A/N: It has been very interesting watching this story develop. Ya'll may agree with me that something should probably be happening soon—and it shall. Coming chapters 9 and 10 should have a substantial gear shift. The weight of the strain on Riley is wearing me down; I've got to lighten the mood!!! ; (Shout out to my boy Mr. Williams, good lookin' out S!!!)

Riley bobbed his head to the beat of Thugnificent's newest track. Fortunately the T.V. spot that he did a few months back had been paying off and sales were stable. He watched as several other members of Lethal Interjection worked with Thugnificent to help give the track flare. Thungnificent had figured the one they were working on now would be a hit and he and the boy concurred—the energy of the beat was high and the force of the bars brought you to near fever pitch. Riley smiled a bit as he realized that this track would eventually be played in clubs around the country. It was something to be proud of he supposed.

The section went on for about three hours. At its conclusion, Thugnificent announced that he would be throwing a party to commemorate the release of the album that was street dated for late next month.

"Ay Rizil, I don't wanna hear no bitchin' from yo'grandaddy bout all the cars eh?" Thugnificent smiled widely as he and the other crew members laughed at the statement.

Riley smiled as well as he returned with his own snappy comment. "Ay, I was goin'ta the kitchen, ya'll want sumthin'?"

"Yeah, bring out dat Coors Lite in'dere." Said Thugnificent.

When Riley was out of sight of the others, he allowed his pleasant air to run away from him. He hated it when Thugnificent called him Rizil—even though it was Riley who had coined the term for himself. Thugnificent only called him Rizil around the others, and that was only to keep up the facade. While in his current success, Thugnificent had allowed himself to be written off as 'studio gangsta'. His rational was that it was what people expected—its what sold.

Thugnificent and other artists like him rapped about a life that most couldn't relate to, but it was exactly that which fueled gangsta-rap's popularity. In reality, the average person probably wouldn't even want to live the harder life that rap artists wrote about—most people only saw the money, glamour, and fast living, like Riley. While he himself hadn't been exposed to whatever Thugnificent had been, it was slowly becoming apparent to the young gangsta apprentice that all that glittered was not gold. It wasn't at all unlike what Gangstalicious had described to him while they had been locked in that trunk. He never really did any of those things he rapped about; he just got…caught up.

It was true that gangsta-rapper Thugnificent was from the smoking crater of Terra-Belle Georgia, but it was believed such a fact didn't necessarily mean he was an extension of his violent and derelict-ridden home town. At least, that's what he wanted people to think. Riley had asked once before what exactly it was that he did back home for him to know, or rather need to know, all the things that he was teaching him. His response was a slap to the back of the head and for him not to worry about 'shit he did'. After that, Riley knew not to ask about Thugnificent's past exploits. Riley figured though that whatever it was, Thugnificent wanted to keep those skeletons safely tucked away. And that was fine, but Riley simply found it interesting that the members of Lethal Interjection, who assumed they were all so close to Thugnificent, seemed to know very little about him. They were the real studio gangstas, as Thugnificent had put it. And that was why Riley hated it when he called him Rizil. It was a falsity that covered up what was really going on.

Riley grabbed the twelve pack of light beer and headed back for the living room.

There was nothing especially thrilling about this pseudo-double life he was leading. Well, at least not for the sake of the thrill itself. It was worrisome really, and he wasn't particularly comfortable with keeping his training activities secret…but whatever.

"Yeah, so of course word is gettin' out bout the new record so there already groupies an'shit linin' up for the next whateva, an' the shit ain't even planned yet!" Thugnificent boomed amongst his cohorts. Riley had since walked up with the beers and placed them on the table. As the group leaned in to take their respective cans, Thugnificent flashed him a grin. "An' we all know that our Young Rizil gunna be our bouncer, right?"

All the men, save Thugnificent, erupted into boisterous laugher at the suggestion. Riley grinned sheepishly at the attention, but knew Thugnificent was quite serious. Riley was fully aware that it fell on him to regulate on anyone who decided to get a bit too rowdy. A test of sorts one would suppose.

The thought was kind of exhilarating, being counted on to police the scene and possibly having to put to use the skills he'd been learning. While he was sure he wouldn't have to open up a full can of woop-ass, there was no doubt someone would get handled some kind of way.

"So, when you g'wn have this party?" Macktastic asked.

"I figured Saturday after nex; give folks time ta'get excited an'shit."

