Facing My Past (Revised)

Eleven! Smashed The Homie

..." I'm just hoping you don't look at me as something you regret." - J. Cole

|Adrian|

Bad news. My McDonald's got robbed. Pops told D he use to fuck with Jay. Somebody's snitching'.

Good news...

Today was not my fucking day man. I knew who ever had robbed my shit had to be the same nigga telling the feds. After Jay and Trish left this morning, so did we. Pops had left because he had got the same call as us. Somebody had trashed our little spot last night and even got into my office. I had case files to keep my niggas out of jail, bank statements in the Caribbean and lists of niggas on my hit list in there. Luckily they just grabbed the cash.

Two of my guards, Snoop and Richie had gotten taken out. I was beyond shitty about that. I had known those niggas since we were kids. They needed fast money, and I was gone give em' just that. They were cool as fuck and a lost to our team. Shit, a lost to me.

Dumb ass niggas really didn't get any of the important shit. Either they didn't know what they were doing or they were trying to scare me by showing me they could gain access to my shit, which they couldn't.

I didn't have time to sleep with everything going on, and by the time I went back to D's crib, it was 10 in the morning. I decided to hit up my baby.

I still had a couple shorty's numbers in my phone, but had deleted most of em' in the time Trish and I had become something. I knew this little broad was different and I just wanted to be sure. She reminded me of my mama so much man. I knew mom's would love her. I hadn't even looked over a female since I met Trish. Jayla was pretty too, she just wasn't T.

I texted her as soon as I walked through the door.

I walked through the foyer, and through the kitchen doors. I threw my keys on the counter and opened up my messages.

"Me, you, breakfast? ;)." I texted her, keeping it short and sweet, shit anything just to make her smile. As soon as I pressed send, my second phone rang. I sat at one of the bar stools in the kitchen and looked over the screen.

My nigga Brandon! B was my white boy. He grew up with D and I. He acted so much like us, I forgot he wasn't our real brother half the time. Nigga was a little older though. Nearing 28, he was a chemistry professor by day, but in the same business as us after class. He was once the best hit-man in the A, but moved up the ranks with age. The last time I talked to him was a couple of months ago. He was feeling a shorty at the school. I don't know if he smashed or what, but I knew he was a go getter. He did whatever he had to, to come out on top. My nigga almost always got what he wanted.

I pressed answer.

"Atlanta sperm bank my nigga. You jack it we pack it." he spoke. I took the phone from my ear and looked at it, before busting out laughing.

"Niggaa, you gay as hell, what the fuck goin' on lil nigga" I spoke getting up and grabbing a water out of the refrigerator.

"Man, same old shit, just a different day. Whats good on yo' end fam?" he said into the phone.

I drank some of my water before responding and instantly spit the shit back into the bottle.

"You good son?" B spoke obviously hearing my struggle.

"Man, I swear I'm gone kill D bruh. We makin' all this bread and he still buying Kroger brand water?" I said salty as hell.

Brandon began coughing and laughing and I knew he was somewhere smoking.

I laughed. "Not funny nigga, that cheap muh'fucka living in a ten million dollar crib with un-purified water in the fridge, shit's just labeled water."