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“Oh…well excuse me then, John Wick. I just own the gun; you’re the expert here.” “Don’t even trip. Because soon, you will be too.”

If I have my way, that is. The last situation with her old freak ass hotel manager told me she needs to be prepared for anything. She doesn’t need to be Racquel Thomas from Raising Kanan

or nothing. But we take enough visits to the gun range for me to know she can really catch a body if need be. Like she should. Milwaukee is its own cold little world. As soon as you’re up, somebody’s plotting to try and knock you back down. I refuse to let this city take my world from me. Not without a fight. And a bullet.

Once breakfast ends, Morgan chooses to stay in the kitchen with her cup of Green tea with lime, deep in a new chapter of Capone by Jahquel on her Kindle. Reading glasses included. They’re non-prescription, but she says they make her feel more professional whenever she reads. Goofy ass woman. That’s my baby though. She’s laser-focused, barely aware of anything. I could tell her the house is burning down and she’d shrug. Reading is serious to her. Deadly serious.

“Jah is so damn funny,” she commentates to herself through giggles, finger swiping across the screen so fast she could cause a cramp, “Mr. Capone is actin’ the fuck up.”

I swear she loves that woman. She has all of her books. I mean every single last one. Hell, all she has to say is Ms. Author Lady or Delgato for me to know exactly who she’s referring to. I don’t know who she loves more between Jahquel and Diamond D. Johnson. When Capone hits the stores soon, I’ll be sure to get her a physical copy. Maybe two, just in case something happens to the first one.

Wrapping up my visual admiration, I leave her be, going off to handle my own business. I’ve learned to never interrupt her. Last time I did, she almost dropkicked me into another decade. It’s honestly hard not to do, when watching her read is so sexy. It makes me want to act out whatever she’s reading with her. Sometimes we do.

After a smooth shower, I rush to throw on a simple fit. Since this is more of a personal matter than a business one. So no suit this time. Just a black shirt, gold chain, and shorts. With fresh out of the box Black retro Jordan shoes on my feet. While scrambling like a maniac for my keys, Rayne gets a quick update. I’m moving so damn fast, I almost forget to snatch my durag off my head.

Me: Aye, I’ll be to you in a few.

A response comes within a minute.

Rayne: Aight. Cool. I’m here.

I slide my phone into my right pocket before my keys finally become visible, peeking from underneath an empty manila envelope on our dresser. Quickly grabbing them and my Glock, I hustle with the pace of a gambling addict inside Potawatomi Casino. Stopping just to kiss my wife on the way out. She can barely blink with how fast I’m out the door next.

My olive green Dodge Challenger sits gorgeous in the driveway, glowing under the growing Sun. My baby was just washed the day prior, so the shine is still prevalent. Our neighborhood looks no different than any other day. Green grass. Quiet area. Dogs barking. The streets look like an F1 racetrack with cars lined up almost in sequence.

Our next-door neighbors, Mike and Teresa, are outside, tending to their garden. They’re cool enough. Kind of pushy to kick it sometimes but cool, nonetheless. Mike’s an older brotha. Somewhere in his forties. Graying beard, slender build. Teresa is young enough to be his daughter. Twenty something, long hair, bright smile with a whole host of questions hiding behind her eyes. They both wave as I get into the car. The inside is oven hot, hitting me with Mike Tyson’s strength after jumping in. My phone is already jumping in my pocket, vibrating like an old school beeper. I wait until the car’s humming before reaching for it. I’m thinking it’s Rayne, probably whining for me to get a move on.

It’s actually Morgan, sending her pussy pic of the day. This one is straight from the kitchen. She’s against the table, bare-waisted and fingering it. Memories strike like bullets to the brain. Instantly reminding me of hours before, beating that pussy up until the morning came. My dick remembers too, hardening out of my control. I can’t help but to reply.

Me: You love doing this to me?

Wifey: Yes. Because we miss you already.

Me: That deserves a reward.

Wifey: Oh yeah?

Me: $1,000 sent through Apple Pay.

Wifey: Baeee! Oh my God!

Me: Anything for you, my baby. You’re mine forever. Shit like that is nothing to me. And I look forward to making you squirt all over this dick again tonight. I love you.

Wifey: You mean MY dick? And I love you too. Please be safe.

Me: You know I will. Oh, and one more thing…

Wifey: (eye emoji) What’s up?

Me: Miami’s gone now. We need a new shorty to fuck together. What do you think?

Wifey: With pleasure, Big Daddy. You know I’m down for all that energy.

Me: Good Girl. We’ll talk more about it tonight then. See you later.

After Morgan hearts the message, I throw my Cartier buffs on before backing out of the driveway. Fully prepared to join the rest of the psychos on the road. It won’t take long. Hampton is a straight shot from me. Nothing but a few minutes' drive, even taking the long way. A couple of cut corners takes me right there. Surprisingly, it’s not as hectic as the area usually gets. Yeah, there’s the typical scene of steady traffic and boys selling lukewarm Gatorade to pay for their next school trip. A couple of squad cars are speeding down the streets, sirens blaring. The usual.

I circle the area a couple of times, eyes wide open for Rayne. He’s usually not hard to spot out in a crowd of people, standing right under me at five eleven. Facially, we also share a definable resemblance. Same structure and skin tone. His fast food diet keeps him stocky with muscle somewhere in there whenever he strains hard enough. Tattoos add weight to his arms and chest. With a bird’s nest of a beard on his face. Since he’s still lost in the sea of humanity on the streets, texting him is the logical next move.