Night fell fast — too fast.
The first wave of hitters came quiet, sliding through alley shadows like ghosts dipped in gun oil.
We spotted them from the kitchen window.
"Masks on," moms ordered.
"Positions."
Lalo tripped over a coffee table and whispered,
"I wasn't built for cardio situations!"
But he grabbed a pistol anyway.
Shots cracked the air.
Glass shattered.
I fired back through the window, dropping one of the masked men instantly.
Raquel crouched behind the counter, eyes locked, steady.
She fired two shots — clean, controlled.
One hit.
Another body hit the ground.
Moms handled the last one herself — point-blank.
Silence hit the house after, thick and heavy.
Raquel's hands shook.
Not fear.
Adrenaline.
Survival.
She wiped her brow and whispered,
"Is this what my father sends?"
Moms answered coldly.
"No. This is what he sends when he's bein' nice."
YOU ARE READING
Deju're
Non-FictionDeju're is a want for nothing Oakland,Ca kid that was raised by a female drug lord which is his mother Déjà who has been raised in the Oakland hills all her life. he goes to fresno,Ca to visit his cousin and things start to unravel about his dads mu...
