Heat.

| Chapter 13. |

"Non sai mai quanto peso porta una pistola finché non la usi." Is one of many things Aaron heard his father say before- actually more than once. He never thought much about it though, until he was well on his way to America. However, thinking of it, there was a lot his father would say, which never made sense. He was never much of a speaker, but had so much wisdom that never applied to his son. Well, until Aaron was sitting in the backseat of Maurice's car, with a gun tucked in his waistband.

He hadn't used it, yet, or the gun in his lap but they seemed to make him feel like he weighed a ton. To say he never expected to be in this situation was an understatement. And when his eyes looked up, noticing the calm demeanor of both Darien and Maurice, who passed a blunt back and forth in silence, he knew he was in too deep. If being sent away didn't change him, the Cobra's had.

"I've done a lot of shit, just to live this here lifestyle." Rich Gang's 'Lifestyle' blasted through the radio as the group of guys drove down the streets of New York, a few streetlights busted. 2014 was the year and they were busy living their lives, just as the song goes.

He watched as Darien put the dying rolled up cigar to his lips, re-sparking it before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he traced an hand over his tattooed arm. He once had a job down at the tattoo parlor, and was even the one who did Maurice's five tattoos and Shianne's six. He was completely tattooed, almost everywhere on his body. But he soon stopped working there, due to the fact that he made more money doing exactly whatever this was.

And on those journeys, they often took Maurice's car, as his was the only one equipped with state of the art technology to keep their moves silent. A gift from Sharif Jackboy or better known as Tut, the head of the Cobras. And no, Aaron didn't know what Mo did to earn such a gift, but he also wasn't planned on asking. He remained quiet, as Maurice pulled up in front of an old abandoned house, killing the ignition.

He didn't utter a word as he led the way out the car, a ski mask coming down to cover his face as he started his way into the house, Darien and the Italian teen close behind, unaware of what was happening. Aaron hadn't asked many questions, as he should've, because now everything was starting to unfold in a way he didn't quite get. He just knew that upon seeing Tat Davis, he was being told to complete a job with Mo and D. A test that not many passed.

They walked into the house, which was unlocked, all three with guns, masks and gloves. Darien and Maurice had theirs out from the gate, not risking no interruptions as Aaron was frightened to even reach for his. Maurice knew that though, and seemed to show sympathy as he didn't tell Aaron to get his. Just put his fingers to his lips as he motioned for Darien to go in the basement, while he was heading upstairs. Aaron was told to remain on the first floor, thinking it was the safest place as he waited for the other two.

But it wasn't.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Aaron couldn't even speak before Maurice came crashing down the stairs, gun aimed at the young man's head. "Tyrone Jackson. Been wondering how long you thought you could be in BK like you ain't got a hit on your head."

"Man, fuck you," The dude spit when he spoke, the basement door creaking open and revealing Darien. "I ain't know y'all recruited some white boy. I'm gonna ask one more time. Who the fuck are you?" He pointed at Aaron, who held his breath.

"He don't answer none of your questions, mothafucka. Where's the stash?" Maurice kept the conversation short, annoyance in his tone.

Tyrone smacked his lips, turning to face Maurice. "I don't got what you want so you, that nigga," He pointed at Darien. "And vanilla cupcake can bounce."

"Aight then, I'm blasting this bitch down. Saw your granny upstairs, ain't want to do you."

"You ain't got the balls."

"I do, cagna," Aaron hissed in Italian, his voice sounding filled with bass as he cocked the gun behind the man's head. He didn't even want to do this and now he was being disrespected? Absolutely not. "You got a problem with this, vanilla cupcake?"

"Ooh, a fuckin' foreigner! Great job, Maurice!" Tyrone clapped his hands, before smirking at the three boys. Aaron watched intently as Maurice got prepared to say something, before the house erupted into a series of gunshots. They all dropped to the floor, the shots seeming to never end but as soon as they did, Tyrone made a run for the backdoor.

"D!" Darien nodded his head, chasing after the scrawny man, despite all the ringing in their ears. Maurice bolted through the front though, looking to see who blasted the house before Aaron came up behind him, the car already making it's way down the street. Maurice shot a few times in their direction still, the car casually turning around the corner with their broken back windows.

"Who the fuck was that?" Maurice sighed, lifting his ski mask as he looked over at Aaron. He paused though, ready to say more, which is uncommon for him. He wouldn't have said a word had it not been such fear plastered all over Aaron's face the whole time. He knew he was scared, but he didn't think he would look like that. "AJ. You good? We okay, man."

Aaron simply nodded, and emotionless Maurice took that response, turning on his heels and making way back into the house to meet up with Darien and the man they came for. All while Aaron focused on one thing. Who was shooting at them and why was the license plate customized to match his mother's first name?