Chapter 4
Orion
“Here this nigga goes.”
My brother, Omari, started clapping once I entered my mother’s house.
She had been calling me all week, but her last text, threatening me to show my face before she whooped my ass, is what got me to come over.
At this big age, I still feared my mother.
Olivia never played when she sent a threat.
Growing up, I saw her knock bitches out and all.
When she told you she was gonna harm you, she meant that shit.
And she had the memory of an elephant, so she didn’t forget a damn thing.
“Man, shut up,” I said as I walked past him, sitting on the couch, and headed for the kitchen.
Omari was two years younger than me. When I packed up and left the streets, I tried to drag him with me down the road to legitimacy, but his hot-headed ass declined. Instead of following in the footsteps of his big brother, he wanted to follow in the footsteps of my childhood best friend.
Fabian made the street life look like second nature to him; he always had.
The lifestyle was always easy when you weren’t the muthafucka running shit.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown, and back in my day, I felt the stress of it all.
I sighed because I could feel Omari walking right behind me.
He loved to see drama unfold when it came to me and our mother.
His drama-filled ass had been that way since he was a kid.
“Mama,” he called out, “the son you love least finally decided to show his face.”
I turned around and screwed my face up at him.
“Nigga, I’m first, that means I’m always gonna be her favorite.”
I turned back around, right into a smooth ear twist. My mom was stealth on her feet because I didn’t even hear her move away from the stove.
“I've been calling your trifling ass since I saw they shot your club up.”
“Ma, wait. Ouch!” She had a good grip on my ear and was twisting the fuck out of it.
“Yeah, get him, Ma,” Omari cheered on.
“I was figuring things out. Damn, you wanna let me go now?” I pleaded.
“No, the fuck I do not.” She dug her nail into my ear and twisted harder. “You had me stressed the fuck out.”
“You’re stressing out our mama. Her hair already little,” Omari said, which made me bust out laughing when I looked down at my mom’s head.
She called herself trying to get the short Halle Berry cut a few months ago, and although she was very pretty, she was too damn lazy for a hairstyle like that.
So, she never got it done. When she actually took the time out to go to the salon, the style was really pretty on her.
But on most days, she would wash it and walk out the door or wear it slicked straight back.
“Boy, shut the fuck up,” she spat at Omari before letting me go.
“Ah, damn.” I rubbed my ear before creating some distance between us.
My moms was unpredictable once she put her hands on you.
I remember when we were younger, she whooped both our asses for stepping on a Captain America action figure.
I didn’t even deserve the whooping for real because I didn’t even fuck with his ass; I was a Wolverine fan.
But I got whooped anyway because I was the oldest, and she told us both to clean up, which meant that I was supposed to clean behind Omari.
I sat beside him at one of the barstools on the outside of my mother’s kitchen island. I tried to find some comfort on the ugly ass gray suede chairs that I had paid for.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized for real this time.
Her back was facing me as she took some chicken wings out of the hot oil and placed them onto the plate, wrapped with a paper towel. She looked over her shoulder.
“Don’t let it happen again.”
“You got it.”
I turned my attention to my brother and saw that he was playing with one of his loose, scruffy braids.
“Get ya fucking hair done. You look a mess,” I said with disgust.
“Man, shut the fuck up. These bitches love me as I am,” he said proudly.
“They love you because you showboat your money.”
“You sound salty because you aren’t him anymore.”
My little brother had the game fucked up. I was him. Always would be. Shit, I was himothy. I scrunched my nose in annoyance before I told him about himself.
“Nigga—”
“Both of y’all shut the fuck up.”
Our mother turned around from the countertop, cursing us both out. She slapped down two plates in front of us with some fried chicken wings on them. Whenever my brother or I visited, she made sure to whip up something quick in the kitchen; it didn’t matter if we weren’t even staying long.
“I don’t give a damn if you’re him, her, or they, just eat and shut the fuck up,” she added before going to the sink to wash out the dishes she had just created.
