Hyph’s home was in my line of vision within minutes. The white G-Wagon was parked in front of her spot. I deaded my engine and hopped out, pistol in my hand.
I twisted the knob of her front door. It fell onto the porch. My heart grew heavier. With my piece pointed, I entered Hyphen’s spot.
“Zeek, pl– please.”
The slurring of Hyphen’s voice was evidence of a growing lack of consciousness.
Red.
It was all I was thinking.
Red.
It was all I was seeing.
“You a dirty bitch. You took my money, burnt my house to the ground with me in it, and then came back to this dump to fuck my brother?”
I stopped in my tracks, taken aback by his claims.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I never knew.”
“Ain’t like you would’ve cared bitch,” he coughed out.
“Your father is dead, Zeek. How coul–”
“Why the fuck you think that nigga dead, Hyphen? Hm? Nigga ain’t won’t no parts of my life, so the nigga didn’t deserve life. The weekend I met your trick ass was the same fucking weekend I ended him and that old bitch of his.”
My heart plummeted to my feet. The weight of it made it difficult to stand. Difficult to breathe. Difficult to walk. But, I pushed forward.
“Zeek, please– You can’t be serious right now.”
“Where the fuck my money? Give me my shit so I can roll!”
I turned twice, finally making it to her bedroom. On the bed, she laid with her hands covering her face. Hovering over her was an unfamiliar face with a very familiar voice.
“Aye, my nigga.”
I caught his attention. Hyphen used the opportunity to drive her nails into his eyes from behind with the little strength she had.
“Fucking bitch.”
“Move out the way, Hyph.”
She loosened her grip, bawling at the sound of my voice.
“Flocco?”
“I’m here, baby.”
“Nig–”
Fow.
I let off the first round.
Fow.
Then another.
