Blood is thicker than water- a phrase many have heard and implemented in their everyday lives. For the Knighton brothers, it was more than just a phrase. For them it was a motto, their creed. It meant that nobody, friend or love interest, was above...
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"How hard is it to put one muthafucka in the dirt?!" I looked over at Dru as he bled all over the backseat of Kendrick's car. I couldn't believe Ken thought this nigga would be capable of taking out Black. Once we'd gotten word of his location, I practically begged my brother to let me do it, but he refused. The shit angered me to some degree. Why didn't he think I could do it? I was just as cold blooded as Harlem— I should've been the one to pull the trigger. This little nigga didn't have any bodies to his name, shit he'd never even bussed a gun— yet, Kendrick threw him into the lion's den.
"We'll get that nigga. Just be easy." His eyes were darting from the road to his phone, and his demeanor gave me the impression that he really didn't give a damn about what was going on.
This shit was new. Kendrick had always been on top of shit, but these last few weeks his head seemed to be in the clouds. "Yo, what the fuck you on?!"
His gaze immediately shifted to meet mine in the mirror. He quickly tossed his phone down into the cup holder. "What the hell you talkin' bout? The situation is over with. We'll handle the nigga another time— like I said."
"When did you become so nonchalant about yo respect, my nigga? This muhfucka threw dirt in ya face— starts a whole new operation, basically taking money from you— he kills the only high authority police figure on our side and you just kicking back, relaxing and shit?! You supposed to be a boss, nigga— you better wake the fuck up before you get got!" I spoke angrily.
He didn't even respond to me and that angered me even more. Whenever he held back, there was something he really wanted to say. The fact that he was holding out made me even more angry.
"Say something, nigga!! What the fuck you got goin' on, Kendrick?!"
"I'm sicka' dis shit! That's what the fuck I got going on!" He yelled, his statement shocking me. "I never asked for this shit! I got thrown into it and I was expected to fill KK's shoes— you know dat! I'm over this shit now. Matter of fact, if that nigga Harlem wants the fuckin' streets he can have 'em. Shit, I'm ready to get the fuck out of Memphis anyway. Ain't shit here for me."
I couldn't believe his words. They seemed so rehearsed, like he'd been thinking about them for a while. What he said made sense. He was thrust into KK's position once he went into hiding and I never really questioned if that was what he wanted or not. Although he said it wasn't, he did a damn good job hiding it up until now. Kendrick was street-savvy and conniving, a damn good combo for a nigga in the drug game. I couldn't believe he'd just throw that away. I could understand that he needed a break— hell, we could all use a vacation right now— but getting out of the game and leaving Black to run the streets was out of the question. If it was the last thing I did, I was gonna bury that nigga in the dirt and spit on his grave. He had to die.
And he would.
"Look, I get what you saying— but you here now. You gotta duty to fulfill, my nigga. Ain't no backing out now, you been at this shit too long." I stated. "And as far as letting Harlem have the streets, fuck that! Now you just talking crazy. If you'd just let me go after him—"
