Me and My Hittas Read Free Page A

laying a few racks on him to guaranteethat.”
    “Still, I’m not feeling The Junglez.” Reboc took the Jack
Daniel’s bottle to the head. He brought the bottle down and
wiped his lips with the sleeve of his leather coat.
    “Me
neither. But it’s the best I could do on such short
notice. Just lay low a couple of weeks over there until shit
blows over and I’ll send for you.”
“Alright, Cuz.”
“Gimmie some love, man.” Nightmare opened his arms.
    Reboc sat his bottle Jack Daniel’s bottle down beside
the bed and embraced his brother from another with a gangsta
hug. Afterwards he broke their embrace and picked the Jack
Daniel’s bottle back up. He gave Nightmare dap and
staggered out of the bedroom.
    Nightmare hung his head and massaged the bridge of
his nose. Bobby approached him from the rear, rubbing his
back.
“Are you alright, daddy?” she asked.
Henodded and said, “I’ma thousand.”

Chapter One
A month later
    Killa Dre lay back behind the wheel of his Dodge
Charger, blowing smoke from his nostrils, eyes hooded
from the exotic weed. He sat up in his seat having been
zapped back from the night that his brother had been
murdered in cold blood. His recalling was so real that he
had to pat himself down and look around to make sure he
was where he last remembered. Garnering looks from his
homeboys, Woo and Big Head, he sighed with relief and
silently thanked God that he was in one piece.
    Killa Dre had been fucked up ever since the day he
lost his big brother, Tramel. All he did was play football,
talk to girls and work his part-time job at Jon’s Market. He
was
a nice kid with
a good head on his
shoulders.
Everybody in the neighborhood had love for him; they just
knew he was headed for N.F.L stardom. When hewasn’t
playing football, you could catch him with some of the
neighborhood kids tossing a pigskin around. He didn’t
gangbang, but that didn’t stop someone from staining the
streets burgundy with his blood.
    As Tramel lay dead in him and his mother’s arms,
Killa Drepromised him that he’d bring his killer to justice,
street justice. He vowed to never stop until he murdered the
crip that killed him; even if it meant he’d be lying in a grave
beside him when it was all over. Tears threatened to spill
down theyoung nigga’z cheeks as thoughts of his late
brother stirred up emotions inside of him. Not wanting his
homeboys see him so vulnerable, he shut his eyes for a
moment and drew them back within.
    “You straight, my nigga?” Woo asked before sucking
on the end of a blunt. He was a tall cat with dark caramel
skin and hazel green eyes. He wore a short unlempt afro that
always had a red pick in it. Woo was a dangerous fella who
lived his life by the gun.
    “Yeah,” he nodded, feeling the fog rise from his brain.
His high was coming down having relived that experience.
Taking a deep breath, he ran his hand down his face and
exhaled.
“You sho’?” he raised an eyebrow.
     
“Yep.”
    Woo took a couple of puffs from the blunt and smoke
wafted around the confines
of
the vehicle.
After his
indulgence he passed that shit to the back where that nigga
Big Head was perched, watching the streets from the back
window.
“Yo, Big,” he passed the blunt to the the little nigga
in the backseat.
    Big Head leaned forward and took it from between his
homie’s pinched fingers. Big Head was a short, big head
nigga that wore his kinky hair in a Mohawk. He was lethal
behind the trigger, but what he really loved to do was fight.
He held the title of
Knock-Out King on his
block,
successful laying out niggaz twice his size. The little dude
was like a wild pit bull when set loose from its chain, ready
to get it in. His record was thirty-four and owe. He was with
the shit wherever, whenever for whatever reason.
    Big Head was about to take a pull from the blunt when
he noticed that it was wet at the end. He frowned and pulled
out a Bic lighter of his own. “Damn, Blood, you done wet
the