After about another fifteen minutes had passed, Riley excused himself. One good thing about the others being there was that it meant that Riley could get a break from training. Back home, Riley headed for the shower. Inside the bathroom, the only place he could get any real degree of privacy, he took care to remove his sports tape and bandages. Most of the smaller cuts had scabbed over and healed, but the deeper ones still needed dressing. After all the wraps were removed, Riley took a moment to examine his appendages. His once smooth and even-toned skin was now pockmarked with slash marks and bruises. The Krav Maga training was the most brutal. Lately Thugnificent had been more forceful in his punches and kicks, not to mention the speed of his throws. Riley mentally winced at the memories of being constantly hurtled to the icy concrete of Thugnificent's basement floor during the grapples. While his fists were always wrapped during practice, the frequency of the punches to the pads Thugnificent did actually purchase caused his knuckles to bleed. Riley could get over it though, but the thing he didn't care for were all the damn marks left on his body. He had complained about it before and Thugnificent had simply told him to stop letting him make contact so often. Riley did admit though that his reaction time had increased dramatically. It used be that Thugnificent would always make contact with his face, but Riley's desire to keep his face relatively bruise free for risk of giving himself away to his family, made him a very quick defender. On that same token, he had been practicing on turning his defends into offences. Every now and again he would catch Thugnificent and bruise him a little too—Riley couldn't help but gain satisfaction from this. At the point he was at now, Riley could seriously fuck a nigga up in several potentially deadly ways. Not but a few days back did Thugnificent suggest that Riley find some Krav Maga training centers—it was possible that he would put up the cash to pay for additional training during the summer months just so Riley's skill would improve—which, combined with all the other weapon training, would effectively turn Riley into a killer.

And the thought chilled him to the core.

Now underneath the running water, Riley washed slowly, partly because he wanted to take care going over his bruised and tender flesh, and partly because he simply wasn't focused. Riley could never remember a time when he felt more distracted about anything, and it unnerved him. Sometimes he thought his brother was right and that he should try hanging with more kids his age. Maybe it would help alleviate some of his straying thoughts—maybe, if Thugnificent would allow it. Much of Riley's free time had been dedicated to training under the gangsta-rapper. When he wasn't with him or at school, he was with his family—leaving no time for himself to be alone and decompress. It was part of the reason he showered so much more now—to rinse off the blood and sweat, and so he could fucking be alone. Maybe he was depressed; who the hell knew?

Thursday of…

"Whutup nigga. Word around the block says you thowin' wuna'them rich nigga parties. I'd like ta come thew…if you don't mine."

The slow draw of the voice on the phone caused Thugnificent's eyes to narrow. Why was he calling?

"Nigga, how'da hell you get this numba?"

"Aw com'own man, you know wees go waaay back. I cain't look a nigga up?"

"Cut the shit nigga, whut'da fuck you want?"

The voice's draw slowed even more. "Why I gotta want suhum?"

"Whatevea nigga. If you wanna come thew, I cain't really stop you—jus don't start no shit when you get here."

Friday of…

The boys had been walking home from school in silence. Oddly enough, despite the fact that they occupied the same bedroom, dialog between them had become nonexistent. Huey had glanced over to Riley for the first time since they left the school grounds; Riley was looking ahead. Huey watched him for a second before facing back himself.

"I would be remiss if I didn't ask you not to go to that party tomorrow night."

Silence.

"This is me asking you not to go Riley."

More silence.

Huey drew in an audible breath through his nose. Riley didn't even try to respond. Hell, it used to be that he could any raise, no matter how small out of Riley—and it seemed now that his little brother had become so disturbingly distant, it made Huey want to choke him. He remained calm though as he looked at him again.

"Riley why won't you talk to me?"

Again silence.

"Riley--"

"There ain't nothin'ta say." Came his solitary response—having not once looked at his brother. He was strumming nerves now.

Huey snatched back the arm of his brother to look him in the face. Riley's eyes remained closed for a moment before he opened them back—his face expressionless during the event. And even though only seconds were passing, the silence in the space between them seemed to span ages. There was so much Huey wanted to know, yet the mind to form the proper questions eluded him somehow.

Riley stared back into those fiery brown eyes, knowing just exactly what they wanted to ask him. What Riley wanted to tell him but wouldn't, and simply couldn't explain why. A critical point was being reached.

"You can let go of my arm now." Said Riley in a subdued tone.

Huey gripped the bicep in his hand a little longer before finally releasing it. Why couldn't Riley see his frustration? Why was he being like this? Why? The younger brother said nothing more as he began walking way.

If that was the way he was going to be, then fine. Huey had drug Riley out of Thugnificent's house before, this would be no different.

The boys continued they're walk home, silence enduring. This couldn't go on forever, they both knew. It was just a matter of when things set itself back right between them, hopefully sooner than later.

A/N: Ok, that's done. Next chapter I CAN promise a scuffle. Something to look forward to. Happy Holidays you guys!