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Ishmael growled, “He’s got them.”
Grandma Mildred rushed into the room, holding a spatula high in the air. “Ishmael… Vito, what happened? Who’s got who?”
“He took her!” I growled.
“Who took who?”
“The punk motherfucker kidnapped Nicole. And he has Miracle too.”
“Miracle! Oh, my God! My sweet Miracle!” Mrs. Wright’s legs went limp as she fell into Ishmael’s arms.
“Grandma, hold on.” Ishmael eased her to his chair and went to get a wet towel. He placed it on her forehead. When she came to, she glared at Ishmael, “What the hell are you doing? I’ll be okay. Go get our girls back!”
“We’re going to get them, but are you okay?” he asked.
“Ishmael, go find her and Nicole. Now!” she yelled. Then, she pulled me by the shirt. “Vito! Give them hell. Make them remember who you are!”
Even Ishmael’s grandmother knew I had once been ruthless in these Georgia streets. Apparently, some men thought I had gone weak. I pitied the fool that dared to take what’s mine. I would get Nicole back if it’s the last thing I did. The person responsible for taking her was eating, shitting, and breathing on borrowed time.
