Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 20- Lucifer

Pregnant.

After spending a full hour pissing on a dozen home-pregnancy tests, it's time for me to accept the truth-but I can't. In fact, I don't even want to leave this bathroom, let alone hop off this toilet until one of these sticks stops turning blue. What am I gonna do? I can't be that bitch that wobbles into combat, hoping my water doesn't break.

"Shit." I toss the stick over into the sink and then drop my head into my hands.

This can't be happening. Mason flashes behind my closed eyes and I'm ashamed of the way that I'm reacting. My mind has been spinning for the past month from all the information Dribbles unloaded on me. The moment she said the name Carver, pieces of the puzzle started snapping together.

Memories of how Snake wept when he clutched Mason in the rain. How did he put two and two together? I should have drilled Dribbles for more information, but I was too busy tryna reject what she was saying. Brothers. How the fuck could that be? And what the hell would happen if that shit ever got out? Would it change anything or would it change everything? I wish that I could talk to Bishop about this shit, but things between us are getting worse with each passing day.

At every meeting, Bishop feels way too comfortable challenging and confronting every decision I make. It's not clear that he's winning anyone over, but I can tell they are all waiting to see how I'm going to check my own brother. The alarm on my watch sounds and I reach over to the bathroom sink and check the results of yet another test. Still pregnant. Who gives a fuck what niggas think? I'm having this baby.

The second the declaration thunders in my head my shoulders get lighter and a sad smile twitches at the corners of my lips. My cell phone rings and I have to reach down and retrieve it from my pants pooled around my feet. "Yeah."

"We need to meet," Cousin Skeet says. Just like that, the weight returns to my shoulders.

"Whassup?"

"In person. Make it over to Hemp's for a one-on-one."

"Time?"

"Fifteen minutes." I draw a deep breath.

I don't feel like dealing with Cousin Skeet right now-especially since he's been throwing up roadblocks like a muthafucka, preventing me and Dice from getting at Le'Shelle's tube-sucking ass lying in the hospital. Skeet's taking a lot of heat from the city for the escalating wars on the street-says it's his ass if we turn the Baptist Memorial into another war zone tryna get that bitch. "A'ight." I end the call and roll my eyes. The shit is on ice but I'll get that bitch, either in the hospital or a jail cell. I don't give a fuck which.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, my boy Tombstone rolls us up to Hemp's Liquor Store. I peek behind the bulletproof windows to see if anybody's mobbing too deep. There are two cars in this busted-ass parking lot and one crackhead couple stumbling down the sidewalk and beating on each other.

"Why the fuck am I out here?" I mumble before climbing out of the car. "Stay here," I order Tombstone.

"You got it, boss." On full alert, I march through the front door.

A loud cowbell announces me, getting the fat chick with a red Ronald McDonald-colored wig on to look up from her magazine. "Go on back. He's expecting you," she says, hitting a buzzer that unlocks a metal door off to her left. I erase all emotions from my face and march through the second door. Off the bat, Cousin Skeet stops pacing to look up.

"I'm here. Speak your mind," I tell him.

"Have a seat," Skeet says, gesturing to an unfolded iron chair.