Tore

twelve | optimal

"I don think so.."

"Describe her." Bobbi interjected.

I didn't want them to know it was the same Leigh so I just took more and more shots.

"Just know none of y'all are going to get at her. And I mean it. Come by the house tomorrow you can see young girl."

"She a young broad?"

"She's like 26 or 27."

"I bet one of us can get her before you."

"I don't want her. She's just off limits."

I know she doesn't have a nigga but these niggas didn't have to know that.
....

Kaine

Shot after shot my mind started to blur a bit.

Luckily I can handle my liquor—when I want.

I looked around the room full of mostly strangers and one stood out in particular.

The wing tattoo on the person's neck and their posture told me that it was time for me to go.

Tori?

"What the fuck is Tori doing hea'?"

I can feel my anger flaring and my liquid courage was gone.

It seemed like it all rushed somewhere else and my mind went into attack mode.

"She here? Where?" Derrick, loud, obvious ass asked yelling at the top of his lungs.

"Six o'clock."

Straight ahead.

While watching her, a bald and very tall figure wrapped his arms around her waist.

Nicolai Lucas.

Ten years ago the Crew and myself used to push weight for him and once we stopped he felt betrayed.

But niggas wanted careers and educations, hell, I only did it for a good year.

Why the hell was he in Frio's house?

"Frio. Why the hell is Nico here?"

"Better question, why are they here together?"

Everyone looked at him like he was crazy , "He said he wanted to talk to Mack about a new deal."

He continued, "I had no idea about her wack ass."

That statement alone caused us all to face palm.

Out of all of us Eazy, Poet, and I were the only smartest—in the streets and books.

"Any of y'all strapped?" Eazy asked.

I wasn't.

We paused, shell-shocked, none of us were strapped—with anything.

On occasion I was but lately not so often.

I had no need to be—all the time. I left that thug shit behind me.

I never wanted to have kids and a family then end up having to pick up and leave abruptly every second of the day for hours, days , or months, or even years.

We looked around frantically and four men positioned in every corner, damn Frio fucked up bad.

"I really hope that's your fucking security .."

"We gotta get outta here.."

"We ain't no bitches man!—"

"I got important shit, Frio. We all do. Unlike you, we got families and real problems. Let's just sit—think about this man." Bobbi interjected.

He was right.

I had to get home—soon. They might be even more bold and to go there, putting Leigh in danger.

I know they keep tabs on everyone.

I wouldn't let anyone touch her.

Not again.

"Gentlemen. What a nice—reunion."

He was clad in a suit, and he was accompanied with two buff–strapped niggas.

"Not a pleasure to see you Nico. What the hell do you want?" Poet boldly barked,

"Who invited this nigga?"

"Poet, shut the fuck up. I made you. I invited myself."

He retreated,

"Now you bold? Yous a fucking clown. I wanted to have a talk with Mack about what's on that drive and where it's at. It's rightfully mine. Either I get my money back or the drive."

What the hell is this nigga talking about?

"I went down for all of y'all sorry asses. I was practically y'all father and this is how you repay me?"

He chuckled as he sat down, and lit his cigarette.

He sat his piece down onto the table—it didn't frighten any of us—maybe Frio punk ass.

"I got six bullets fa'all y'all, even for QB. How you wanna do this? I go for your family first or kill y'all right now. Make it easier for me."

We heard triggers click and the feeling of cold steel at the back of our heads.

"We gave you your money—ten years ago. Your shit got stolen. You're not getting anything from my company."

I said, this shit is ridiculous.

We paid off our debt of five-hundred-fifty thousand dollars and then some.

Nico was quiet for the past five years but he came out of nowhere—sending death threats, almost killing at least one of our loved ones, and manipulating anything tangible.

"I don't give a shit. You're going to give me money back. You don't think I know who stole it? Y'all niggas. I'm not stupid—I been in this game since I was thirteen. Remember who helped your ass with that little bitch of a company."

Wait what?

I don't think, he even understood himself.

Why the hell would any of us have stolen it?

Poet is a prominent producer on the East Coast and song-writer.

Frio, has a burger chain mixed with strip club thing going on and its surprisingly successful in Vegas and expanding on the west coast.

Bobbi, he's a plastic surgeon for Christ's sake!

Derrick, is a sociology professor at NYU.

QB, plays in pro football, all the way in Canada.

Finally, Eazy, he's touring around the world as a motivational speaker and life coach.

None of us needed the money—we had it saved up and have great jobs.

All of a sudden I felt my phone ringing and vibrating in my pocket.

"Gon' head answer it."
..