Hood Misfits Volume 4 by Brick

Author:Brick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Urban Books
Published: 2015-12-04T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Enzo

Gunplay was my seduction and I was moving through the garage with a purpose. In my mind, Angel was set and safe behind me. I had a goal and a purpose that needed my full attention, which was why I dug into the black bag, an actual backpack, hanging on the side of my arm and pulled out a grenade. Niggas were on the left and right of me. I stomped and kicked the faces of those who fell in front of me as if I was playing football.

Skulls cracked and necks snapped while I positioned myself to get closer. Micah’s hands were thick with roaches who were working his will. I knew that each and every one of them needed to be taught a lesson. I used my teeth to pull the clip, and then tossed the grenade in front of me. I made sure not to leave any DNA by spitting the clip out and putting it in my backpack.

A loud force shifted the garage, causing it to tremble, once my baby exploded in the car it flew into. Bodies burned and the smell of cooked flesh with that of gas had my nostrils flaring while I stalked that van. I signaled to my left. Fuego stepped from the garage stairway and moved to stand in front of the van that was trying to get away. He shot off several rounds to hit the driver, and I covered the back, shooting out the tires.

A snarl came from me causing me to flash my teeth as I shouted then ducked behind a pillar. “Get what we came to get, nigga.”

Several other cars were coming our way, filling up the garage, making it feel like we were on the battlefield in Afghanistan. I had heard the stories from some of the men my mom would have us sit with at the VA hospital as kids, men who taught me military maneuvers as favors out of love for her. Thinking back on it, I had to give her respect. She had been training us for the day this all may happen and I was thankful for that shit.

Salty wetness dripped down my face as I reloaded. I let my gloved hands wipe away at the sweat that was running into my vision and adjusted the mouth mask I sported. Yeah, I wanted Micah to know it was me, and through the chaos that was ensuing, I knew he would know that it was, but on some real shit I still had to make sure I kept my identity safe, which was why I had on a ski mask. A nigga running through the streets—no, scrap that—a well-known athlete running through the streets playing super fucking man was bound to be noticed. I needed to be Enzo from the Trap. Enzo no one really checked for, except to do the occasional transportation of hoes, drugs, weapons, and even bodies. A nigga who dabbled in the underground only because the boss man demanded it.

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