Hunt

I held my hands out to the side. “Quin?”

She stopped wrestling with Boss and looked up. “What?”

“Why did you go to the stash on 9th street?”

“I wanted to get my shot gun. Shit got a bit hectic.”

“Why?”

“Therefore, I went to 9th to grab the shotgun, so I could put a big ass hole in that big ass motherfucker’s chest.”

I looked at Devin. “What happened?”

Frowning, Devin poured a glass of milk. “I’m not saying anything until I get alcohol.”

“You’re still growing, man. You don’t need liquor now. You need nutritious stuff. Plus, you’re already smoking.”

“Why do Quin and you always think you’re my mothers?”

“Probably because we could be your mother.” Quin had Boss on his back again as she rubbed his tummy. “My little sweet papi was over here guarding his auntie. You’re such a good boy.”

I sat down at the table. “Quin, what happened?”

“Oh wow. At least this is delicious.” Devin wore a milk mustache and poured more into the glass. “I forgot how good milk can taste. This is so creamy. I forgive you now.”

“What happened?” I pointed at the unwrapped box on the table. “And who’s present is this?”

Devin burped. “That’s yours.”

“Happy Birthday.” Quin rose from the ground and went to the fridge. “All these years, I still don’t know your birthday, Nix.”

“I don’t celebrate it.”

Quin opened the freezer and pulled out the bottle of rum. “You should.”

“What are you talking about? You don’t celebrate yours.”

“That’s different.” She twisted off the cap and took a sip. “I don’t give a fuck about me.”

Pouting, Devin watched Quin and drank more of his milk.

I glanced back at both of them. “Is anybody going to tell me what happened?”

“You have to promise not to get mad.” Quin shut the freezer and walked over to the table with the bottle of rum.

“Why would I get mad, Quin?”

“Because I finessed our plan a little.”

I rolled my eyes.

She sat down, leaned back in the chair, and put her feet on the table. “We needed to motivate this big bastard to do the right thing and leave you alone.”

My body stiffened. “Okay. . .you both are alive so. . .that’s good.”

“We probably almost died though.” Devin drank more of his milk.

My heart pounded in my ears. “Say what?”

“I wouldn’t say almost died.” Quin sipped the rum and handed it to me.

I took the bottle. “Could you stop warming me up and just give it to me raw?”

“We didn’t go to the gas station and do the big reveal shit. I feel like this dude would have just grabbed my ass and tortured me until he knew where you were.”

Oh, God. What the fuck? I didn’t think of that.

I took a long swig of the rum.

Calm down. She’s safe. Devin is safe. It can’t be too bad.

Devin finished the glass of milk and jumped up. “He was in this big truck and on our ass the whole time. He wanted us to know that he was following.”

“He definitely thought I was you on the back of that bike.” Quin chuckled. “But, you should have seen his face in the alley.”

“He followed you into the alley?”

“Sure did.”

Jesus Christ.

I took another swig and gave the bottle back to her. “So. . .”

“Don’t look at me that way. We tried to stick to the plan at first. Devin did some of my tricks. Sped up. Swerves here and there. Fake outs. Fast, last second U-turn at the stop light type of shit. We even did the blast into oncoming traffic—”

“None of this was the plan. You were supposed to drive four blocks down, make a left, go two more blocks, and then stop at the gas station.”

“It was a little finesse.”

“You both almost killed each other.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I wanted you both to be safe. You’re not supposed to die due to protecting me.”

Quin was about to take a sip. Instead, she stopped and glared at me. “That’s a lot coming from you.”

“What?”

“You almost died trying to protect me—”

“That was weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but I’m still on it.” She chugged the bottle.

“Hey, Phoenix.” Devin rummaged through the fridge. “Can I make something to eat. You’ve got all types of good herbs in here—rosemary, sage, thyme—”

“Since when you’ve been into herbs and shit?” Quin eyed me.

“I’m exploring cooking.”

“You can barely make a sandwich.”

“I’m following recipes.” I looked at Devin. “Make whatever you want.”

“Hell yes!” He began pulling stuff out. “Onions, potatoes, spinach. Holy shit. This is a huge steak. A tomahawk. Nice cut. I won’t touch it, but—”

“Go ahead and cook the steak, Devin. You earned it. I bought that stuff two days ago and haven’t even done anything with it.”

“Why not? There’s a whole feast for a bunch of people.” Devin began putting stuff on the counter.

“Make the feast and then take it back to Victory Park.”