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Brick Boyz had killed him. While I was here getting my dick sucked, my family was under attack. While I’m bullshittin with a bitch, my brother was getting taken out.

"Namier?" Nyla was asking, her hand on my chest. "What’s wrong? What happened? Talk to me."

I couldn't talk to her. I couldn't do anything. I was grabbing my pants, throwing them on, moving toward the door like my body was operating on automatic. My mind was somewhere else entirely. It was in the street. It was in the blood. It was thinking about retaliation and war and everything that was about to come next.

"Namier, wait," she was saying, but her voice sounded so far away. Like it was coming from underwater.

I grabbed my keys and my phone. I was moving fast, my whole body shaking with a rage I'd never felt before. Not the rage of anger. The rage of loss. The rage of knowing that my big brother was possibly gone and somebody was going to pay for that in blood.

I didn't answer Nyla. I didn't look back. I just walked out of that house and got in my car, and as I was pulling out of her driveway, everything in my body was telling me to drive fast. Drive hard. Get back to the compound and tell my brother what had just happened.

Because everything had changed in one phone call.

Everything.

To Be Continued