The storm Rages

Chapter 13

Jack leaned against his shiny Mercedes, disdain etched on his face as he glared at the house looming before him, impatience brewing in him. Before he could open his mouth to yell, the sharp crack of gunfire rang out, and the window of his car shattered into a million pieces.

"What the fuck?!" he shouted, instinctively ducking as glass rained down around him.

As the dust settled, he looked up to see Grandmama striding out of the house like she owned the hood, which she kinda did, only he didn't know that. A shotgun was slung casually over her shoulder, eyes blazing with fury.

"Is this Michael's house?" Jack asked, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

Grandmama didn't even blink. "What the hell do you want, boy?"

"I'm looking for my wife," he said, trying to put a charm in his voice that felt as plastic as his car's finish.

The second bullet whizzed by, puncturing the front tire of his precious Mercedes with a satisfying pop. Jack flinched as the sound echoed through the street, his face draining of color.

Grandmama leveled the shotgun at him, her expression as hard as the barrel. "You ain't got no wife in my house, so turn your ass around and leave."

"Oh, come on now," Jack said, attempting to play the smooth talker. "We can talk about this like civilized people, right?"

Grandmama didn't hesitate. "People yes, animals, hell no. I don't speak beast. There's only one way I know how to talk to wild animals.." She fired another shot, this time at his feet, and the ground erupted, dirt flying everywhere. "The next one goes right between your legs." 

Jack's smirk faded, replaced by irritation. "You're just some old hag with a gun. You don't scare me!"

"You think I won't do it?" The bullet hit between his knees, shattering his Mercedes passenger door in the process. "Want me to go higher boy?"

With a flash of movement, Jack pulled his own gun from his waistband, aiming it at Grandmama. "Back off, hag, or I'll make you wish you hadn't come out here."

She smiled at him.

Smiled.

Before he could even think, the street erupted around them, and neighbors flooded the scene, guns drawn, each one pointing straight at Jack. Countless faces, all ages and sexes, they took their positions, ready to back Grandmama.

"Now you really fucked up, boy," Grandmama said, voice low but dripping with authority. "Get your punk ass outta here before I blow your nutsack off. You ain't need them balls anyhow. You just a spineless degenerate who thinks he can lay a finger on a woman."

Jack scanned the faces surrounding him, realizing he was outnumbered, his bravado evaporating like smoke in the wind.  He retreating to his car, humiliation burning hotter than the sun.

As he slid into the Mercedes, the neighborhood stood united, eyes locked on him, ready to blow him to pieces if he made one wrong move. Grandmama watched him go, satisfaction flooding her veins. "Ain't nobody gonna fuck with my family," she muttered, turning back toward the house.

The tension eased, and the neighborhood went back to their routines, but the message was clear: Jack was not welcome here, and neither were his threats.