Not waiting for an answer, I led us down the hall. By the time we got back to the battlefield, there were still at least fifteen of the Rodríguezes’ men.
What the fuck had these niggas been shooting at?
I pushed the girls toward the exit and then covered for my niggas as they kept shooting and ran out the door. Once we were all on the other side, I reached into the duffel bag, pulled out my weapon, snatched off the pin, and tossed it.
“Everybody run!”
Boooom!
The building shook, nearly blowing a few of us backward. My ears were ringing, but everyone made it to an extended black truck and quickly filed inside. I pivoted and jogged to the rental, tossing the duffel inside and grabbing Solana’s phone from the cupholder. The car would be taken care of by Ledesma’s guards. I ran back to the black truck, which was already running and slowly moving, and hopped inside. Bahati immediately grabbed my neck, her sniffles becoming louder and louder. Once the door was closed, Matteo accelerated, burning rubber while the deserted shopping plaza went up in flames.
“Aye! Anybody hit?” Ezio turned from the front seat, scanning everyone.
Bahati was next to me in the first row, her head on my shoulder, now crying hysterically. Nel and Vello were in the back row, catching their breathe. Solana was in the middle row, her seat directly behind mine. Turning around, I looked at Solana as best as I could with Bahati practically in my lap. She was rubbing the baby’s back, still zipped inside her jacket, while she hummed. I slanted my eyes at her, and when she nodded, I sighed in relief.
“Naw, nigga! We ain’t hit. By the grace of fuckin’ God, though. Had I died back there, Pia was gone kill everybody in this fucking car!”
“Why the fuck you pull a suicide mission like this, stupid nigga? I told Don to leave your ass out here. I don’t know why he got a soft spot for you incompetent niggas!” Matteo argued as he sped down the dirt road.
“I didn’t ask you niggas to come. I had the shit handled.”
“Speaking of handled…” Vello leaned over Solana’s seat. “Where the fuck you get grenades from?”
“On foe ’nem!” Nel shouted. “This nigga thinks he’s Osama bin Laden. Grenades, nigga? Damn near blew all our asses to smithereens. My fuckin’ ears still ringing.”
“Aye! Shut the fuck up with all that fucking crying! I’m tryna drive and get the fuck outta this country before these Mexican cops get on our asses,” Matteo barked out before catching my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Shio, getcha hoe… We know she can’t go on no mo’ missions. Making my fuckin’ head hurt.”
Matteo cut a sharp left, nearly flipping the truck over and making Vello scream. “Fuck, Teo! I got kids, witcho mean ass. Don’t kill us ’cause Shio baby mama won’t stop blubbering.”
Nel and Ezio laughed before Nel leaned over Solana’s seat and said, “That’s the power of that fucking grenade that got your head ’bout to explode, Matteo. Aye, as a matter of fact, you got some more of them bitches? I’m dropping a few in Preston’s sick-ass simulations. Ending that psychotic-ass training once and for all.”
Opting to stay silent, I let my thoughts rest until my body was alerted to the familiarity. In a truck full of sweaty niggas, gun powder, and Bahati’s snotty tears, I could still smell Solana. I closed my eyes and inhaled as I tried to come down from the adrenaline rush of trying to keep myself and three others alive. Bahati and the baby were safe, Solana wasn’t taken by them fuckniggas, so now it was time for me to face the music. Surviving the bullets had been one thing, but what came next would be a different kind of war for me.
Fatherhood.
Bahati had criedthe whole ride up until we got to the hangar. Everyone except for Solana, Bahati, and me had filed out of the truck quickly, all of them eager to no longer be in the confined space. Bahati was still sniffing as she clung to my arm, not caring that she’d pissed almost everyone in the truck off. I turned and faced Solana, finding her eyes were on the little girl as she rubbed her hair and back.
“Aye.”
Solana’s gaze shot up and then trailed to Bahati’s head on my shoulder.
“Take her up.”
Bringing her eyes back to me, she climbed out of the truck, and I watched as she walked up the stairs to the jet.
“Bahati.”
She popped her head up and faced me. Her face was rounder than I remembered, or it could have been swollen from all the crying. Worse, it could’ve been from whatever they’d done to her.
“Did they touch you?” I asked.
Fat tears rolled from her eyes as she shook her head. “No,” she responded, her Kenyan accent was still heavy.
“But when one pushed me, my arm…”
I looked down and noticed that she’d been clutching her right arm this entire time. That explained why she’d cried the whole way here. Taking a look at it, I knew it was broken, but we didn’thave time to do anything about it right now. Hopefully, there was a brace or something on the plane we could put on her arm until we got to Jagoda Bay.
“Aite. We gone get on the jet, and once we touch down, I’ll have a doctor check you out.”
