“I love you, Shorty Doo Wop. Like it’s an obsession or something. I don’t give a fuck about nothing else except getting back to you. I don’t even need inside the home, Mo. A nigga will lay his head down on your porch as long as I’m near you. You go be mad. You keep playing with that bitch-ass nigga Bash, and you keep making Meek play your side piece. When you’re done acting out, when you’re done showing out, I’m fucking coming home. Ain’t shit you or nobody else can do to stop that. I’m sorry. Should have never given me that bone if you were going to want it back. I’m a dog-ass nigga, but I’m your dog-ass nigga, Mo.”

Morgan closed her eyes. It felt so good to feel his breath on her lips. To hear his voice. Even the tightness from him pulling her hair felt like a gift. He was back. Her man was back, and she didn’t even trust him enough to give him the key to her heart.

“I gave you all my love, and you wasted it!” she cried. “It’s not our time anymore. It’s too late. I couldn’t if I wanted to.” She thought of Bash, of the web he had her caught in. “Let me go, Messiah.”

“I ain’t letting shit go,” he said. “You know better. I’m coming for mine, shorty.” He unlocked the car. “You don’t lose sleep over nobody that ever means you harm. You go close your pretty eyes and dream well. Leave the nightmares for the people who deserve ’em.”

Morgan got out and rushed inside.

5

Ahmeek sat on Bleu’s porch. The lights were off inside, so he didn’t knock. He wasn’t there for her anyway. He was there for Messiah, and he knew his routine so well that he knew he would be pulling up to her house any moment now. He had put eyes on Messiah. The news that he was behind the shooting at the dance studio told Meek he couldn’t afford not to know his every move. Messiah was unpredictable, and Ahmeek couldn’t afford to underestimate Messiah’s malice again.