But King's mindset on all of this was the total opposite, he truthfully started to have thoughts about wanting to pull his way out of the streets now that he had a family who needed him. And he didnt want to leave without Zane being right with him so he was confused as to why Zane was building more of a harder way to the top knowing if they got caught life sentences would be placed on all of them and everything they once worked for would be burnt to the ground.
"Nah it's just I would've thought you would've told me all of this shit sooner so I could have an input on what and what not to do. You already know what comes with new money come with new fuckin problems and we already got niggas on our backs." Zane huffed at King's worries.
"Oh My fuckin— King Toughen the fuck up yo! 'cause you really starting to make me feel like I'm fuckin' up and I don't need that right now. We can't go back to the old fuckin ways is what you not understanding."
"We dropped Pablo now the nigga sending threats for his money back and shit, I don't got time for allat old bullshit cause I promise you any nigga that cross me now gone get sent back where he came from stiff and cold and I'm this close to caving that nigga chest in. If anything! I need to be knowing if you gon have my back on this shit or what? Cause regardless ima always do the same for you." Zane spat.
Sliding off the black gloves he finished up all the orders for the day and tossed them in the trash. King sighed and ran his hands down his face. "You my blood G you know I'm always riding behind you." Zane smiled as he shook his head in happiness at King's committal and dapped him up. "My nigga."
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Quickly walking inside the Harlem Police Department, Jayvon's mom, Alicia, sighed as she stood in line, fidgeting with the cold gold letter 'K' on her brown Michael Kors purse. "Jesus please help find my baby," she muttered under her breath.
Not hearing from her son in two days was unusual. Jayvon always called his mom every day without fail. But by now, after tracking and constantly calling his phone with no response, Alicia knew something was terribly wrong. Especially after the last scary call she received from him when he got shot. She couldn't stand by without alerting the cops.
When Alicia reached the counter, she bit her cheek nervously and rushed up. "My— my son, he's missing. It's been about two to three days since I've last heard from him, and I need y'all to do something," she blurted out.
"Okay, ma'am, calm down and repeat that for me slowly. You said your son is missing, and you haven't heard from him since when?" the officer behind the counter asked calmly.
"Three days! I haven't seen or talked to my baby in three days," Alicia said, her voice cracking and tears welling up in her eyes. "Okay, and what's his name and age, ma'am?"
"Jayvon Benette Pierre, and he's 26." Alicia informed.
"And could you elaborate on what he was wearing the last time you saw him? Or what he looks like, ma'am?"
