What's Really Hood?

A Night Out

Zorian

After the night Ni'Andra and I shared, what was said was never mentioned, and I was cool with that. Did I love Ni'Andra? I couldn't say that. In that moment, she was tugging on my heart strings a bit, but that could've just been my dick talking. I'd never revealed anything like that to a chick that I was messing with, especially not after a few weeks. It only happened one other time, but that chick wasn't for me.

Don't get me wrong; I had hella love for Ni'Andra and even surprised myself when I brought her back to my place instead of one of my other spots that I didn't stay in too often. There was just something about her that drew me in like a deadly siren. Yeah, I liked her ass, and I had hella love for her. She was my shawty.

"So what you tryna do 'bout this one?" Tremaine asked. We were chilling on the block, and one of the hood niggas had gotten roughed up—broken leg, dislocated shoulder, and sprained ankle.

Since it had been caught on camera, we had the names and badge numbers of the fuck boys that did it; and thanks to Jamar and his connections, we got the addresses and had already learned their routines. In my hood, we didn't rely on social media for help. It hadn't gotten us anywhere yet, so we took matters into our own hands, and that video would never be seen by anyone unless they got it from me or one of my niggas on the block.

"Tonight is Byrd's night to tell his wife he's working late. He'll be with the lil' breezy over on northside by that 7/11," Jamar explained, and I nodded my head.

It was getting late, and the streetlights were about to go out, which was when Byrd got off work. After taking care of Byrd, Crowley was next. We'd be doing two hits in one night, which wasn't unusual for us. We had a thing going on in the hood to stop all of the police brutality. Sometimes, you had to fight fire with fire. Water wasn't going to cut it.

"Let's do the damn thing," I said as the streetlights flickered a few times before lighting up the streets, and I turned my back, heading to the truck.

"Bet," Jamar and Tremaine said in unison before following and hopping in.

It was a short fifteen-minute drive, and when we pulled up in front of the house, Byrd still hadn't made it yet, but his side thing was standing out on the balcony. We passed the house and cut into the alley to sit and wait. After ole girl would go to sleep, Byrd would make sure the doors were locked, and when he came to the back door, we'd be waiting for his ass.

Two hours. That was how long we sat and waited for his ass, and then we jumped the gate. The light in her bedroom had cut off, so the plan was a go. For some reason, Byrd always stuck his head out the door before closing and locking it, so when the door slid open, I snatched him up, my hand going over his mouth to mute any noises he could make.

The moment he began to struggle, Tremaine grabbed his legs. He wouldn't be still, so Jamar sent a quick one that connected with his jaw, knocking him out cold. His body went limp, and he was heavier than I expected, but I was still able to drag him over to the tree in the backyard. It even had a tire swing hanging from it, so I cut it down. We usually hung 'em, but this time, I wanted it to be different. I wanted him to fight for his life before it was taken from him. I wanted him to help kill himself. My message would be heard loud and clear.

Tremaine picked up the rope and threw it over a branch. We needed Byrd to get up because we needed his cooperation. Tremaine jogged over to the porch and grabbed a couple of lawn chairs and set them under the tree. With the butt of my gun, I hit Byrd again, drawing blood from his mouth, but it didn't wake him up.