Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 43- Le'Shelle

"Fat Ace is dead, right?" I ask again, trying to ignore the flare of alarm sparking off inside of me.

Snake's face twists in agony. "I don't know. I think so."

"You think so?" I thunder, incredulous. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means that . . . I don't know," he barks, tossing up his hands. I can't stop staring at him as he paces around in a circle.

"At the scene of the first wreck, it was raining so hard and he wasn't responding. I thought he was dead, I was pretty sure of it—but then on the bridge—a few seconds before that SUV slammed into me, I thought I heard . . ."

"What? You thought you heard what?"

"That's just it. I don't know—maybe a groan or something. Everything happened so fast. Next thing I remember was flames, then the feeling of falling, and then a shitload of water. Had the window not been down, I would have never made it out of that vehicle alive." My gaze automatically sweeps toward the ugly burns on his hands and arms.

"I'm sorry, babe." I go to him and drape my arms around his neck for support. The whole thing sounds terrible. I lean over and pepper his face with kisses. I stop when I realize that he's not kissing me back. One look in his face and I note that he seems more annoyed than comforted.

"What is it?" Snake's black gaze bears into me.

"You're not really sorry, are you?" Gritting my teeth, my arms fall back to his sides.

Hell no. I'm not sorry. As if hearing my answer, Snake stalks around me, shaking his head. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Understand what, Snake? That our number-one enemy is dead? Have you forgotten the rampage that they were on that night? They blew up the Fat Monkey, destroyed your construction company, they took out half our leaders and a few members of our Columbia connect. They were on their way to running a murder train down Shotgun Row. And you want me to shed a couple of tears because Fat Ace may or may not be your long-lost brother? Sheeiiit. Blood ain't everything."

I step back and expose my scarred chest at him. "This is what family does to you when you let down your guard. Hell, you taught me that shit when your cousin Antwon turned snitch." Snake turns his back toward me.

"You're getting tripped up over the wrong damn thing," I tell him, walking around so that he has to face me.

"We're at war. Even if what you're saying is true, what does it change? Huh? Do you think that everybody is gonna lay down their guns and sing 'kumbaya' just because you two got the same momma?"

Snake's face twists and contorts. "I didn't say all of that."

"Then what are you saying?"

'Shit. I don't know!" He rakes his hands across his head.

"Well, I do know! It changes nothing, especially now that his ass is gone. The Cartel Lords are still engaged in a hostile takeover and the Crips have flipped the script and are tryna beat the CLs to the punch and you're in here grieving over shit that don't matter. It's time to get your mind right and get back into the game."

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Snake books around me and heads toward the front door. "Where you going?"

"What does it look like? I'm answering the damn door," he says. "Are you expecting somebody?" I close my robe and tie the belt as I follow him, curious.

Snake creeps up to the door, grabbing his gat along the way. "Who is it?" A deep baritone growls back.

My eyebrows dip because I didn't quite catch the name. "Ah, shit. My nigga!" Snake attacks the locks on the door like a kid tryna let Santa Claus inside.