Anytime he had gotten into a major beef in the past, his uncles or someone out of their crew would handle it. Now he found himself in some serious shit. A young man had already died because of it, and more death would surely come of it, all over some pack money and egos. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to make sure his life wasn’t among those lost in the feud, and if he had to keep a low profile to do it, that’s what he was going to do.

Rel picked up the bottle. “Y’all can do what you want, but I’m going out to try and get some pussy. Fuck Jah!” He took a long swig directly from the bottle.

“Yo, I think Shooter’s on Thirty-eighth is popping tonight,” Groovy said.

“Yeah, they always got some fine bitches up in there that’ll fuck for some paper.” Rel grabbed his crotch. “I’m wit’ that.”

“You coming, Slick?” Groovy asked, picking up his gun.

“Nah, y’all niggaz do y’all. Just be safe out there,” Slick told them. He watched his crew leave, thinking how they were asking for trouble. Slick might not have been the toughest hustler in the streets, but he was damn sure one of the smartest. While Groovy and Rel continued to stick their heads in the lion’s mouth, Slick would let it come to him.

“Why don’t you slow down with that shit?” Lex suggested, watching Pain snort line after line of cocaine.

“Stop clocking what I do,” Pain said, sniffling and snorting. “I’m a grown-ass man.”

“You keep putting that shit in your brain and you probably won’t live to see old age,” True added.

“Nigga, I know you ain’t talking wit’ all the powder Don B. sniffs.

I guess ’cause that’s your boss it’s okay for him to do it,” Pain said venomously.

True stopped rolling his blunt and moved to stand directly in front of where Pain was hunched over. “I’m getting real tired of the way you be coming at me.”

Pain stood to meet his challenge, his eyes glassed over from all the cocaine he had snorted. “My dude, don’t be raising up on me like you built like that. Don’t let the shit these punk-ass magazines write about you go to your head. Bad Blood is a group, not a one-man show.”

True matched Pain’s stare. “Nigga, don’t tell me about a group. I’m down for my niggaz all day, kid. You be the one acting all funny and shit. That coke be having you moody.”

“Why don’t the both of y’all relax?” suggested Jay, coming out of the bedroom. “Pain, every time I turn around, you arguing with one of these niggaz. We supposed to be a group, so let’s act like it.”