“Yea, we see you now, pussy. Heard about you and that fuckin’ app,” one of them hissed, voice cracked and raspy. “Think that tech shit protect you?”
“Next time, bring a gun,” another spit, real close. “Next time, stay the fuck off our side.”
Then, just like they came, they scattered…fast. Gone into the alleys and broken fences of the neighborhood like ghosts. No cars...no tags, just blood and laughter in the air. Cheering that they repped their set and couldn’t wait to tell their big homies about it.
Malik laid there, cheek to the concrete, blood dripping from his lip to the asphalt. His vision doubled. Ears ringing. Ribs on fire.
He didn’t move for a full minute…just listened.
The street went still again.
The hood didn’t ask questions. Nobody opened a door. No porch lights flicked on.
This was normal.
This wasexpected.
This was the Crescent—and every block just like it.
When he finally rolled onto his back, chest heaving, Malik looked up at the sky asking God what more he wanted from him before he cleansed his soul. He could taste iron in his mouth, felt heat pulsing in his temple.
He wanted to scream. Not from pain, but from thetruthof it all.
No matter how much code he wrote…no matter how much Aku made him feel like more…the streets still knew his name, and they didn’t plan to forget it.
Malik found enough strength to climb into his car, one arm holding his side while blood leaked into his eyes. When he got in, he hauled ass just in case the real shooters showed up.
Malik drove home in a haze, face numb, ribs throbbing with every breath. Blood dripped down the side of his face, dried in streaks along his neck. The window was down, but the air felt hot, heavy, and suffocating. The Crescent wasn’t quiet anymore when he made it back to his side. It buzzed with sirens from a few blocks away, and laughter from somewhere as he rode past.
His hands trembled on the wheel. Every turn felt like he was moving through wet cement. By the time he reached his block, he could barely see.
The familiar palm trees blurred in and out of focus. His porch light was on. Somebody had left the front door cracked—probably Myesa to let the smoke from breakfast leak out instead of climbing the walls of their small house.
He pulled into the driveway crooked. Didn’t even have the strength to put the car in park.
The door flung open like it knew what needed to happen.
Malik stumbled out, his legs buckled. He hit the ground hard - face down. Gravel biting into the open skin on his forearm.
A deep groan tore from his chest, more animal than human. The pain had gone past hurting—it had bloomed into something spiritual.
He heard footsteps…fast ones.
Then the heavy voice of his father—deep, alarmed, the kind of shout that came from the gut. “MALIK!”
Anthony had just gotten off his night shift, ready to go to sleep while the world woke up. He still had on his navy security uniform, the badge slanted on his chest. He was halfway up the walkway, when he saw his son crumple out the car.
Time stopped.
“LIK!” he bellowed again, breaking into a run.“Oh my God—BOY, WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Anthony dropped to his knees beside him, hands on his chest, slapping his cheek gently. “Look at me, son—look at me!”
Malik groaned, blood in his mouth. “They got me, Pops…”
“Who?! Who the fuck?—?!”
“Tell Ma…” Malik coughed, voice faint. “I’m tired. My demons caught up to me.”
