Chapter 2
Mona Averhart
That bitch has a lot of fuckin’ nerves, thinkin’ she finna come in, an’ be anything to August Junior, I thought, fingers curling as I placed my right foot on the steps.
That bitch has no fuckin’ idea how hard I ensured I was an’ would forever be secured in August Senior’s life.
I’m gon’ get my fuckin’ happy endin’. I’ll cut a bitch life short to make sho’ I get it.
I ain’t finna let another motherfucka keep me from the life I envisioned but was kept away from it, I thought as the once loud house became quiet as my past sucked me in quickly.
Since I was a little girl eager to learn to read and write, life hadn’t been a cake walk for my siblings and me.
We had a father who came from money but couldn’t hold onto a dollar.
He was the worst kind of man to procreate, let alone raise children.
The same had to be said for his wife. She carried his first child for forty weeks, thinking that having more children meant that they would become their slaves.
That kind of thinking was devastating, sickening, and heartbreaking.
My siblings and I came from a shitty background.
Once my sisters got with living comfortably to wealthy men from out of state, they didn’t bring their asses back to our home state.
I didn’t blame them; I was proud of them for escaping the hells our parents still tried to put us through.
My sisters took all the knowledge that I taught them and used it well.
The only bright light that came from being my father’s child was having my dad’s brother, Uncle Silas, his wife, Auntie Clara, and their only child, Min, in our lives. Their summer and holiday returns to the United States were always a dream come true. Things were great until vacation ended.
Each time, my hopes and dreams of being the pretty, dark chocolate girl who would excel at life, the right way, came and went.
That’s until I met King and his family, leading me to his favorite cousin, August. One look at the gold-mouthed man with eyes of lust and love was all I needed in my life.
I snatched and ate that shit up like the last homemade 7-Up pound cake.
Our genuine late-night conversations, him tending to me when my leg was fucked up, and cooking for me when I didn’t want any fast food, were always top tier. August Senior was my life raft, and I loved it. August Junior welcomed me with open arms and the prettiest smile, full of love and happiness.
Within three weeks of being in their lives, I knew I couldn’t walk away from my endless happiness.
So, I did what anybody struggling to have romantic love would do.
I dropped my scheming ways against petty ass, fuck ass, idiotic dope boys.
I cut my brothers off at the knees and told them a better life was in store for us if we forgot everything our parents told us.
I left my hometown with ease after wishing my brothers good luck in their future endeavors.
Six weeks into living a better life away from my family, my brothers were into everything but the right thing.
I was worried that without my presence, someone would kill them.
So, every now and again, I had to make an appearance to settle the fuck shit they created by being needy assholes who weren’t slow as our parents painted us to be for disability checks.
Two months ago, my brothers took things too far.
They stole from one of the most influential, high on the idiocy, and insanely petty dope boys, Dropo.
Cameras weren’t needed to know who was responsible.
My siblings’ identification cards were left on that man’s trap house property.
Immediately, he thought I had sent my brothers to him; thus, the threats were made against me, the unconfirmed jack girl.
No matter how much I told Dropo that I didn’t attack him, the more he felt that I had.
I was done pleading my case and told him to jump if he felt motherfucking froggy about his carelessness to keep his dope unsecured for idiots to get it.
I hadn’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since my brothers fucked with that man’s dope spot.
For sure, I wouldn’t sleep well knowing Amana was barking up a tree she had left a long time ago.
Between my rough upbringing, my brothers’ stupid actions, Dropo threats, and Amana showing her face after countless times of walking by the Augusts and me as if she didn’t know them, I was fed the fuck up.
Yet, I couldn’t react the way I badly wanted to.
I was seven weeks pregnant, and yet to tell August. Not from fear or disappointment, but because I wanted him to find out while he was out with the fellas.
I wanted to hear the happiness booming through his voice when he shouted, ‘Oh, so, two of ‘em in you, huh, guh? On the way to the house to grease our new baby’s scalp’.
It’s been three weeks since I learned of my pregnancy, and his ass has yet to open his damn wallet to learn of our new additions.
Zit. Zit. Zit
“Mona!” everybody yelled, including August Senior as he roughly turned me to face him.
All the way snapped into the present, I closed my eyes tight before opening them.
Fuck, I zoned out, I thought, answering, “Yes?”
