A/N: This chapter introduces four minor characters, one of whom is a catalyst within this fic. This chapter does not contain any SVU characters, but if you want to understand chapter 14, you'll need to read this first.

…'Cause ain't no such things as halfway crooks

Scared to death, scared to look

Living the life that of diamonds and guns

There's numerous ways you can choose to earn funds

Some get shot, locked down and turn nuns

Cowardly hearts and straight up shook ones, shook ones

He ain't a crook son, he's just a shook one.

-Mobb Deep, "Shook Ones Part II"

Q loved hip-hop and the lifestyle that came with it. He cruised the underground clubs in Manhattan for years on the lookout for new artists, but he was hungry for the grimey beats of the streets. After growing up on Jay-Z and Biggie, he wanted to see what all the fuss about BK was about. His first stop was in the heart of Bedford Stuyvessant—not the gentrified blocks teeming with hipsters sipping micro brews. No, he was headed for the real Bed-Stuy, the original "Do or Die." Twenty minutes into his adventure, he ran into two stickup kids and learned firsthand why Brooklyn is also known as "Crooklyn."

But Q loved the music, and he danced with danger over and over again to immerse himself in the battle rap scene.

Q befriended Trey, a 21-year old bouncer and occasional security guard at the rap battles. When Trey first met Q, he thought he was looking for drugs because no sane person would venture into Bed-Stuy from the Upper West Side alone and at night unless they were looking to score. Especially someone that looked like him—because Q (short for Quentin) was white.

But Q wasn't a wannabe. He never tried to be "hard" or "down." Rap spoke to him and calmed him like nothing else. Rhymes and blunt smoke allowed him to escape the nightmare of his family's death. And when Trey invited him to join a gang, they gave him a sense of belonging—place holders for the loved ones he'd lost. Plus, the perks of being in a gang were too many to count. He'd be feared. And respected. As a kid who was bullied for four years in a row, he'd be on the giving end of a beat down for the first time in his 18-year old life.

But fitting in, like most things in life, has its price.

December 19, 2012 3:05pm—Metro Diner, 2641 Broadway, Manhattan

Q was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice Trey had slipped into the chair in front of him.

"Damn Q, you paler than usual. You see a ghost?

His breath hitched, and he looked up. "You scared the shit out of me. I see you've got jokes. No, I didn't run into Casper today. But I did see two cops."

Now it was Trey's turn to look spooked. "I leave you alone for two hours and two pigs already got a trace on you. We gotta figure a way out of this before Nino—"

"Chill. I bumped into them on the street. They weren't wearing uniforms. They were plain clothes cops, you know, detectives."

Trey stared at him like a second head sprouted from his neck. "Since when do you know cop lingo?"

Q's face darkened, "After my family was murdered, I learned all about the NYPD."

"Shit, man. I'm sorry. I forgot—"

"Why would you remember? I don't bring it up. It's not like I can use it as ice breaker," his voice was hard as he spoke. "Imagine me walking up to a cat like Arsonal after a battle like, "Yo, I'm a huge fan; I've been following you for years. By the way, my mom and sister were gunned down a year ago. Your rhymes are tight," he said, laughing at his sick joke.

Trey added an uneasy chuckle to the conversation—but his eyes never left Q's face. "You know before you brought up your family, for a second I thought you might be undercover or some shit."

Q's eyes bore into Trey. "That would never fucking happen. I hate cops even more than the crew does," he said. His voice was low and raw.

A soft rumbling came from the table. Trey peered down and saw Q's right hand shaking. Q looked down at his hand and shoved it underneath the table.

"It's the coffee," he said avoiding his friend's stare. "Caffeine makes me jittery."

Trey watched him carefully. One mention of cops and this kid morphed into a different person. His left fist was clenched, his voice turned rough, and he looked ready to give someone a good strangling. Trey knew Q had demons—no white kid from the Upper West side would risk life and limb to come into Bed-Stuy unless he was battling something. Or running away from reality. How much did he really know about this guy? Did he trust him to have his back?

"Coffee bugs me out too. Makes me feel like I'm havin' a heart attack and shit," he said and flashed a smile, but Trey saw through Q's bullshit response. His hand trembled from rage—they both knew it.

But he didn't have time to sit around and figure Q out. They had things to do and one temperamental boss to see.

"Hurry up and chug the rest of that coffee, son. We gotta go to the yard. Nino's waitin'."

4:48pm—Warehouse, Brooklyn Naval Yard

"Let's start from the beginning."

"Damn Nino, we been over the plan five times already! I don't see why you tellin' me this shit anyway; I'm just the getaway driver. All I gotta do is chill and wait for them to show up," Silk declared.

