CHAPTER TWELVELater that night
Apocalypse pushed the G-ride, occasionally looking over to the front passenger seat at Antonio. The young nigga was tipsy and high. It was his first time getting s**t faced, so needless to say the effects of the alcohol and weed hit him twice as hard. Apocalypse had gotten the youngsta faded to ease his nerves for the night’s mission. The homies had already seen what he could do in a fight, but now he needed to see what he could do in ghetto warfare. Since his surrogate son was going to be wearing his name, he had to be with the s**t. His G had to match his own.
Antonio’s eyelids were narrowed and his eyes were red webbed. He rode shotgun, taking puffs from the roach end of the blunt pinched between his fingers, polluting the interior with funky smoke. Once
