𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐆

90

Without causing any suspicion from the guards, I caught up to Bullet who was holding his neck with the same cloth he picked up in the barbershop. The dingy white color was tinting red each step he took and I could even tell his stride was beginning to stagger. Was the cut that deep? I ain't know shit about human anatomy but I know when a nigga aim for your neck they want to hurt the fuck out of you.

"Ayo Bull," in a hushed whisper, I matched Bullet's stride so I can try to talk some since into him, "Whatchu was talking about back in the shop? Y'all really gon' go through with it?"

"Why wouldn't we?" Bullet responded, a bead of sweat littering across his forehead. "Either way you look at it, his babymama is gone. His kid is in the system going god knows where with a family he never going to see or even find to even convince to even let the nigga see his seed. Sharpz want somebody head for it and now that we have a name and a face of the nigga, we going to take street retaliation. Fuck what the criminal system gon' do about it."

"Sharpz been good to me. Been like the daddy to me that my own wouldn't. I owe this shit to him. Imma be in here for a long while, my g- and if catch another charge then fuck it. I-"

Bullet stumbled forward, still clutching his neck. The bleeding got worse and his breath began to stagger. The base of his neck began to pool with sweat and when I caught him from falling his body was burning up.

"Oh, shi- Bull, lemme see your neck, bro."

"What's going on over there, inmates?" a short-ass Enrique looking chico muthafucka turned his attention over to Bullet and I when he took his tumble. He was still a way from the infirmary and could barely stand.

While he was gathering his breath, hunched over in discomfort. I moved the cloth to the side and saw that the borders of his cut was a dark green and beginning to ooze puss and blood. The scissors that Sharpz threw at Bullet must have been rusty or just plain dirty. Shit, we're in prison so the odds were all over the place.

"Bullet, this shit infected, we gotta get you over to the inf-"

"Where the fuck you think I'm tryna go? The bakery? Ah man, its fucking hot."

"Inmate! I said what's going on over there?" the same CO turned around, hand on baton, began to walk towards us with a pissed off face etched across his face.

"Ain't nothing, man-" I protested, leaning Bullet on me to hide his bloody neck.

"We just on our way to Miss Nurse, ole boy not feeling too good."

The CO tried to look over at Bullet, who's body was blocked by me, and then back at me with an upturn of his lip in disguest.

"Well, get a move on and get out of my hallway!" he puffed his chest, ignoring the snickering from the inmates sentenced to Life all cooped up in the same cell.

Little did that bitch-ass CO know, he was standing in front of the bareback cell where the lifers liked to assault the new inmates and turn them out to be they bitch. Instead of worrying about two niggas walking the hall, you would have thought his nose would turn up to the smell of spit and old-ass condoms combined with blood coming out of that same cell.

"Dumb-ass Chico." I cursed under my breath, walking carefully next to Bullet so nobody saw he was hurt.

"We almost there, man. Your shit turning green and shit, I think that blade was dirty."

"Yeah," Bullet breathed, shaking his head with a smile. "That nigga temper get the best of him. But that's still my dawg no matter what."

As we walked into the infirmary, the thick-armed nurse already sat up and saw Bullet was sweating bullets and pale as a ghost for being as black as he was.