Page 15 of Ms. Mosley

“I’m not sure. You probably dropped it while running. Just calm down.”

“I can’t calm down. Someone just got through shooting, and I can’t find my sisters or my phone. I need to make sure they are okay.”

“Aight, you know their numbers by heart?”

“I do,”

“Bet, you can use my phone to call ‘em. Come on.” I escorted her through the same side door that me and my niggas had entered through earlier.

Ms. Mosley's panic slowly subsided as she followed me. I kept my arm around her, ready to protect her if need be. After getting her into the parking lot, I checked our surroundings, ensuring everything was clear before pulling out my phone. Swiftly, she grabbed it and began making calls back-to-back. Unfortunately for her, it seemed no one was answering.

“Shit,” she cursed, glancing around the lot. “Neither of them is picking up.”

“I’m sure they good.” I said, reassuring her.

She nodded, her eyes narrowing as they shifted to my hand. “Your hand is bleeding.” She pointed out.

I glanced down, and sure enough, blood was gliding down my hand and onto my gun, reminding me of the damage the broken glass had caused. Before I could do anything to stop the bleeding, my niggas rushed out of the club one by one, hauling ass. They moved quick tucking their guns away, but I caught that shit and realized that we were part of the problem.

“Hold on, mama. This my people.” I said to Ms. Mosley before I walked over to Peanut. I wanted to create as much distance as possible so she couldn’t overhear us.

“You good, bro?” He questioned before looking me over. “Oh, shit. You hit? Where the fuck that blood coming from?”

“Nah, nah. Just cut my fuckin’ hand. I’m straight.”

“Damn, aight. A nigga was worried. I couldn’t find your ass.” He glanced over my shoulder and noticed where I had been. “Who’s that? She pretty as hell.”

“Mine, so watch yo’ eyes, nigga.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirked.

“Did you get the keys from ole boy?” I shifted the conversation.

“Fasho,” he said, handing me mine and nodding toward the back where the valet guy had parked our cars. “Make sho you hit me once you home so I can put you on game. Josh drunk ass got into it with a nigga.”

“Bet,” We parted ways, and I walked back over to Ms. Mosley.

“My sisters still not picking up. I can’t just stand here. I have to go find them.” She told me.

“Aight, come on.” I took her by the hand.

“What? Why this direction?” She asked, confusion etched on her face as I guided her to the back of the parking lot.

“Get in the car, and I’ll drive you around to the front. You ain’t finna walk around after muthafuckas was just shootin’.” I told her as if it wasn’t just my niggas doing the shooting.

Ms. Mosley sighed, visibly weighing her options before finally giving in and climbing into the passenger seat. Once she was safely tucked away, I slid into the driver’s side and wrapped my injured hand with a shirt I had in the backseat. Gun resting on my lap, I drove around to the front of the club.

“You see ‘em?” I asked her, scanning the area as well.

“No, and I can’t remember exactly where we parked down here.” She sulked, rubbing her temple. “Damn it. I should’ve never had all those drinks.”

After an entire hour of driving through downtown, I finally pulled over to a vacant lot and broke the news to her.

“Look, I’m gonna have to bring you home. We’ve been to damn near every lot I can think of down here and can’t find them.”

She immediately shook her head. “No. No. That’s not a good idea.”

“Well, leaving you isn’t happening. And the club is flooded with the laws by now, so going back there ain’t an option for me. I just got off probation.”

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