r.e.m

sticky.

"Poppin' that shit get you hit quick fast 
Niggas poppin' off and niggas steppin' on the gas
Pop that shit like I'm poppin' some gum
Who the fuck you talkin' to, ho? I ain't the one."

Date: September 15th
Time: 1:23 AM
Location: Philadelphia, USA

From the tinted windows of the black Escalade, I zeroed in on the rundown motel across the street, every flickering light in that grimy lot making my blood pulse harder. Rabbit was next to me, his eyes sharp, focused—just as ready as I was. I didn't have it in me to sit back anymore, to keep waiting while Jazelle sat up every night, scared, looking over her shoulder.

We said we came here to stake out Travis, but we both knew it was deeper than that. We wanted to do more than just watch. We came to put our hands on this nigga, to make sure he felt the consequences of everything he'd put her through.

Not only was this putting fear in her heart, but it was tearing at the foundation of what we had. Her fear of Travis seemed stronger than her trust in me to keep her safe, and I won't lie, that shit cut deep. I needed her to believe in me, to have faith that I'd handle it, but as long as this dude was lurking, it felt like I was losing her to her own doubts.

I leaned back in the driver's seat, eyes fixed on the dim glow from Travis' motel room. Rabbit quietly tapping his fingers on the dash, both of us lost in thought. Guilt flickered in my chest as I pictured Jazelle asleep, Gage curled up at her feet. She'd looked so peaceful, wrapped up in the warmth of our hotel bed, and slipping out had felt like a betrayal. But I knew this had to be done.

Jasai and Jazelle were dead set against us handling Travis. It wouldn't have mattered what Rabbit or I said. They thought they were protecting us, that we couldn't keep it under control. But if we waited for their approval, we'd never get it done. So we were here, taking matters into our own hands.

My phone buzzes, lighting up with a text from Flaco: Still no movement. He hasn't left the motel.

We've been staked out for over an hour, watching the place. Not a single soul has come in or out. The tension in the car is thick, and every minute feels like an hour.

"He still in there?" Rabbit mutters, leaning forward, eyes sharp and eager.

"Yeah." I mumble back, jaw tight. "Might as well move in. No point in just sitting out here; let's get him while he's still inside." I pull on my black gloves, feeling the grip of my Glock settles firmly in my lap.

"Say less," Rabbit mutters, pulling out his own piece, gloves already on. Dressed head-to-toe in black, we blend into the shadows. I text Flaco to let him know we're moving in, and he responds with a quick thumbs-up.

We exit the car, moving under the motel's flickering lights. The chill in the air sharpens my focus as we slip toward Travis' room, tucked at the back of the building. Staying low, guns drawn, we take our positions on either side of his door, backs pressed against the cold, peeling paint of the walls.