Chapter 20
Verse Twenty
The crowd roared when Donovan hopped on stage to perform his latest single featuring Lanky.
While Donovan’s voice carried a raspy tone, Lanky’s was sharp and clipped, which made the people go crazy.
Together, they created magic and hoped their new single, “Step That Shit Up” would solidify that new Hip Hop artist of the year category across all award shows.
Scooter pulled a nice beat out, the baddest one to date.
As soon as Donovan heard it, he slid into the booth and freestyled.
Lanky couldn’t wait to get in. Once he did, they finished it in about two takes.
“Aye, Lank?”
Lanky was tall, skin as dark as coal but smooth with full lips and bedroom eyes that hypnotized women. His tapered waves were naturally wavy, but when he allowed his hair to grow, it formed into natural curls. He was half Cuban, spoke fluent Spanish, and was one who loved a ghetto ass girl.
“You ready to show the ATL how we’re bringing it?”
“Dread Man, I’on know.” Lanky went to the edge of the stage with crossed arms. Security stood in front of him, but he shooed them away. “Oh, I thought y’all wasn’t feeling us.” He looked over at Donovan. “They feeling us, Dread Man. I think my wife out here, too.”
Donovan chuckled, but on the inside, he was torn, hurt even.
Chaney had done more than not answer his calls.
She’d changed her number. He decided that he’d be on the first plane in the morning, heading to Miami.
Luckily for them, they had a day in between before their next show in Charlotte, North Carolina.
He had plans to drag her bald-headed ass back with him because he’d come too far to let her slip through his fingers.
“I see you.” Lank winked, then looked at Scooter and dropped his head.
The beat dropped, and the crowd screamed so loudly, he could’ve sworn he felt the damn building shake.
As he and Donovan took turns spitting lyrics about the life they lived, the struggle, and how it shaped them, Scooter did his best to stay focused.
Serita had not only convinced Donovan to cop a spot in the room with Lanky and Gucci, but she’d had a damn glam squad show up to help her prepare. She whipped out her cellphone and went live, shouting out to her family back home about how her man had finally made it.
Scooter made himself scarce, eased out of the hotel room, and finally booked a separate one.
He slipped the bellhop two hundred dollars to gather his personal items and have them in his room.
He also paid the front desk five hundred dollars not to share his information, not even with Donovan.
Unlike his cousin, he didn’t have room for error.
If anyone knew his cousin was over Shay, he did, but he was sloppy and blinded by a loyalty that wasn’t loyal.
He knew Sashay wouldn’t stop until Chaney was out of the picture so she could resume sitting on his cousin’s dick.
If asked, she wore that bid like a badge of honor, but there was no honor in being stupid.
It was an invisible chain to a dead-end, fucked-up situation.
“Hold those fucking cells up!” Donovan belted as the room grew dark.
The crowd was feeling the new joint, and when Scooter told him they had a hit, it proved they had when he stopped the music, and they rapped along.
He wished Chaney were there to see it, tears welling up in his eyes.
All the while, she was at the home of her ex-girlfriend, his greatest fear.