Lucas was a young hustler around the city. He was 25 and raking in a lot of cash on the city’s Southside. He was flashy, loud, a real-life character, who was used to having his way. Where Messiah ran the North End of the city, Lucas was his adversary across town. Bad blood existed between them, often over turf, often over women. The two men just differed on principle alone; but Ethic had kept Messiah on a leash, each time Lucas tried to bait Messiah into beef. “War is bad for business,” Ethic had said. Now, he wished that he had given Messiah the green light to eliminate the threat. Now, Lucas had crossed a line. There had to be consequences to that. Ethic hadn’t felt this type of anger in years. The last time he had allowed himself to act with this much rage, it had ended tragically. His dear love, Raven, had lost her life. He had tried to control his ire, by leaving the streets behind, but the worst parts of him were bubbling, threatening to surface. This was personal. Morgan was family to him, and knowing that she didn’t possess the words to say no during Lucas’ assault, had his temperature rising, simultaneously, with his speedometer.

He already knew where to find Lucas. The dumb hustler was so flamboyant that he wanted the entire hood to see him shine. He lived off Circle Drive, one of the old neighborhoods in Flint that reflected a time when the city was booming from the automotive industry. Lucas wasn’t smart enough to stay low, while he got rich. He was dumb enough to let niggas know where he rested his head. Now that Ethic was ready to behead him, he knew, exactly, where to go. That was the problem with young niggas these days. They didn’t respect the rules. They moved incorrectly. Ethic pulled up on the darkened block and immediately knew that Messiah had arrived before him. Every street light had been broken out to avoid any neighbors witnessing the melee that the night would bring. Ethic’s headlights illuminated through the back of an older model Chevy Tahoe. He knew it was stolen, and he knew Messiah and his goon lay in wait inside. He cut his lights and picked up his cell. Messiah answered on the first ring.

“Morgan called me. Send your people home and come hop in the passenger seat,” Ethic said.

Messiah didn’t protest, and Ethic waited, patiently, as Messiah put the order down. Moments later, the old truck started, and Messiah climbed out before it pulled away. Ethic’s temple throbbed, as Messiah got in.

“You’re moving flawed,” Ethic said. “I respect the fact that you’re moving at all, considering this isn’t your beef.”

Messiah was more invested than Ethic could even imagine. He had no idea the murderous thoughts that were racing through Messiah’s mind.