Her fingers dug into my skin hard enough to leave marks, but I didn’t argue.
We moved fast, back up the stairs and into my apartment. Giani locked the door behind us and immediately crossed the room toward the window, cracking the blinds back to look outside.
I checked the locks again before pacing deeper into the apartment with the gun still in my hand. My shoulder throbbed from the fall, but adrenaline kept me moving while my eyes bounced between the windows and the front door.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the headlights coming straight at me. The whole situation felt unreal. Somebody had just tried to kill me in the middle of the street, and I couldn’t believe it.
After one last look through the blinds, Giani finally turned toward me. “Do you even know who that is?”
I shook my head. “No, but obviously he knows me.”
Giani stared at me for a second before dragging a hand across her face. “That’s not good.”
“You think?” I snapped, my nerves still all over the place. “That nigga just tried to run me over.”
“I know what he tried to do,” she shot back. “I was there.”
Ignoring her attitude, I paced around the living room, trying to think, but my mind kept drifting to the car gunning for me.
“You recognized him?” Giani asked carefully.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I accidentally drove to the area where I met Booda. A memory was triggered, so I got out of the car to see if I could remember something else. The muthafucka that tried to run me over with that car was there, and he threatened me,” I replied.
For a second, Giani just stared at me.
“You remember that?” she asked carefully.
“Pieces of it.”
“What else do you remember?”
I stopped pacing and looked at her. “Why?”
“Because the memories might help you remember why that nigga’s tryna kill you.”
I started to say something, then stopped. She had a point. The memories, though fragmented, could hold all the answers I needed.
“I don’t remember much,” I admitted. “Everything comes back in flashes, but I’m never given the full picture, and they don’t stay around long enough for me to make sense of them.”
Giani crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, absently tapping the gun against her ribs while she stared off into space.
“You and Booda had a lot going on before the accident,” she said after a few minutes. “Y’all had the streets on lock, and a lotta people were envious of y’all. Especially them niggas from Uptown.”
I frowned. “Uptown?”
Giani nodded slowly.
“Word around town was that Booda killed G-Bo’s brother, Tone, when he fell off. People said that was how Booda came back up after the FEDs got hold of that shipment.”
The names she mentioned didn’t trigger a memory, but the way she said it made me look at her sideways.
“When Booda fell off?” I repeated.
Giani glanced toward the window again before looking back at me. “Tone got robbed during a play a few years ago. After that, everything went left. Niggas started picking sides. Rumors started spreading, and by the time everything was over with, everybody was saying Booda had something to do with Tone getting killed.”
“And did he?” I questioned, not really expecting her to answer.
“I never asked. I knew better than to stick my nose in business that didn’t have shit to do with me.”
