Cario “Crow” Domingo #2
He nodded. “A little.”
The kid looked like he hadn’t eaten a damn thing. I gripped the steering wheel and took a slow breath. If I let my temper loose right now, I was liable to drive right back upstairs, and cuss Shameka clean out.
“Aight,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “We’re gonna grab something to eat. But first, I gotta go speak to your mama.”
“Yeah, do that. She trippin’. Got my boy lookin’ crazy,” Rebel whispered.
I climbed out of the truck and slammed the door.
“Dad?” Sebastian called.
“I’ll be right back.”
The anger I had been trying to keep under control was boiling over as I headed toward the apartment building.
Before I could even knock, the door swung open.
There she stood in a silk robe with her hair half done.
From the frown on her face, she already had a fuckin’ attitude.
That bitch had some nerve. Soon enough, I saw why she was tripping.
Behind her, some nigga I’d never seen before sat on the couch, stuffing food into his mouth like he didn’t have a care in the world.
My blood pressure instantly shot through the roof.
I didn’t care who she was fuckin’, but I damn sure had a problem with her feeding some nigga while my son hadn’t even eaten breakfast. Meanwhile, Sebastian was standing off to the side looking like he’d just rolled out of bed.
That shit didn’t sit right with me. I was busting my ass every day trying to provide for my son, and this was the type of shit I walked into.
“You got this nigga sitting here stuffing his face, but Sebastian ain’t even had breakfast?”
The dude on the couch glanced up from his plate. “Everything good?”
I mugged that nigga down. “Ain’t nobody talking to you.”
“Darius, stay out of it,” Shameka snapped.
I looked back at her. “So let me get this straight. You couldn’t take your own son to school because you had to get your hair done, but you got time to sit up in here entertaining company?”
Shameka folded her arms. “First of all, mind your business.”
“My son is my business.”
“He was fine.”
“Fine?” I barked. “The boy ain’t eat breakfast, Shameka, and he looks dirty as fuck.”
Her expression faltered for half a second. “He said he wasn’t hungry and wanted to get dressed by himself.”
“Stop lying.”
Shameka rolled her eyes and started pushing the door shut, because that was her way of ending every conversation she didn’t want to have.
But I stuck my foot in the doorway and shoved it back open.
The nigga on the couch stared at me. I looked him up and down.
I didn’t care who Shameka dated. Hell, she could date the damn mailman for all I cared.
But the second a nigga thought he was gonna step to me over my son, he crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.
“Keep lookin’, nigga. See how that works out for you,” I threatened.
The dude frowned. “Man, who you talking to?”
A cold smile spread across my face. “See, that’s your first mistake. You think I’m talking. I’m warning you.”
The dude glanced at Shameka before looking back at me. He was trying to test my gangster. I kept staring at him. Just like I thought, the nigga ain’t want no smoke.
“I ain’t trying to disrespect you, bro.”
“Then sit your ass down.”
“Crow—” Shameka jumped back in the conversation.
“No. Since everybody wanna play in my face this morning, let’s be real. Why is my son is sitting outside hungry?
Shameka sucked her teeth. “He ate yesterday.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “What the fuck kind of answer is that?”
“He wasn’t starving,” she rolled her eyes.
The muscle in my jaw jumped. Shorty was delusional.
She stood in my face acting like her shit didn’t stink.
I didn’t put my hands on women, but in that moment, I felt like going upside her head.
I slammed my eyes shut and took a slow, deep breath, trying to get my temper under control.
The second I opened them and saw that hoe still standing there with an attitude, I went the fuck off.
“If I ever come over here and my son is hungry again while you got some nigga in here eating, I’m gonna tear some shit up. You can play with your own life if you want to, but don’t ever play with my son.”
“Pssh, whatever. You just talking,” Shameka smirked like I was calling her bluff.
“Yeah, you ain’t gonna do shit,” the nigga on the couch added.
That was all I needed to hear. I cracked my neck and pushed past Shameka, brushing her shoulder as I stepped into the apartment.
Before she could grab me or tell me to stop, I was already on his ass.
By the time the fool realized I was headed straight for him, it was too late.
I drove my fist into his jaw, snapping his head to the side.
Before he could recover, I snatched the plate out of his hands and smashed it across his head.
The plate exploded into pieces as food scattered across the floor, and the nigga tumbled off the couch in a daze.
“Motherfucker!” he yelled, clutching his head.
I stepped toward him. “You got enough energy to sit here eating while my son ain’t had breakfast?”
“I-I didn’t know—”
I leaned down until we were damn near face-to-face. “I don’t give a fuck what you knew, but her ass did. Don’t you ever play with me again,” I growled through gritted teeth.
I turned around and walked out before I did something worse that would have me explaining myself to a judge.