Concrete Rose (The Hate U Give, #0)(78)

The sun gone down by the time I make it to Rose, and darkness taking over the park. Most of the light poles been shot out by the set. You can’t do the kinda work they do under a light or the cops might see.

The only pole that works is at the basketball court. I stare that way too long, and I swear there go me, Dre, King, and Shawn hooping a few months ago. That seem like another lifetime.

In this one, I got unfinished business to handle. I watch from behind a tree as Red load his trunk up with merchandise in the parking lot. He whistle a li’l cheery-ass tune that got no business coming from a killer’s lips. His last customer pulled off a few minutes ago, leaving just me and him in the park.

I’m meant to do this.

I wrap my bandana around my face from the nose down and take my gun from my waist. It’s cold and heavy; so is the feeling in my gut.

But when it comes to the streets, there’s rules.

Nobody will ever write them down, and you’ll never find them in a book. It’s stuff you need in order to survive the moment your momma let you out the house. Kinda like how you gotta breathe even when it’s hard to.

If there was a book, the most important section would be on family, and the first rule would be: When somebody kills your family, you kill them.

My heart race like I’m on the run from something. Instead, I walk to it.

Red don’t see me coming up behind him. He lift a box of CDs off the ground. As he straighten up, I press the Glock to the back of his head.

“Don’t make a fucking move,” I growl.

The box fall outta Red’s hands. He raise his arms high, like he praising the Lord. “Shit! Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

“Shut up!” I say, deeper than I normally talk “Get on your goddamn knees and keep your hands up.”

He slowly drop down with his hands raised above him. “Please, don’t shoot me,” he whimpers. “I’ll give you whatever you want. I got a kid, man.”

The shakiness in my legs find its way to my fingers. I grip the gun tighter. “You should’ve thought of your kid before you killed the homie!”

I can’t say Dre’s name or my voice might give me away.

“I don’t know what you talking about!”

“You shot the homie in the head!”

“Nah, man! I—I—I—I didn’t—I didn’t—”

I cock my gun and press it harder against his skull. “You gon’ stand there and lie to me?”

Red let out an ugly sob. “Please, don’t shoot me! I got a kid!”

“The homie had a kid, too!” He also had a brother. “You took him over some dough and a watch! Matter of fact, hand me that watch now. I swear to God if you make a wrong move, I’ll blow your brains out.”

Red shake from all the crying. He slip the watch off his wrist and hold it up. I snatch it outta his hand.

“Your time’s up,” I tell him.

“Oh God,” he cries. “Please, God. Please, Jesus.”

While he beg for mercy, I pray that God let me forget this.

I rest my finger against the trigger. I got the power to make Red stare at nothing. Have his blood and his brains leaking onto the concrete.

I just gotta do it.

I just gotta finally be my father’s son.

I.

Just.

Gotta.

Squeeze.





Twenty-Eight


Even killers can get their prayers answered.





Twenty-Nine


The neighborhood blur past me as I run with tears in my eyes. The gun, back on my waist. The bandana, I ripped it off a block ago. Red . . .

Gone.

The lights glow in Lisa’s window at Ms. Rosalie’s house, and muffled R&B music play inside. I knock against the glass twice.

The curtain pull back, revealing Lisa with a frown. “Maverick?”

She lift her window. I pull myself up and climb through, headfirst. I scramble to my feet and hug her, sobbing.

“Maverick,” she croaks. “What’s wrong?”

I cry too hard to talk. Lisa lead me to her bed, and we sit down together. All I can do is bawl my eyes out.

“Mav, talk to me,” she pleads. “I’ve never seen you like this. What happened?”

“I can’t,” I hiccup. “Ms. Rosalie and Tammy might hear—”

“They’re at a church program,” she says. “It’s just you and me. Talk to me. Please?”

It’s the “please” that break me. I swallow hard. “I . . . Lisa I . . . I know who killed Dre.”

Her eyes widen. “What? Oh my God, who?”

“Red.”

Lisa just blink at first. “Wait, hold on. Do you mean—Red as in Brenda’s—”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

I wipe my face on my sleeve. “That day he came over here with Brenda and Khalil, I noticed he was wearing Dre’s watch. I went and did my own investigation. He did it, Lisa. He killed my cousin. So tonight, I walked up on him in the park.”

She take in a sharp breath. “Did you—”

I stare at my kicks. “I had the gun pointed to his head and everything. And I . . .” My voice crack. “I couldn’t pull the trigger.”