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Chapter 1: Ain't No Peace on Parkland Ave
Parkland Gardens, SE Washington D.C., Summer 1999
Dominic "Dom" DeGrave
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You ever wake up knowin' the world already got beef wit' you?
Like it circled your name in red the night before and whispered, "Yeah, that nigga."
That's how D.C. felt that morning.
Sticky heat, street buzzin' like a fuckin' wasp nest, and this tightness in my chest that told me somebody—somewhere—was gon' die before the sun went down.
I sat at the edge of our bed, palms over my face, feelin' the sweat drip down my back even though we had the fan on Antarctic blast. Zaire laid in the middle, tangled up in his Spiderman sheets, thumb in his mouth, feet twitchin' like he was chasin' somethin' in his dreams, yet snorin' soft like the world ain't never touched him.
It didn't, and as long as I live, it's gon' stay that way.
Claudia was curled on the other side, bonnet slid halfway off her blonde curls, lips parted just enough to remind a nigga why I locked it down in the first place. One leg stretched across Zaire's back like she tryin' to keep him safe in her sleep.
