Chapter Eleven
Threat sat behind the wheel of a Time Warner Cable van, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and every so often glancing at the sideview mirror. His cell phone vibrated and he pulled it from his hip, looking at the screen.
I told u 2 stop fuckn wit ma ppl. Now I’ma bust yo head! U r a dead man!
Threat smirked as he read one of several of Don Juan’s messages. He’d been sending them ever since he found out about them hitting Roots’ people for that money. That, combined with all of the other times he and Tiaz had robbed his customers and the cats he was allied with, had him wanting them zipped up in black bags. Threat didn’t give a f**k though. He punched a message into his cell phone. Suck ma d**k!!! Then pressed send.
“Aye, Crim, this nigga, Don, on one.” Threat said