“Where the hell you go?” August asked worriedly as everyone looked at me oddly.
“All over the place,” I answered, searching his lowered eyes.
“Why?”
“Sometimes going down memory lane helps with certain things,” I replied, hoping that ended the conversation.
“But why?” he asked, stepping closer to me.
“I’m unsure at the moment,” I lied as my phone vibrated harshly in my pocket.
August stared at me questionably. The silence became eerie and annoying. I was used to someone saying something to break the tension.
When it never came, I cleared my throat and asked, “Are you ready to go?”
“Nawl. We ain’t going to Amana’s crib,” he answered, causing my nails to scrape across my palms.
“Why?” I asked, refusing to blink.
August didn’t speak. He looked at Thiago, which caused me to look at the lanky, well-loved and silly man. Standing at the bottom of the staircase, Thiago tilted his head backward. Sensually, he jogged his tongue around his thick bottom lip.
Using his forefinger to keep the fidget spinner spinning, the deep-tone man said, “There’s a time an’ place fo’ you to handle that shit wit’ Amana.
I’ll take shit to Hell wit’ her, again, just as I promised I would if I saw her.
I’mma just gon’ ‘head an’ kill her since she was bold enough to pull up here an’ saw my truck outside.
To be clear, that’s grounds fo’ death by my book ‘cause I gave a fuckin’ warnin’.
I don’t do that often. I don’t take kindly to people fuckin’ over my family an’ only slidin’ back in ‘cause it benefits them. The bitch’s fiancé learned she had a kid but tossed him to his father.
He put their weddin’ on hold ‘til she bring August Junior in their lives. That’s the only reason Amana in the picture ‘cause a dick makin’ her be in the picture. ”
“And how do you know this?” I questioned as the handsome man lowered his head.
“By me being in the streets, it’s my job to know any an’ everything ‘bout motherfuckas who come in an’ out they lives,” he spoke slowly, pointing at Kingsley, the twins, and August. “It’s been that way fo’ a long time. It’s gon’ always be like that.”
I nodded out of acknowledgment of his statement, not because of how he felt I should move.
So, I exhaled, interlocked my fingers, and said, “I love how you love them dearly, but this isn’t about your threat to her.
It’s about the threat that I haven’t made to her yet.
I don’t need you to take shit to Hell. I can do that very, very, very well enough. ”
“You gon’ make shit worse, hotheaded Mona.
You ain’t from here. You’on know the first thing ‘bout Amana or the nigga she wit’.
If you gon’ be Mrs. August Abbott, you better start thinkin’ like him, not the hood chick from Columbus, Georgia.
You got a lot to learn, an’ if you’on pay attention to how August move …
you gon’ have him fucked up … needin’ me to bail his ass out.
You movin’ too fast, Mona. The first thing you do is learn ‘bout yo’ opp.
Then, you strike they ass. You’on know shit ‘bout Amana other than she left August after givin’ birth to August Junior.
That’s nothin’. To know a motherfucka mean, you don’ crept ‘round they house so much that you know where the weak points at. You know when the best time to go in they shit an’ kick’em in the chest an’ flick Oreo crumbs in they eyes.
Only I know the best time to get Amana an’ her old man.
You see, my brothers an’ me get away wit’ a lot of shit ‘cause we on payroll fo’ someone to say we ain’t been nowhere …
even when there’s a dozen of fuckin’ witnesses.
When I don’ did som’ shit an’ a motherfucka can’t pinpoint who did it ‘cause I sit an’ watch people.
You’on have that luxury an’ honestly, you’on want that luxury.
You ain’t built fo’ it, fo’ real. You a born gutta survivor.
Me an’ my brothers just fuckin’ gutta. Big difference,” he breathed with ease as Tiberius, Thames, and Tobias agreed while looking up the staircase at me.
“So, you are suggesting that I sit back and do nothing? That makes me look like a weak bitch,” I sassed, studying his eyes as he dropped his arms on the staircase’s wooden pole.
“It don’t make you look like a weak bitch, Mona. It make you a smart woman. You’on strike ‘til you’ve been provoked. Her emailin’ August ain’t shit. You signed the papers to adopt August Junior last year, right?” he asked, smiling and interlocking his fingers.
“Yeah.” I nodded as he slung the fidget spinner in the air.