1. Rakim Godfrey #3
Shit had changed drastically while I was inside.
While my career waned and deteriorated to nothing, Ayan had come in and filled my shoes.
He’d been doing pretty well, well enough for news about his fights to hit the inside of the California State Prison.
Despite our differences, I was proud of the nigga until his treacherous act.
Now seeing shit for what it was and always would be—Ayan was envious and would always vie for whatever I had, even my woman.
I showered, brushed, flossed, and rinsed with mouthwash before putting on some gray joggers, a wife beater, socks, and corduroy slippers. Smelling some of my colognes, I tried to see if any were still viable, and after recognizing they’d all gone to shit, I left out.
Thanks to Zaire filling up one of my Range Rover trucks, I had enough gas to make it to my twin’s destination.
It took a nigga a minute, but I eventually remembered the route to my brother’s home. I didn’t even check to make sure Ayan was there because it didn’t matter. I would sit outside of his home for twenty-four hours straight if I needed to.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to, as I pulled to a stop in front of his home to see a few cars there.
Though Ayan had been boxing the past few years, he clearly still wasn’t rich enough to leave the home he’d been able to purchase with the life insurance money we’d all received from our mother’s sudden death.
Seeing the truck I’d gifted LaMia parked in the driveway caused my anger to resurge and swell, making me climb from the car abruptly and tread up the walkway.
Without a word, I banged on the fucking door as if this were a drug raid waiting to commence, causing Ayan to yank the door open, wearing a frown.
When recognition set in, his glower quickly morphed into an expression filled with terror just before I hit his ass in the face causing him to stumble back inside to which I followed.
“Bitch ass nigga!” Ayan bellowed, swinging back.
I could tell Ayan thought this would be an easy feat, due to his current career of choice, but what he’d forgotten was that I’d done it first and was still better.
I’d been doing it longer and had a deeper passion for the shit, unlike him who was just in the sport to appease our pops and to take over the area I once reigned over but could never again.
Add to that, I was irate, feeling like a bull being let loose into the ring.
Sadly, there wasn’t enough training or technique in the world to help Ayan defeat me, and by the time he was able to realize it, I had his ass laid out, wailing on him.
“Ah! Oh my gosh! Stop!” LaMia came running in.
I ignored her because, in my mind, this was about betrayal between brothers.
Ayan and I had shared a womb, shared trauma coming up in the same household, and despite his obvious envy, I’d given his hating ass whatever he asked for.
By saying that, I couldn’t care less about LaMia or what she felt at this point, because a ho was gon’ be a ho.
It was up to Ayan to put our bond before a bitch.
“Aye!” A voice that I recognized as belonging to our father yelled out just before the muthafucka tackled me onto the couch to stop me from killing Ayan.
“Doing this ain’t gon’ make her come back to you, nigga!” Ayan roared, enraged at the fact that he’d gotten his ass beat. It happening in front of LaMia probably only heightened his anger.
Frowning because I was offended, I barked, “I don’t want her ass back, bitch. I came here to teach yo’ soft ass about loyalty, nigga! Next thing of mine you touch, you dead,” I promised.
“Aye, listen to me, boy.” My father got in my face to steal the deadly eye contact I was shooting at Ayan. “You fucked yo’ life up over a ho, and now you dealing with the fucking consequences. But what I will not allow is for my sons to fall out over a woman.”
I was listening but processed none of it.
It didn’t matter, because I was done with both Ayan and LaMia.
Now that I’d broken my foot off in Ayan’s ass for his betrayal, .
. . shit, I was good. I wouldn’t take it any further, because yesterday was the last day a nigga would spend in prison over LaMia.
Not to mention, I understood the arrangement better than the participants themselves, and that was because I knew them better than they knew one another.
LaMia was with Ayan because he was the closest replica of me that she could get.
He was in the same profession, due to make the same amount of money I once made, and most obvious, he was my twin.
No one would be closer to a copy of a nigga than Ayan, looks aside.
As for this nigga Ayan, he had an obsession with obtaining anything I had, and LaMia was just one of those many things.
If the two of them wanted to blow up their lives over a surface level connection, who the fuck was I to stop them?
“Best wishes,” I said and started for the door, smirking at Ayan jumping very slightly thinking a nigga was going in for round two as I bypassed him.
From now on, if money over everything was a person, it would be Rakim Godfrey.