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“Grown-up juice. I’ll have grown-up juice. Brown.” His brows folded as he turned in my direction again. “Grown-up juice?” He asked, confused as I was as to why I’d said that.
Nigga, I was born a motherfucking rider. My guns blast too, and when they run out of ammunition, my fists bang.”
“I’m okay with my shit ending here. I’ve lived a good life, young nigga. Have you? Because, before you can clutch the rigidness of your gun tight enough to let that bitch blast, your brains will be splattered all over your establishment. Choose wisely, because your brother won’t give a damn about ending your life and then making sure that you’re buried like a fucking king right next to me. Ain’t that right Luca?”
When I heard his footsteps behind me, I silently prayed that he’d gotten his shit together. The minute his ass hit the chair, he made it clear that he didn’t have anything together.
“Aye, B got a sister?” Laike remained silent as he stared holes into Lawe’s face. “What? Nigga it’s a yes or no question.” “She has a brother,”