On Detroit's B Street, the code is simple: you either make it out in a cell block, a graveyard, or you ball until the wheels fall off.
Separated by only ten months and mistaken for twins, Ace and G have spent their entire lives surviving the trenches together. Raised by their grandmother while their mother battles addiction on the pavement, the brothers know the block doesn't offer second chances. When a high-speed chase with the jump-out boys leaves their hustle van totaled and G in handcuffs, they find themselves owing two thousand dollars and an explanation to their volatile older cousin, Rico.
Determined to dig their way out of the hole, the duo sets up shop in an abandoned flat, building a high-volume trap from scratch. Backed by G’s fierce, tangled relationship with Heather—a veteran runner with high-end clientele—the money starts rolling in fast. But in the hood, success breeds enemies. When a neighborhood feud boils over into violence, a brutal retaliation leaves bodies on the floor and blood on the family name.
The breaking point arrives when Rico lets street beef take over his common sense, waving a ten-thousand-dollar cash bounty on Facebook Live. Within hours, a federal task force tears the neighborhood apart with flashbangs and raid jackets. Rico is facing ten years, the operation is dismantled, and Ace and G are left with a target on their backs, squad cars watching their grandmother's porch, and nothing left to their name.
Just when their run looks completely dead, their childhood friend Duke pulls up with a late-night move. One crowbar, a shattered suburban pharmacy window, and duffel bags loaded with thousands of prescription pills and bottles of syrup flip a nickel-and-dime hustle into an overnight five-figure jackpot.
With twenty-nine thousand dollars in cash slapped on the car lot desk, brand-new foreign engines idling on twenty-six-inch rims, and their cousin's baby mama watching their every move, the brothers are ready to take over the city.
Can brotherhood survive when the bag gets this heavy—or will the streets collect what’s owed?
