Page 69 of Adonis Gates
Adonis.
“You gon’ go out with us tonight nigga, or you too whipped to pop out?” Zig asked.
“I might mothafucka, depends on how my girl feelin’,” I admitted. “She gotta go to the doctor after I’m done handlin’ this shit with y’all.”
“Word, sis straight?”
“Yeah, she good,” I answered.
I loved Deek and Zig like my mama birthed them, but I wasn’t gon’ put them niggas in my girl’s business. Shit had been good for her over the past few days. She wasn’t complaining about being in pain or no shit, but now that I knew what she’d been dealing with and had looked the shit up myself, I was on pins and needles waiting on the shit to come.
I researched her condition thoroughly and to be real—I had a new found respect for Jru and any other woman with endometriosis by the time I was done. You had to be a durable mothafucka to handle the kind of pain that was described, but most importantly you had to have a Ford tough mental. Knowing that you could be overcome with excruciating pain at any given time, and the longevity of it, you had to have nerves of steel.Jru might’ve thought she was broken because of what she was dealing with, but to me, she was unabridged.
“Aight we here, but we don’t know how many niggas he got in there with him.” Deek said when he parked in front of the lil’ trap spot where Brock and his people hung out.
“I don’t give a fuck who in there.” I glanced his way. “He ‘bout to come up off my shit or I’m gon’ put him down. Him and anybody in that bitch.”
I made sure that my gun was secured to my side before climbing out of the car and making my way toward the house. The front door was open with a storm door in front of it, so I let myself in. Everyone’s attention immediately turned toward us when we entered.
Had it been me or one of my spots, we would have shot first and asked questions later, but just like Brock, the niggas he ran with were some hoes, so they didn’t do shit but sit there looking like deer caught in headlights.
As I scanned the men and the area, I peeped Tron and West amongst the crowd, a pile of coke on the table, and an open bag of weed. I knew the shit was mine because of the blue tinted bag.
“I can assume y’all got the bread to give me for this shit.” I nodded toward the contents on the table.
“Brock—he told us w-we were good,” West stammered.
“Interesting,” I smirked. “Because I know everyone in this room was at the meetin’ we just had, and I’m one hundred percent sure that I made it clear that not only do you answer to them,” I pointed back at Zig and Deek, “but also, that Brock’s bitch ass ain’t with us no more.”
“Yeah, but he spoke with Vado…”
Removing my gun from my side, I splattered West’s shit all over the wall behind him and anyone in close proximity. I knew him and Tron were going to be the two that I had to make an example out of. The rest of the men looked terrified, not evenbothering to grab the guns that were easily within reach. I knew none of the niggas he kept around him were built like that, but the shit was actually sad to witness in person.
“Now, in case y’all niggas missed the memo like ya man West, Vado ain’t runnin’ this shit no more, I am.” I smiled for a second then dropped it. “When I said that nigga’s well was dry, I meant that shit. Ain’t shit movin’ around this bitch unless it’s comin’ from me. And y’all niggas usin’, so you got my money for the shit?”
“Don G,” Tron began to shift. “W-we didn’t think?—”
His sentence was cut short by a bullet to the head from Zig’s gun. I looked at him and smirked when he shrugged before turning my attention back to everyone else.
“I don’t pay none of the niggas in this mothafuckin’ room to think, aight?” I glanced around at each of the men still breathing. “I pay y’all to move my weight, nothin’ else. When I push up in this bitch, I expect to have my bread packed the fuck up and ready, but instead I walk into fuckin’ Project X.” I shook my head as I looked around the room. “Get yo’ ass up and go get my bread.” I pointed to one of the niggas with my gun.
He scurried to his feet and rushed toward the back to do what I said. I nodded for Zig to follow him while Deek and I remained in the front.
“You,” I pointed to the nigga in the lone chair shaking like a sinner in church. “Call Brock.”
With shaky hands, he pulled his phone out and made the call but the nigga didn’t answer, so I made him call again. The second call went straight to voicemail, but his phone began to ring right after he hung up his call.
“I-I think this him callin’ from his baby mama’s phone.” He flipped it around so that I could see the screen.
Maybe Bonita Jackson.
As soon as I read the screen, I had a mothafuckin’ epiphany. His bitch’s name was Bonita Jackson and that shit aligned perfectly with the initials on the fucking shell account where Brad and Brent were sending my money. I didn’t even think about that hoe when I first saw the damn name on that account.
I nodded for him to answer the shit and when he did, the nigga immediately started crying and spilling the beans about West and Tron’s demise. I laughed and snatched the phone from him.
“Ay,” I cut off all the questions Brock was trying to ask his bitch ass homeboy.
“Fuck you, nigga!” he spat.