Page 79 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

“So, what the fuck this about?”

I tilted my head.

“You know Kyrie Maddox?”

The moment his name left my mouth, the color drained from Jamal's face. Not much, but enough.

His jaw tightened, and his eyes flicked toward the entrance of the apartment complex before drifting toward the street, as if he were trying to figure out which way he'd have the best chance of running. Zeek caught it too.

“Aye,” he called out with a dry chuckle. “Quit looking around. Ain't nobody finna save your ass.”

“I don't know what the fuck y'all talking about,” Jamal muttered.

“Nawl?” I asked, taking another step.

“So, you ain't the same nigga that put a bullet in my cousin?”

His chest rose and fell a little faster.

“I… I was defending myself.”

“Defending yourself?” Zeek barked out a laugh. “Boy, you got a lot of fucking nerve.”

“I ain't looking for no problems.”

I couldn't help but smirk.

“Little late for that.”

Jamal swallowed before forcing out a shaky laugh.

“So… what? Y'all his security or some shit?”

“Nawl.”

“Friends?”

“Nawl”

He frowned.

“Then who the fuck is y'all?”

I looked him dead in his eyes.

“I'm Marvin.”

I nodded toward Zeek.

“And that's Zeek.”

The names didn't register.

Not at first.

Then, I watched it happen.

His forehead creased.