“I’m not even hungry,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What did you just say?” she asked me without even turning around.
“Nothing,” I quickly spat out.
“I’ll take that,” Omari said as he slid my plate in front of him.
I had been over here a little too long, and I had a girl with a pretty smile, bright, round eyes, and a big ol' ass waiting for me.
“Aight, y’all. I showed my face, I’m out.”
I stood from my seat and then rounded the kitchen island to say goodbye to my moms. She was washing the dishes silently, as if she didn’t hear what I said.
“I’ll see you later, lady,” I said lowly before kissing the top of her head.
“Mmhmm,” she grumbled.
I hated to admit it, but I didn’t come around to visit my mother often.
I bought her this house and tucked her away for safekeeping, and that wasn’t fair to her.
I made a little promise to myself to start coming around more often.
Her fifty-fifth birthday was just around the corner, and I had begun planning something very nice for her.
Once I told her my plans, she had my event planner putting in overtime.
I didn’t mind the money I was kicking out because the night was going to be special for a very special woman.
A birthday dinner party right in the heart of where we were from.
East New York. I started to walk out of the kitchen, but Omari called out to me.
“Wait up, I gotta chop it up with you real fast.”
I didn’t know what my brother wanted to talk about, but this feeling in my gut told me that I wasn’t about to like whatever he had to say.
“What, nigga?” I said as soon as we made it to the front door.
“I’m in some shit that’s a little too crazy for my liking.”
I raised my eyebrow and then crossed my arms over my broad chest. I didn’t give a damn how much this little nigga got on my nerves; I would go to bat for him every single time.
Our parents raised us to stick together, always. His problems were mine, and everybody knew that shit. If he felt like he was in some shit to the point he couldn’t handle things, then it was my job to step up and get things straightened out.
“Walk me to my car and explain.”
I opened the front door and then started walking down the driveway.
My mother lived in Long Island in a big ass house I had cashed out on about five years ago.
There was no way I was gonna let her stay in Brooklyn with me being a demon in the streets.
When Omari started running around town, I knew that it was time for her to go.
It wasn’t like our dad was around to protect her.
I was too busy running around, and honestly, my brother didn’t have a mature enough mindset to constantly look out for her as she deserved.
Although Omari was two years younger than me, and his mentality was three years younger than that.
He was still so hot in the head. I was, too, but within reason.
It was safe to say that those Blackwood boys were a work in progress.
I was the low-key sibling while Omari had to do everything for everyone to see.
I didn’t really care for social media, and he lived for that shit.
There was a shift in the way he posted on Instagram lately.
At first, I just thought it was my brother trolling, how he usually did.
But now knowing that he was in some shit, I was pissed off about the posts I had seen from him that were up and down my Instagram feed for the past two weeks.
“And ya ass making all those IG posts when you're in some shit. Turn those typing fingers into trigger fingers and go lay something down. What the fuck is going on?” I asked, leading the way to my car.
“So, I had a shipment go missing—”
The way I turned around and glared at him caused him to stop speaking immediately.
I was giving him the Ike Turner meme look because I was pissed.
A shipment going missing showed a sign of weakness that no man in the streets should want under their belt.
When I narrowed my eyes for him to finish, he continued.
“I found the culprit, though. And I gotta handle him for the disrespect. There’s no other way.”
He said the last part like he was trying to convince me that the way he was about to move was justifiable.
See, when I was head honcho out here, I didn’t look to the next man to justify any actions of mine.
I didn’t give a fuck who they were. I didn’t even consult with my own daddy, and he was the one who had put me up on game.
I did what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it because who the fuck was going to check me?
“So, handle business,” I said flatly.
I opened my car door and then sat inside the driver’s seat, leaving the door open so we could still speak. I didn’t see a problem. Both my brother and I had dumped niggas in the Hudson for less.
“It’s Fresh…”