Rayzor, stop!” I shouted, jumping to my feet.
My heartbeat was in my ears, hands began to sweat, eyes shifting, making me feel an attack coming on.
“You willing to die behind this pussy?” Rayzor asked him, grabbing a handful of my ass.
Michael rolled his shoulder then, out of nowhere, charged at Rayzor.
The carriage rocked.
Rayzor hit Michael, and his head damn near spun around like an owl’s. Spit, fear, and blood flew into the air like a slow-motion picture. He fell back onto the seat.
“Rayzor!” I yelled.
He saw Michael drop then adjusted his shirt before taking a seat.
“Drive!” he called out.
The driver was standing on the passenger side of the carriage.
“I can’t–”
“They paid for the time. Drive this mothafucka or I will,” he threatened.
The air was still as my heart raced, sounding louder than the city’s life moving around us.
“What the fuck you doin’ with this nigga?”
We rode over a bump, sending me to the seat.
Michael was slumped over, head dangling, nose dripping profusely.
“He needs a hospital.”
“That nigga gon’ be aiight.”
He was unfazed by the unconscious man next to me. Since he wasn’t leaving, there was nothing I could do. I grabbed Michael’s head, holding it back to stop the bleeding.
“I’m single, I can date,” I replied.