Nino's eyes narrowed. His hand flew to his pocket, and he traced the outline of his gun. He bit back the urge to jam the pistol into the thug's right temple. Silk was a waste of space, but he could dodge cops during a chase like nobody's business. If it wasn't for this skill, he would have pulled the trigger a long time ago.

"If I don't continue going over this shit that could mean the difference between everyone getting away or everyone getting capped. And if bullets are flying in your direction, you'll catch one just for being at the wrong place at the wrong time." He leaned forward, "You lookin' to get shot?"

Silk gulped. He hoped that Nino was speaking hypothetically and not referring to the actual bullets inside his gun.

"Hell no! I don't even like guns."

Nino eyes returned to the document, "That's what I thought. Now shut the fuck up and pay attention. See this spot here?" he said pointing to the diagram, "This is where you'll go first..."

5:03pm—Warehouse, Brooklyn Naval Yard

Trey and Q walked into the warehouse on their guard. Nino expected them to be there at 5:00. It was 5:03. The both of them scanned the floor but saw no sign of him. They glanced at each other and a nervous smile crossed their lips. They shared the same brain in that moment and only one thought existed.

Phew!

"You're late," he bellowed from behind. They froze and looked at each other, one thought between them.

Fuck.

Trey turned around so he could see just how pissed Nino was. Nino was a hard guy to read. He looked like a linebacker, so his voice always boomed like the bass of a deep house song. His face held no clues, either. The only mood indicator that Trey had was the vein in his neck. Nino had protruding veins throughout his body, but the one on the right side of his neck was the most noticeable. It was so engorged with blood it looked pregnant. And right now it pulsed with anger.

"We're sorry, Nino. We got here soon as we could. We're only three minutes late."

"Three minutes can mean the difference between staying alive and getting sprayed. When I tell you to be here at 5, bring your ass here at 5 o'clock on the dot, got it?"

"Yeah."

Q's eyes latched onto his friend's. Trey motioned for them to head towards the back of the warehouse. When they were out of earshot he turned to give Trey a piece of his mind.

"When I agreed to join, you told me the gang would protect me. You didn't say anything about me shooting anyone," his voice cracked.

Trey threw an arm around his shoulder, "Keep your voice strong. Don't show any weakness in here, aight? I know this wasn't how you thought shit would go down, but we ain't gonna cap anybody; we're just gonna stick 'em up," he said nonchalantly.

Q stared at him, shocked. Trey talked about holding someone at gunpoint like he was discussing what he'd eaten for lunch that afternoon. It was obvious he had done this before.

"Who are we going to rob? A bank?"

Trey burst out laughing, "Did you see how close that motherfucka came to having a stroke because we were three minutes late? You'd think he'd trust us to rob a bank where the cops could show up like that?" he said and snapped his fingers. "Naw, we're hittin' up drug dealers for their blow."

"Coke? You fucking kidding me? How are we going to do that? Let me guess, we're going to walk in and ask them to hand it to us?"

"We gonna wave our guns around, then we're gonna grab the coke and be out. If they give us grief, well, then I guess we gotta do what we gotta do, don't we?"

Q felt as if he was suffocating His entire world had just turned upside down. His quest for the dopest lyricist went tits up and now he was involved in some coked-out remake of New Jack City. Still, there was a chance he could get some street cred from all of this, provided he didn't catch a chest full of bullets first.

"Ya feel me, son?"

Q nodded, but he couldn't erase the terror from his eyes.

"You scared?" Trey asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nah," he said trying to sound hard but fooling no one, including himself.

"My dude. I told Nino you ain't no punk. Look, I know you're scared, but keep that shit to yourself. Never let 'em see you sweat. Tonight you goin' represent for Bed-Stuy, baby," he said excited.

Q stared at him dumbfounded. Trey sounded as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning. Robbing people for cocaine made this guy happy. These were the people he rolled with.

Jesus.

But he had two questions on his mind that were more alarming than Trey's dodgy morals.

"Who are we robbing and why?"

Trey looked up and squinted at him. Maybe Nino was right when he said not to involve him. Said Q didn't know shit about crime, aside from what what he watched on HBO and Showtime. Said he'd ask too many fucking questions, and he'd be the first one to roll over on everybody if the cops popped them. And if it came down to the recollection of an Upper West Side prep school kid or three criminals, he didn't have to guess which version those pigs would believe.

A cold smile stretched across his lips. "The less you know the better. C'mon, let's grab the guns from Nino."

A/N: The last three chapters come to a head in chapter 14.