Isa had no idea who had taken Aria. All he knew was when he had returned, his home revealed a struggle, and the cameras showed she had been snatched. Niggas were about to bleed. Even when he got her back, the city would still run red because now he felt like killing shit. They should have never flipped his switch.

He folded his arms and leaned against the driver’s side of his car.

“How you know she in there?” Henny asked.

“I don’t,” Isa answered. “I’m getting at every nigga that I got a problem with. Spray that bitch.”

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

The house in front of him was obliterated. So many bullets rattled off the aluminum siding of the house. The AK-47 one of Isa’s hitters used dropped shells against the concrete, playing keys in A minor like a pianist. Isa was unmoved by the screams in the air. He didn’t care that it was the middle of the day and that witnesses were everywhere. Niggas knew enough to know nothing whenever the Crew came through to handle business. He had no idea who was inside the house. Probably a couple of kids. Probably somebody’s mother. Somebody’s girlfriend or wife. Fuck them all. Aria was missing, and every victim that came as a result of that was necessary.

Isa pulled a blunt from the pocket of his blue-and-black button-down shirt as the gunfire drummed in the air. He lit it and then pinched it between two fingers, sitting on the hood of his car before lifting a hand in the air. The signal stopped the gunmen instantly.

“Yo! Isa! Man! We don’t want no problems!”

The voice came from inside the bullet-riddled house. He recognized it. Dario Morrow. An east-side nigga who had been talking reckless against the Crew. The beef between Isa and the Hispanic gang ran long. He wasn’t sure if they were behind Aria’s disappearance, but he didn’t need to be. Everybody was liable, everybody would be held responsible until she was returned to him, and if a hair was out of place, God help them all.

Isa motioned for the man beside him and took the AK-47 from his hands. He positioned the blunt between his lips, folding his lips down over it to hold it in place as he used both hands to hoist up the gun.

“Isa! We got kids in here—”

Isa lifted the AK and sprayed anyway. He walked up the lawn toward the front door, firing without regret or regard.

He spit so many rounds the screen door came off the hinges as he walked inside. He found Dario cowering over a young boy.

“Fuck is this about, man? Fuck you want?” Dario screamed, laying his entire body over his son as Isa bent down.

“Where’s my bitch?” Isa asked.

Isa put the gun to the kid’s head. The boy couldn’t have been a day older than ten.