9. Endgame #3
“It’s a girl?” Kilo asked, almost as taken aback as I was… almost. I stepped forward and quickly snatched the mask off, damn near hitting the floor when I looked into a familiar glaring face. I pulled my mask off too so I could get a good look at her. It was apparent that she recognized me anyway.
“What the fuck?” I asked, wanting to take off running like a nigga on Maury who found out he wasn’t the daddy.
“Man, who the fuck is this bitch?” Kilo asked impatiently.
“Ya’ mama, bitch!” she spat back.
“She… This is Peep’s sister.” I still looked at her with wide eyes trying to process everything. “The fuck are you doing here?” I asked, damn near screaming. “Why the fuck are you here?”
“I’m on a job,” she replied, rubbing her neck from where Pistol attempted to snap it in half.
“I… wait… what?” Kilo shook his head.
“Nigga!” Pistol gruffed. “You ain’t tell us that Des’ sister was Endgame!
” He said, pulling a black flag from the pocket of her cargo pants.
The only thing on the flag was a black embroidered skull and crossbones.
Everyone in the hood knew of the myth that was Endgame—some kind of hood assassin.
Nobody had ever seen them, but random black flags started popping up next to dead bodies as some sort of calling card.
Never in a million fuckin’ years would I have thought that they belonged to the little sister of my fuckin’ church girl.
“Clearly, I didn’t know that shit, nigga!” I rubbed my hand over my forehead. “Eden, why the fuck are you here?” I repeated.
“I told you, I’m on a job.”
“You know this nigga?” I asked, gesturing to the remnants of the nigga over in the chair. My head started spinning because if she was working with him, then I was faced with the dilemma of whether I would be able to let my future sister-in-law live or not.
“No. I just told you it was a fuckin’ job!” she spat.
“Well, who sent you?” I asked.
“I don’t know. They paid the fee for anonymity,” she shrugged.
“So, how does that work?” Pistol asked. “How do you take your clients and shit?” Of course his ass would perk up while talking to an assassin about the niggas she murdered.
“I have an app,” she said with a shrug, like all this shit was normal. “They put in a request and deposit, I do my research, then accept or deny the offer, and I do the job.”
“And you have no idea who put in the request for this niggas head?” Pistol asked.
“No… why? And what exactly is y’all’s business with him?” she asked.
“This nigga and his homies been raiding our people’s inventory. We finally get intel on him, and the moment we pull up, you’re here… You don’t find that suspicious?” Kilo chimed in, giving her an untrusting look.
“Nigga, I just told you it was for work. If I wanted to steal from y’all, I would walk right in your front door and take it. I wouldn’t send a dummy who can’t even pull off a simple job without getting caught.”
“Yeah, aight,” Pistol scoffed.
“Oh, here,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her pants. She pulled out Pistol’s wallet and handed it to him. Then she reached into another pocket and pulled out his gun. How the fuck we all missed that was beyond me.
“What the—” He quickly took his things from her and secured them in their proper places. Once we had concluded that she wasn’t on no funny shit, I realized I had a completely different problem. I asked my brothers to give us a minute, waiting for them to leave before turning back to her.
“Does she know?” I asked, not needing an answer to my question. Destiny cried when she saw a dog get hit by a car a few weeks ago. There was no way she was just okay with her sister out here doing the shit she was doing.
“No,” she whispered, looking off. “When I was a kid, I kept getting into trouble, so my parents sent me away to boarding school… Lockhart. That’s where I got trained for this and thrown into the lifestyle. She thinks I’m an art curator.”
“You know you have to tell her, right?” I asked.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” Her eyes widened, almost in a panic.
“I’m about to marry her next week. I can’t be out here looking her in the face and keeping this from her.”
“Oh, so she knows all your dirt then?” she challenged with a hand on her hip. I shook my head, wondering how any of us thought her sassy ass was a nigga.
“Pretty much.” A few days prior, I sat down and answered every question she had for me. There were a few that she stayed away from, and I spared her the goriest details. I realized that I couldn’t make her my wife without letting her know exactly what she would be getting into.
“Brick, she can’t handle this,” she said with an uncomfortable expression on her face.
“She’s stronger than you give her credit for, Eden,” I argued.
“You really like her, don’t you?” Her eyes narrowed in on me. At first I felt like she was calling me out, but then I realized that it was just the truth.
“I do. Which is why I can’t keep this from her. You tell her or I have to.”
“Okay.” She sighed and looked off. “We have her bridal shower tomorrow, bachelorette party tomorrow night, then the wedding next week. Give me some time. I don’t want to make one of the most important moments in her life about me and my bullshit.”
“Thank you,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“We should probably get out of here,” she mumbled. “That nigga is already starting to smell.”
“Bet… And Eden,” I called back once I hit the door. She already had the window open, poised to go out of it.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t take my girl around no niggas with they dick out for that fuckin’ bachelorette party,” I snarled.
“Now that, I can’t promise you,” she said with a smirk before disappearing out the window.