Page 8 of Delirium 2

“Because he is,” Zeke said with a snort. “Murderin’ ass point-dexter. Sick.”

I didn’t say anything. I tore my eyes away from him and grabbed my blink from up under my seat. After checking the clip, I told Zeke and Kiss to get ready.

We got out of the car and slow crept up the block. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to make sure the team was behind me. We were militant any time we got on shit, which wasn’t often. That would come as a surprise to people, considering how organized and on point we were whenever we did squad up.

I moved my hand, signaling for them to move around. One team went on one side of the house; another went to the other side. Me, Zeke, and Kiss followed behind Buck. When he climbed the stairs, we climbed it with him in sync so it wouldn’t sound like a bunch of people on the porch. Buck stood at the door, and the three of us stood out of view on the left side of the porch, with me in front.

Buck kept his smiling face forward as he tapped on the door a couple of times before hitting the outdated doorbell. He didn’t shift his gaze in our direction once. He kept his hand wrapped around the bible resting in front of him, magazine tucked inside of his arm pit. After a couple, the door creaked open.

“Good morning, sista. You got a moment to hear about the good gospel?” Buck asked.

“Nigga, what? Ain’t nobody trying to⁠—”

Before she could decline, he pressed. “Just five minutes, sis. I just talked to Ms. Martha a couple of house down. She said you just loss your momma and needed help with funeral expenses, right? If you don’t want to hear the gospel, can I at least pray for you sis?”

She was quiet for a second.

Damn. Shout out to Ms. Martha’s gossiping ass. She came through in the clutch.

“Come on sis⁠—”

“Stop calling me sis,” she interrupted before yelling at someone in the house. “Hold on! Damn nigga. It’s just the Jehovah Witness and—shut up, nigga. Damn!”

He wanted her to close the door. Wasn’t happy to hear about the Jehovah Witness on the porch.

A couple of seconds later, the door was pushed open a little and she extended her hands to Buck. He held the door open with his leg and grabbed hold of her hands. “Bow your head and close your eyes for me.”

He bowed his a little, shifted his eyes up at her to make sure she’d listened and then turned to face me, giving me the green light. As soon as he did, I upped the blick and snatched the door open. She was too stunned to react before I had the gun against her forehead.

“Say somethin. On pops, you won’t be able to form a syllable before I blow yo’ fuckin’ head off,” I said through gritted teeth.

She threw her hands up. Eyes filled with tears. Trembled with a familiar look of fear. Eyes wide. Bottom lip trembling. Piss running down the middle of her legs. I glanced down and stepped over the puddle.

On cue, niggas from both sides of the house emerged and rushed behind us.

She turned around and I placed the gun to the back of her head. We followed her inside. Her hands never left the air. House was a fuckin’ mess. Cluttered. Every step I took, I had to step over a mountain of trash. When we made it through the front room of the house, there was a path leading to the rest of the place.

Once we made it to the main area of the small house, Stubbs, sitting on a couch covered with clothes and teddy bears, said, “Fuck you out there talking to Jehovah Witnesses for and we got shit on the flo?”

He never looked up. Not until Zeke placed the barrel of his gun against the side of his head. Panicking, he jumped up and ran off for the back of the house, jumping over mountains of trash. Before Zeke could pull the trigger, I put my hand up, stopping him.

“He’ll be back,” Kiss mumbled, looking around the house.

I put my hand up and signaled for the team to do a sweep.

“Where she at?” I asked, against British’s ear.

“In—in… the… the room,” she stuttered.

“Take me.”

“Can you take the gun from the⁠—”

“Bitch, show us where the fuck she at before the clip get emptied in yo shit,” Zeke threatened through gritted teeth.

I looked over at him. He shrugged, turning the corners of his mouth up. Looking away, I pressed the barrel of the gun against her head, pushing her forward. I glanced down at the wet spot in the back of her blue leggings and shook my head.

She led us to the right side of the house where a couple of closed doors sat. Stopping in front of one, she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. When she did, a stench hit my nose, forcing me to pinch my nostrils with my freehand. Shit was potent. So potent that my eyes watered. The room was a complete mess. Worst off than the living room. They’d made a spot in the middle of the room for Jada. She was circled by mountains of trash. Food containers. Trash bags. Bottles that looked to be filled with piss. And the room was full of cats. Had to be at least ten, resting on top of those mountains of trash, meowing like crazy.