Rakim
A couple of days later we were back in Harlem. After my mama called me and told me about Jordan, I already knew who did it.
The Saints.
The first thing I was worried about was his health. I could always get back at them niggas. Right now, he was in critical condition.
"Wassup man?"
"Hurting like hell."
"Jordan watch yo damn mouth!", mama yelled. We shared a laugh.
"How was it in the sunshine state?" I honestly ain't even wanna think about that. Had I not been down there, he probably wouldn't even be in a hospital bed right now.
"It was aight. How's the arm?"
"It hurt when I move it, but the doctor said it should heal within a couple of weeks."
"Cool", I was just happy he was alright.
"Rakim we need to talk." I already knew what this was about. After a long discussion about my staying out of this street shit, I left the hospital. On the way back home I got a phone call.
"Hey Rakim, I was just calling to check-
"What?", I was honestly irritated with her right now. My brother could've died.
"To check on you and Jordan."
"We good.", I answered briefly.
"O-okay."
"We could've been better had I not been fucking around witchu and ya family."
"Look, I'm sorry."
"Alright, I gotta go. "
I needed to get away from all this bullshit in Harlem. It was time.
