8. Rakim #2
“Of course.” She glanced off toward the receptionist, Chari, and I noticed some big ass finger marks on the side of her neck like she’d been choked roughly as fuck a few days prior.
“You better go back up there ’fore I have to lay yo’ nigga out,” I spoke when she opened her mouth to say more.
This conversation was pointless as fuck and wasn’t worth me having to break my foot off in Ayan’s ass over.
Agreeing with me, LaMia gave me one more closed-mouth smile, then turned away to head back up to the gym floor.
“If you willing to go for your brother’s woman, you should give me a chance then,” Chari joked.
“You married.” I smirked, shaking my head at her ass.
“And so is she, damn near.” She pointed upward, referencing LaMia. “You shouldn’t want your brother’s sloppy seconds no way.” She turned her nose up.
If she only knew. I didn’t care to correct her though. The less people that knew LaMia was mine first, the better.
Back when I was boxing, I wasn’t as open with my personal life as Ayan was, so it wasn’t odd that some people had no idea about LaMia being mine initially.
Even when researching the murder I’d committed, you’d have to dig deep to find the woman at the center of my crime and even then the results weren’t promised.
Because of the type of crime it was and who it involved, the prosecutors and my legal team made sure LaMia’s name and identity was concealed from the media in effort to prevent the backlash she might’ve received from fans and people who loved Judd Jenkins.
They weren’t even allowed to film the trial.
“I don’t. Focus on work and not my conversations with yo’ nosy ass.” I pushed the door open and chuckled a bit when I saw her grinning flirtatiously.
Chari was cool, but she was another reason why I would never get back into no serious shit. The thought of my wife being on the job flirting with other niggas, whether jokingly or not, would have me shooting some shit up. Between her and LaMia, I would be on some single shit forever.
I stopped at the liquor store to get a soda and then made my way to the Godfrey Baking Co.
to check on shit with Josias. He drove the trucks, the only one of us to procure his CDLs, so he did all deliveries to the grocers and liquor stores who carried our bread and, of course, the ones who also sold our other product.
I dealt with the drug dealers all over the city who had to come straight to me for their resupply. I dealt with no trap houses, no corner boys, or none of that shit. I was the boss’s boss.
As soon as I stepped foot into the back entrance of the bakery, I heard loud ass moans coming from the office area, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist for me to know it was Josias’s stupid ass and either one of his hos or his baby mama Tarin.
His second baby mama, Kasia, had way more decorum, and therefore, I knew she wouldn’t be fucking that nigga in a spot where they’d most likely be caught the fuck up.
Not to mention, Josias had to work for Kasia’s affections whereas Tarin was so fucking thirsty for his attention that it was effortless on his part. It was why he couldn’t leave the latter alone, though he swore that wasn’t the reason.
“Nigga, you ’posed to be working!” I banged on the office door and immediately heard them scrambling, afraid I was about to enter.
Usually, I would let the nigga finish, but him fucking a bitch in this bakery, which was our main source of income legally and illegally, had pissed me off. Josias was reckless like that though.
In another fucking world, I would never have him working such an integral part of my business, but that was my baby brother, and I would never be out here eating good while he had to fend for him-fucking-self.
Plus, once I got in his ass, he usually got his shit together for a few months before we had any issues again.
As for Zaire, he was what I liked to call my reinforcement.
If I needed to threaten a nigga about my money or simply dead his ass, that was where Zaire came in.
He was an addict, though, and got high too frequently for me to have him on some consistent shit.
It was a rarity that muthafuckas played with my money, or me period, so it wasn’t often I had to pull him out.
And speaking of Zaire, I needed to hurry the fuck up with Josias so I could get back to Daylin.
I didn’t trust Zaire to be on his shit for long.
He’d eventually get an itch he wanted to scratch, and his addict mindset would have him leaving Daylin unattended to feed it.
Like I said, my brother was only good with short, quick tasks like threats and dropping a muthafucka.
I could do everything Josias and Zaire did my-damn-self but I wasn’t a greedy nigga.
Without me, it’s possible they would be broke or out here doing shit that would have them locked the fuck up like I had been, and I couldn’t have that.
They survived while I was locked up because of that life insurance payout from my mama.
“My bad, bruh.” Josias finally emerged from the back hallway that led to the offices, with Tarin on his heels.
“Nigga, you can’t wait until you off the fucking clock to smash a bitch you been fucking for years?” I frowned, leaning up off the stainless steel counter I’d been resting on.
“Excuse me?” Tarin rolled her neck, but I acted just like her stupid ass wasn’t in the room.
“It just happened.” Josias pushed his locs back, flustered. “But I got everything handled, so don’t trip, my nigga. Chill out.” He half smiled, and I could only shake my head, irritated as fuck.
Noticing Tarin was still here and staring up at me, I lifted my brows to hopefully coax her to speak up or get the fuck out.
“Donna said what’s up, Rah.” She grinned.
“Who?” I felt my forehead crease as Josias told Tarin to leave me alone.
“My best friend.”
“And why is she asking me what’s up?” I probed further, confused and making Josias crack up as he soaped his hands.
“She wants to know what’s up with you and her!” She giggled, rolling her eyes as if to say I was pathetic.
“Ain’t nothing gon’ be up with me and her,” I replied, causing Tarin to suck her teeth. “Go so yo’ baby daddy can do some fucking work.” I went to open the back door for her, and she rolled her eyes before strutting out.
As soon as the door slammed, Josias said, “Donna fine as fuck though, cuz. Ass is super fat. I tried to fuck, but she threatened to tell Tarin.”
I just stared at Josias for a minute before sniggering subtly at his antics.
“You ain’t gon’ be satisfied until Tarin kill yo’ ass.” I started pulling some of the packages down like Josias had already begun doing.
“She love a nigga too much for that. But I heard Donna got some fire ass pussy. You may not wanna pass that shit up.”
“Not really interested in a woman whose pussy can be heard about.” I stayed focused.
Laughing, he asked, “Since when you care about body counts?”
“I don’t. But there’s a difference between fucking twenty niggas and fucking twenty niggas who talk.”
Niggas who bragged on the pussy they got were some lame muthafuckas, so if a woman had ten niggas talking about how they hit, she was clearly attracted to lames, and that wasn’t me.
However, even players fucked up—me with LaMia—so I gave women a two lame minimum in their adult years before a nigga lost interest.
“That’s facts.” Josias agreed, bobbing his head and turning on music.
“Keep that shit low, nigga. I need to be able to hear,” I called out, making Josias sigh dejectedly and lower the volume on his Bluetooth speaker.
When his stupid ass wasn’t looking, all I could do was shake my fucking head.