Weeeep.

Weeeep.

Weeeeeeeeeep.

“God, god, god,” Jacob Black shoots straight up in bed, reaching for the alarm clock that screams from his nightstand.

After fiddling with it for awhile the thing quiets and Jacob smacks it back into place on the small table and bolts from bed, pulling on a shirt and a pair of dirty pants, which smell… incredibly bad.

Taking the steps in his apartment complex two at a time, he rushes down the stairs, a red duffle slung over his shoulder.

Plastic bags within the duffel slide and shake. He prays nothing spills in the bag as he makes his way to his truck- which has seen better days.

“C’mon, girl… you can do this,” he whispers, shoving the key in the hole and turning hard, the truck shuttering as it struggles to catch.

“I swear,” Jacob jumps from the front seat and slams a fist onto the hood. The latch had long since broken off, hitting it was the only way for it to pop open.

He crams his hand into the truck’s gaping hood and digs around, checking the oil and the heat of the engine. Seeing nothing wrong, he slams the top and tries again.

“Woah, woah,” he laughs to himself as the car shutters and spits, catching gas and rumbling to a start.

•.•.•.•.

“Hunt down the traitor, and bring them back to me alive,” Pabloua Demano says, smiling a chilling grin.

“Yes, yes sir,” says one of his helpers, handling an semiautomatic gun.

You and your men, find this guy,” he hands the nearest gunman a photo of a local drug dealer named Jacob Black who was expected to show up an hour ago for a drop at an abandoned building south of their current location. “I want his head on a stake in front of my mansion, yeah?”

“Of course,” the tatted gunman waves an arm full of ink, raising a bow and crinkling the tattoos dotted along his eyebrows and face.

The group of five leave the estate, guns in hand, to find their runner.

.•.•.•.•

“Storage shed… eh, up ahead or something,” Jacob says into the phone, talking to his buddy, Germ.

“Yeah, Yeah. We gotchu, man. Park a few blocks out. He sent five thugs on your ass,” Germ replies, looking at his buddies in the back of his own truck. “We’ll be there to get you in a minute.”

“Thanks man. Why he got thugs on me?”

“He thinks you stole the dope.”

“No my alarm clock…”

The line goes dead. Jacob jerks it from his ear and curses beneath his breath. He stops as instructed- only a block away from the old crumbling building.

He gets out from his rattling vehicle and walks to the building. Across from the abandoned store, a black SUV pulls up and Germ and four guys exit the back of the cab.

“Hey boy,” Germ swings the keys around his finger, rifle slung over his shoulder. The tattoos on his face and skin make him oddly noticeable against the other four.

“I thought you said-“

“Yeah, bruh. He sent us to get you.”

“What- but you-“

“Listen, boy.”

Jacob crosses his arms and listens. Despite Germ being scary, tatted and with a gun, Jacob is more ripped in the chest and shoulders, making him a possible threat to the five thugs.

“He told us to come get you. But, I know you ain’t did nothin’ wrong. So I’m willin’ to dice those drugs with you, brotha, and we can run like hell together. Me and my homies down,” Germ explains, putting the butt of the rifle on the ground.

“But I was comin’ to-“ Jacob starts.

“Nah man, nah. You can take the deal I’m givin’ or get your ass whooped. Cuz if you reject, I’m handin’ you over to ol’ dude.”

“I’ll… take the deal,” Jacob breathes, not sure why the hell he’s ripping off the smartest and most powerful guy in the state.