Did I want this shit to end, so people could stop losing money and their lives? Yes. Did I want Whodie ass out there wounded trying to handle it? No. Getting the confirmation that the yellow tape was up because an innocent kid got hit in the crossfire saddened me. This was not how this was supposed to be. Hell, maybe my crew was making too much noise, and now muthafuckas thought we were an easy target. Either way, Whodie would not be the one to handle this. I would.
CHAPTER 9: WHODIE
Pain woke me up before the sun did. My leg was throbbing like a bitch. My neck wound wasn’t hurting as bad but it had bled through the gauze and gotten on my pillow. Hollow was right, the bullet had done more damage than I thought. I shifted slightly in the bed and clenched my jaw when the pain shot straight up my thigh.
“Fuck!” I mumbled.
I reached over to the nightstand for my phone, and the time read 6:12 am. That was too early for most people, but perfect for me. The streets were quiet at this hour. I sat up slowly, letting my feet touch the cold floor. My leg buckled a little when I stood, but I caught myself on the dresser. I wasn’t about to lay up all day like I was hopeless. That wasn’t who I was. I grabbed a pair of sweats and slid them on, moving carefully so I wouldn’t pop my stitches again. Hollow told me he was going to staple me up or force me to the hospital the next time.
I grabbed my gun and tucked it in my waistband as I slowly crept towards the bathroom to piss and brush my teeth. Even after everything, Adore still took care of me. I shook the thought and grabbed some water. By the time I stepped out of the condo, two of my boys were already outside the garage elevatorswaiting. Reese and Tone were close to my age. We rocked the hardest. All I ever had to do was call, and they didn’t ask any questions.
“Damn, they got my boy down bad,” Reese said, hopping out of the car to help me.
“Still muthafuckin’ standin’ though.”
“So, what we on?” Tone asked.
“We gotta find this nigga, Mazi.”
“Lowkey, they say the nigga don’t even show his face like that. He moves through people.”
“So, he got a crew?” I asked.
“He got soldiers. Brought all them niggas wit’ ‘em from Miami.”
I leaned back in the seat. Just letting my mind catch up with the information. Miami niggas were getting money. Fuck he wanted with our country ass territory? We pulled off in search of one of Mazi’s runners. All I needed was one. We got word that one of his people hung around the north side. We pulled up to one of the smaller trap spots. A spot that Adore and I didn’t give a damn about because it wasn’t interrupting our flow of business. We let the small traps with no names niggas live. Hell, we all had to eat out here.
We stepped inside and expected more. It was two niggas there counting money. The nervousness on their faces said a lot when they saw our faces.
“Which one of you niggas know Mazi?” I asked calmly.
They looked at each other.
“Don’t make me ask again.” I pulled my gun out.
One of them raised their hand.
“I just know his name. I don’t know him like that,” he said quickly.
“Then why you working his shit?” Reese asked.
“I ain’t working for nobody. I just move product.”
“This muthafucka lying,” Tone said.
“I’m not?—”
I hit him in the mouth with my gun before he could finish. He hit the floor, and the other nigga froze.
“Talk,” I said, pointing the gun towards him.
“He just been asking questions. Having us find out shit about y’all.”
“What the fuck is he askin’?”
“How Adore moves…where the money at…who she trusts? Shit like that.”
So, my confirmation was correct. He wasn’t hitting random spots. He was studying Adore’s operation.
