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My nerves was shot thinking about being in the presence of the man that beat me every day he could and took advantage of the love I had for him after being free of him for ten years. Kut was put away for murdering a snitch that was apart of his crew right in front of two police officers and myself.
I could remember the night as if it was yesterday. The two police officers were watching out for the snitch outside of his house and when he came out, Kut walked up to him and shot him dead; one shot to his heart. Surprisingly, the police officer's didn't shoot Kut that night. They let him drop the gun.
Kut's fearless, and that night he smiled and looked directly at me while I sat in his vehicle. I was twenty-seven years old at that time and called in to testify against Kut. But knowing the pull Kut has around Dallas and the code of the streets, I kept my mouth shut, and claimed I didn't see anything.
Besides, Kut's eyes were zeroed in on me that day in court. If I did tell the truth it was no way I was leaving that courthouse alive. Just as fearless as he is, so was his crew—Grove St Killas—named after a block we all grew up on.
Now I was here to come see Kut for that favor I need.
I was in my maroon Nike Sportswear Fleece pullover hoodie and matching sweats paired with black monochrome slip-on skate sneakers. My kinky hair was silk pressed down my down my back and pushed behind my shoulders. I went without jewelry and leaving my cell in the car.
I shut the car door of my Audi, starting to walk forward towards the prison when I heard a male voice behind me. "Joie?" I turned around to a white man with sunglasses. "You are here to visit Kyan Crawford?"
I knew the man was referring to Kut by his mother given name. "Uhm, yes. Do I know you?"
"Come with me." he turned around and walked by to the Range Rover, getting inside.
I was confused on him commanding me and I don't know who he belonged to. But then again, I figured he knew Kut since he mentioned his name. I slid into the passenger seat of his vehicle and he pulled off.
"Um, excuse me, but why aren't we going into the prison?" I asked and he only drove without responding. I raised my brows and looked at him. "Do you not like conversation?"
Again, he was silent, so I left the conversation alone. The quiet man doesn't drive to far, pulling into the parking lot of a one story motel.
