Rakim #2
“Godfrey, what the fuck?” I heard Clifton Parks utter in disappointment and shock just as I was being manhandled by officers, them forcing my fucking hands behind my back after snatching my heat.
I kept calm and didn’t speak a word as them niggas read my Miranda rights.
As they escorted me to the patrol car, I combed through every parked car along the curb before expelling a heavy breath of relief, happy that LaMia wasn’t here to have to witness this shit.
* * *
FOUR MONTHS AND A MURDER TRIAL LATER . . .
“It is the judgment of the court that the defendant Rakim D. Godfrey be committed to California State Prison to be imprisoned for a term of three and a half years. With time served of four months, you are to remain imprisoned for three years and two months . . .”
The courtroom erupted at Judge Canton’s words, sentencing me for the murder of Judd Jenkins. Judging by the words being thrown across the courtroom, half felt it was justified while others shouted and screamed that I deserved life or even the electric chair.
Lucky for my ass, that wasn’t going to be the case. Not to mention the governor had put executions in California on hold for the past few years.
“Fuck.” I sighed, dropping my head some as my lawyer Omer grinned widely at our semi victory.
I didn’t wanna go to prison, but at least I wouldn’t be there for the remainder of my fucking life.
“What did I tell you, Rah?” The older black man beamed. Leaning in to speak lowly before the guards approached, Omer added, “It was good you did it right away.”
I already knew that which was why I’d opted to smoke Judd as soon as LaMia told me what the fuck he did.
I would’ve murdered the nigga anyway, real shit, because of the disrespect for me and my woman, but I knew the different effect premeditated murder and a crime of passion would have on my repercussions.
Had I gone home and stewed on the shit just to placate LaMia like she wanted a nigga to, my life would be looking a lot differently right now.
Speaking of LaMia, my eyes landed on my baby as she pressed the bottom half of her body into the thick wooden railing separating us so she could hug my neck tightly.
“That shit gon’ fly by, baby,” I promised, wishing I could wrap my arms around her, but I was already being yanked on and cuffed.
“I know.” She kissed my neck. “I will write, answer the phone, and be waiting right here for you.”
She didn’t know how good it felt to hear those words slip from her sexy lips. I wasn’t sure how true it was, but a nigga could hope.
I smirked softly, pulling back some to stare down into her innocent brown eyes just as my brothers Zaire, Josias, and my fraternal twin, Ayan, approached to say their goodbyes to a nigga.
“You need a shank in there?” Josias asked half seriously, making me shake my head with a smirk.
I was smiling, putting on like I was relaxed, but low-key, I was on edge. I probably did need a fucking shank, and if I did, I’d be sure to get one. I wasn’t sure what the fuck to expect when I went in, but I would be on guard at all times.
“I don’t need that,” I pretended, considering we were right in front of the officers rushing my ass to hurry up and say my goodbyes.
Zaire, the most sensitive of us all, was clearly too fucked up to joke with a nigga like his twin had, so he simply bobbed his head at me with glazed eyes. I surveilled him for a beat, picking up on what he was putting down, and I couldn’t lie, I felt like shit.
Though Ayan and I were only five minutes apart, I’d been the protector for my brothers, especially Josias and Zaire. With me going away, Zaire was clearly worried.
“You a Godfrey, nigga. Stay up,” I told him, signaling to him to poke his chest out.
Zaire gave me another half-hearted nod before walking off toward the exit of the courtroom, where our father, Nate, stood off in the distance, looking me over in disdain.
To him, I was foolish to throw away my whole fucking career all for LaMia, or any woman, period, for that matter. Therefore, he had nothing to say to me. He was in attendance for appearances and nothing more, so I didn’t expect him to come up and say anything special or comforting to a nigga.
Nate was a hard, callous muthafucka. You’d find more comfort on a spiked ball than in that nigga. But our mother had died only a year ago from a heart attack, so our iron-fisted and evil father was all we had, much to our chagrin.
And while I wouldn’t change a thing about defending my lady’s honor and respect, I couldn’t even front on the fact that I, too, was troubled by the cost of it all.
I would never box professionally again. Shit, I’d be lucky if I could ever work anywhere again.
I’d have to create my own job if I made it out of prison alive.
At the end of the day, though, I had to own it. That was the motto and the same one I made sure Josias and Zaire adhered to. No cop-outs, no fucking excuses.
Whatever I did in life, I owned it. Whether it was handling business, winning, losing, making mistakes, diving in pussy, or even just walking into a room—Rakim Godfrey was gon’ own it. Accountability was king to me. Only a pussy made an attempt to mitigate the unfavorable shit he did.
Removing my attention from my pops, I darted my eyes away toward my twin, Ayan. We were definitely fraternal in every sense of the word.
The nigga looked nothing like me aside from our size, which was mainly due to the fact that we had a six-foot, eight-inch father and five-foot, eleven-inch mother which resulted in Ayan and me coming in six feet, five inches.
Our personalities, though, were so stark that people often gaped at the fact that we were fucking twins.
That nigga Ayan loved attention, spotlight, and was hella talkative when comfortable, while I preferred to be low-key and would much rather observe the room than be caught up in conversation, jokes, and shit.
He and I beefed often due to his jealousy, but it was simple brother shit I hoped he would grow the fuck out of since it was small shit to me.
For example, while I always excelled in sports with the grades to match, Ayan struggled in both, becoming so hyper focused on what the fuck I was doing that he couldn’t keep eyes on his own shit.
I always attempted to help his ass or look out, but he would never want the assistance.
Even when it came down to women, Ayan would be pissed if a bitch latched onto me instead of him, especially if he was checking for her first. And naturally, he hated when people mistakenly addressed me as his older brother, assuming I was years older and not simply five minutes.
He hadn’t ventured into boxing yet, though, so that was a possible sign of his maturity and getting over always trying to compete with a nigga.
I prayed for that. Maybe us being apart for the next three years plus would do wonders for us.
I had no interest in beefing with my own blood, especially in the climate I was living in currently.
“Good luck,” Ayan threw out to me dryly before making an about face and walking off behind Josias and Zaire to meet LaMia and my pops by the exit of the courtroom.
“I love you,” I mouthed to LaMia as we locked eyes.
She blushed the same way she did whenever I said that shit just before mouthing it right back.