“It’s appreciated,” Ethic answered. He popped the locks and Messiah realized they were back at the car wash. That was all the time Ethic had to spare for today. Messiah exited and watched as Ethic pulled away. Ethic had the pipeline to the city sewn up. His trucking business was a legitimate establishment, but when something needed to come in or out, whether it be drugs, money, or both, Ethic ensured safe transport up and down I-75. The auto garage and repair aspect were simply a way for him to employ some of his old partners around the city, and give them a legal means to an end. The real money was in what was coming and going on the semis. If Ethic wanted to, he could ice Messiah out and shutdown all his blocks by simply restricting his access to product. Messiah didn’t want those problems. It was best to let that go. He walked back to his car to find it swarmed with a pack of pretty women as his homeboys entertained. Messiah wasn’t in the mood for bullshit, but he knew there was no point in turning down new pussy. He and Morgan were done, before it could even begin. It was something he would just have to get over. He knew that Morgan was young and naïve, no matter how mature she claimed to be. She would be a distraction, and he would be directly going against his big homie, if he continued to pursue her. He pulled out his phone to text her and then paused. It ain’t worth it, he thought.

“Hey, Messiah.”

The melody of her voice was laced with thirst and he glanced up from his screen.

“What up? You need something?” he asked, slightly irritated. Nish stood before him, looking like a winner amongst the crowd. She was a beautiful girl, and he could tell from the look in her eyes, she knew it. He had seen her around, mostly with Morgan. She was young, freshly legal, so she hadn’t been worn out around the hood. He knew it was only a matter of time before a young hustler staked claim to her.

“Just you,” she answered.

“Just me, huh?” he answered, as he shook his head. Bitches are dirty as hell, he thought.

“Where yo’ homegirl?” he asked, checking her temperature to see if her loyalty to Morgan would stand up.

“Who?” she asked, playing dumb. He smirked, because young girls were bad at playing dumb, and he knew the girl before him wasn’t playing at all.

“Morgan,” Messiah played along.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t mess with her like that. We really more like associates. She’s a friend of a friend. Why we talking about her, though? I’m trying to talk about us,” she pressed hard.