Ahmeek watched in silence as the medical examiner pulled back the sheet. He felt a bit of pride over the fact that Morgan had been the one to deliver them here.

She really laid these niggas down, he thought.

Little Morgan wasn’t as fragile as she pretended to be. The thought of her trapped inside the dance studio did things to Meek. The thought of the twins being there with her infuriated him more. He tried his best not to abuse his position in the streets. He tried to collect his paper quietly, building strong alliances along the way, only taking what was needed and never more, and respecting the worth of other men. It wasn’t often that Ahmeek encountered static, because the love the streets held was overwhelming. Any beef he had was usually drummed up by Messiah or Isa, and he came off the bench every time, but this time, somebody had gotten disrespectful. Now it was time for him to remind niggas why he had gotten the name Murder Meek. The Crew had been young terrorists in the city from the ages of fourteen. Meek had never been shy about laying anybody to rest, but after an altercation on the hoop court left a body on the blacktop when he was sixteen, Meek learned to control himself. He went away for five years for manslaughter. The only thing that had saved him was the fact that he was a minor and the video that surfaced proved he had been provoked. He only had to be locked up one time to know that he never wanted to go back, so instead of moving recklessly, he moved smartly. He listened more than he spoke, but sometimes his temper flared … times like these it felt uncontrollable. He hadn’t realized how far he had swum out in Mo’s waters until this very moment. She had drowned him because she had joined the very short list of names that he’d die behind. He looked down at the dead bodies and nodded as he handed the Indian man an envelope. Five thousand dollars was the going rate for an unauthorized viewing of the bodies, but it was worth every penny. Just one glance, and he knew who had sent them. There was no denying the affiliation of these men. The tattooed markings on their necks told the story. These were Beans’s men. Ahmeek’s blood boiled. There was no need to call anyone. No time to rally shooters. His temper had him flying through the city, headed straight to the source of the problem.