Page 1 of Deuce

If there wasone thing a muthafucka was gon’ do, it was try you. It didn’t matter how many stories they heard about you. It didn’t matter what your reputation was. Niggas don’t believe shit until you show them who you are. A nigga like me didn’t do much talking when that became the case. If I had to show you who I am, you were gonna feel that shit and it was anything but pleasant.

Case in point, the nigga sitting across from me right now was smiling and laughing, with no idea he was about to lose his life. Jeremih Peters was my sister’s boyfriend. Mia and I shared the same father. While we didn’t grow up together, that was my baby. I didn’t meet her until five years ago when Pops found out about her. We quickly formed a bond that was just as tight as if we had grown from the same womb. I didn’t play about her, just like I didn’t play about the rest of my people.

Jeremih didn’t know that, though. He had no idea that Mia was my blood. If he did, there was no way he’d be doing the fuck shit he was doing to her, let alone thinking he’d get away with it. He knew who I was, just not who I was to her.

I took a pull from my blunt, then glanced up at the clock. It was about that time. A quick glance at my lieutenant let him know to get shit in order.

He gave me a nod before excusing himself from the table as Jeremih was speaking. When he moved, so did my other two soldiers. That left Jeremih and me alone. He looked confused with that shit eating grin on his face.

“Damn y’all niggas is rude!”

He shook his head as he reached for his drink. When his eyes landed on me, the smile on his face relaxed. Fear entered his eyes when he noticed the room had practically cleared out. I watched him swallow a lump in his throat.

“What up, Deuce?”

I sat up and leaned forward on my elbows. “Let’s play a game, Jeremih.”

He laughed. “A game? Whatchu on tonight, Deuce?”

My hardened expression remained the same. He nervously ran a hand down his face.

“Fine. Humor me.”

“You know who my father is?”

“Everybody knows who Stanley Dillinger is.”

“So it’s safe to assume you know his seeds.”

“Um… yeah. I guess so.”

“You guess or you know?”

Again, he swallowed hard. “I know.”

“Run me their names.”

“What are you playing at? What? You don’t know your own siblings?”

A smirk spread across my face. Now he wanted to insult my intelligence. I rotated the lighter between my fingers. It was one of my favorites because not only was it a lighter, it was a switchblade. With a flock of my wrist, the blade popped out. Before Jeremih could blink, I drove it into the hand he had planted on the table. He screamed in agony, trying his hardest to get me to pull it out.

Leaning in a little further. I twisted the blade as I spoke. “What are their fucking names?”

“M-Mace… Kerrion… D-Devin… Jaeda.”

“Now, was that so hard?” I yanked the knife from his hand and he drew it back. Bitch tears streamed down his face as he rocked himself in a soothing manner.

“How about a little history lesson, Jeremih?”

He jumped to his feet. “What? You just fucking stabbed me! I need a doctor!”

“Sitcho’ ass down.”

“Fuck you, nigga.”

Woody slid over and hit him in the face with the butt of his gun. Jeremih stumbled backward. Blood leaked from his nose down the front of his white shirt.

“Sit yo ass the fuck down,” Wood commanded.

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