Rebel (A Rihanna and Eazy E Love Story)

Make it Better...or Not (Chapter 29)

Eric (Eazy E) POV

I was rollin' back from a meeting in L.A. I had with Jerry and this artist Lonzo hooked us up with to design a logo for Ruthless. The whole time, my pager was blowin' up like crazy—Pat hittin' me nonstop. I already knew what that meant. Ain't no way he's hittin' me like that unless somethin' serious popped off with the street biz.

So I slid through to his spot to see what the deal was. Pulled up, honked the horn, and Pat came out, hopped in the ride. Soon as he sat down, he was like, "A few of the dudes makin' a drop got ganked." Some fool had the nerve to steal my shit.

But then Pat hit me with the good news. He told me they found the dude, and T-Bone and the crew already had him hemmed up at the trap, waitin' for me to handle it. But, more bad news the nigga wasn't revealin' what he did with the shit.

"Bet," I said, hittin' the gas. Time to show this fool what happens when you mess with my operation.

We pulled up to the spot and headed inside, the air already thick with tension. Down in the basement, the vibe was even heavier. T-Bone, Ice, and Anthony had this fool tied to a chair, lookin' like a broken piñata—face bloody, bruised, and tears runnin' down his face.

Man, how the hell you bad enough to pull some grimy shit and then fold like a bitch when you get caught? Pat was already grinnin', leanin' on the wall like this was comedy hour. "E, meet Joey Santos, the guy bad enough to take our shit but ain't bad enough to handle the consequences," he said, smirkin' as he introduced this sorry-ass mark.

I stepped closer, my gloves in one hand. "Two keys, Joey. Twenty stacks. And a pound of smoke. You think you can fucking steal from me and just walk the fuck away?" I said, slow and deliberate, as I pulled the gloves on, one finger at a time.

"I'm sorry, man!" he blubbered, tears mixing with the blood dripping off his chin.

I crouched down so I was at eye level with him, tryin' to give him one last shot at redemption. "Look, Joey, all you gotta do is tell me where my shit is. Who you gave it to. Make this easy on yourself," I said, my voice calm but sharp enough to cut.

"I can't, man! I can't! They'll kill me!" he sobbed, lookin' around like somebody else was gonna come save him.

"Muthafucka, I'll kill you!" Pat snapped, his patience gone. He stormed over, grabbed Joey by the throat, and shook him like a rag doll.

I held up a hand to stop Pat. "Nah, let me handle this." My patience was thin, and Joey wasn't makin' it easy. I need him to talk where the fuck my dope and dough was.

I leaned in close, my fist clenched tight, then popped him square in the face. The chair rocked back, but T-Bone held it steady. "Tell me somethin' I can use, Joey," I said, my tone cold now.

When he hesitated, I drove my fist into his ribs, feelin' the crunch as he gasped and doubled over. "I ain't got all night," I warned.

Joey was still cryin' and mumblin' the same bullshit, "I can't talk, I can't talk," like a broken record. My patience was done. I glanced around the room and spotted the nail gun sittin' on the table, gleaming like it was callin' my name.

"Alright, Joey," I said, pickin' it up and checkin' the clip. "Since you like to take what ain't yours, I'mma teach you somethin' about consequences."

Joey's eyes went wide, and he started shakin' his head like he knew what was comin'. I didn't waste time. I aimed at his right hand, pressed the nail gun against it, and squeezed the trigger.

Thwack!

The nail shot straight through his palm and into the arm of the chair, pinning him down.

"AHHHHHHH!" Joey screamed like the bitch ass nigga he was, tears and snot pourin' down his face. The crew yelled out, "Damn!" in unison, their faces twisted up in shock and disbelief. Even T-Bone took a step back, mutterin', "Shit, E, that's cold."