9. Téa Gates
NINE
téa gates
THE NEXT MORNING . . .
Someone pounding on my front door jarred me from my deep sleep.
I’d been up all night researching apartments in much better areas because I didn’t want to risk anything happening to me while pregnant.
Though Rakim seemed cool, he scared the shit out of me, and after looking into the Godfrey family and learning why he was nicknamed a disgraced heavyweight boxer, I wanted no issues with him.
He was a hustler at heart though—that much was obvious.
My father, before he died, always said a man who can get rich, lose it, and get rich again were the true hustlers.
That was definitely Rakim because now that his boxing career had plummeted, he was able to reinvent and come back with that bread line I’d seen in stores myself.
It made me wonder if he had a girlfriend. Not because I wanted him—even if I did, I was pregnant by his brother, so that ship had sailed—but because he was so mysterious and gave very little in the way that he talked but also his demeanor.
“Fuck.” I groaned, tossing the covers off me and going toward the living room.
I grabbed a knife on the way because last time this happened, it was a crackhead at my door who attempted to rob my ass when I told them I didn’t have any money.
Though Hawthorne wasn’t a particularly horrible area or even deemed hood amongst most LA natives, it was sure on its way to being pretty terrible.
“What’s up?” Mylo stated, gesturing behind me to ask if he could come in.
“Yeah, um, what are you doing here?” I frowned, shutting the door once he was inside.
“What shit you trying to pull, baby girl?”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Téa. If anybody know how you get down, I do.” His mouth twisted in aggravation.
I was uncomfortable in the moment considering Mylo had been one of the niggas I’d fucked for cash but only once. It was over a year ago, though, so I wasn’t sure why he was worried about what I had going on with Zaire.
The money I made from stripping was just enough for me to get by since the owner of the place had started hiking prices on shit, making the act of coming into Perry’s look less and less attractive.
And my pay depended heavily on how many niggas came to the club every night.
With how slow shit was, I had to make ends meet, so I started offering other services, sometimes onsite and others in hotel rooms or back seats of the car, just depending.
I did have some standards though. Not any man could walk in, offer some cash to me, and fuck.
I had to at least be attracted to him, and he needed to have fat pockets.
Lastly, I only did extracurricular work when I was falling on super hard times.
This wasn’t some every night or even every month shit.
“What does how I get down have to do with anything?” I snapped.
“You fuck niggas for money, including me, so who is to say Zaire is yo’ baby daddy?”
“Because when I fuck niggas for money, I make them strap up, or did you forget that part?” I raised my own brow at him.
Waving me off and pacing briefly, Mylo halted his moves and spoke through gritted teeth. “You playing a dangerous fucking game, Classy.” He used my stripper name. “Ain’t no way you expect me to believe Zaire was the only nigga that don’ nutted in you.”
“It’s Téa, and he is. I actually liked him. I didn’t link with him for money.” I folded my arms and glanced off. “He was different.”
Mylo laughed satirically.
Only reason I was even keeping this baby was because I was lonely.
I had no relationship with my mother, and my father had died when I was in high school.
Additionally, Zaire made an impression on me, and I figured this would’ve been something he would be excited about.
Then, when I found out he’d passed, I knew I couldn’t get rid of his legacy especially after informing his brother.
“We gon’ see if Rakim believe the shit you spitting.” He went for the door.
“Wait, no. I swear to God this is Zaire’s baby. Not only am I usually safe, I stopped getting money on the side for a few months before we had our night together.” Looking up into Mylo’s hazel eyes, I begged. “Please do not tell your friend anything.”
Shaking his head, he replied, “Can’t do that, Téa. Rah would kill a nigga and rightfully so. But you just better hope that fucking DNA proves everything you saying or you good as dead. I can promise you that shit.”
“Then I have nothing to worry about,” I responded confidently.
Mylo sneered before shaking his head and yanking my front door open to leave.
Sitting down on the couch, I prayed that Rakim kept his word about waiting for a DNA and didn’t just come to his own conclusions and kill me.
* * *
“FDO” by Pooh Shiesty resounded throughout Perry’s as I stood by the bar, watching a well-known pill pusher named Kevin stroll through, bobbing his head to the beat as he took in the stock of ladies walking around.
“Thanks, girl.” I tossed back the soda shot the bartender Tiffani had given me and switched off while wiping the remnants of the Coke from around my mouth.
I sauntered sensually when I neared Kevin, catching his eye easily like I always could when niggas came through here. It was only a matter of time before I felt his rough hand grasp my wrist.
“Damn, walk slower. You know niggas is looking.” He smiled, tugging me back toward him.
Slipping my wrist from him, I said, “You gotta pay to touch. Remember that.” I smirked lustfully, watching him bite down on his bottom lip as he drank me in like a hungry vampire.
“Want a private dance?” I queried, inconspicuously making sure no one had gone to the back and occupied the room I’d set up.
Kevin eyed me pensively before nodding and rubbing his hands together like Birdman. He could barely keep his head up because his attention was on my body in this tiny ass G-string bathing suit.
“I’m with that.” He finally used his voice, well after confirming non-verbally.
Taking his hand, I led him toward the back, dancing a little bit to the beat of the song, knowing he was watching.
“Remember the rules,” Yundo, the bouncer, told Kevin.
“I ain’t no creep.” Kevin pulled his jeans up, sizing Yundo up for a moment before continuing to follow after me and into the room.
Shutting the door, I turned to Kevin and smiled as he plopped down onto the velvet couch. Before I even made it to him good, his hands were on my hips, caressing and groping in ways he knew were disallowed.
Straddling his lap, I settled myself, then reached down between the top and bottom cushion to grab the blade I’d hidden there, putting it to his neck and making him yelp.
“You know someone named Zaire?” I asked, pressing the very sharp knife to his neck and causing slight blood leakage.
“The fuck is that?” Kevin questioned, terror swimming in eyes. It could’ve been funny in another circumstance.
“Tall ass nigga with locs, caramel skin, and a G tatted between his eyes.” I ran off a quick explanation while Kevin pondered on my words, eyes still wide with mortification.
“Aight, yeah, he umm, bought some shit off me before. Why? You his bitch?”
“You sell fentanyl?” I squinted. “Be honest.”
“Nah. Hell nah. I ain’t gon’ lie, I have, but that was years ago, I swear.
Fuck is going on?” His chest heaved. “Swear to God, lil mama. I don’t even dabble in cocaine or heroin.
That’s for muthafuckas who don’t mind spending years in prison.
I stick to weed and pills.” He kept running his mouth, and as I thought about it, I knew he’d been selling around the club for a minute, and no one had perished to my knowledge.
Moving from his lap, I set my knife to the side and grunted as Kevin moved away from me promptly.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Why you asking me this shit? A nigga spreading rumors? I don’t play like that.”
“No.” I shook my head. “No rumors. A friend of mine died, and I figured you’d sold to him before because most of your money is made here at Perry’s.”
“Well I can promise you it wasn’t me. Niggas know I don’t fuck with nothing hard.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. I noticed he kept watching me, and rightfully so.
“I need to find out who is selling that shit because it didn’t come from nowhere.”
Kevin nodded before offering, “I can keep a lookout and shit. Maybe if I hear something, I can let you know.”
“Would you?” I finally gave him eye contact.
“I could . . .” He leaned back, licking his lips. “If you do something for me.” He humped upward.
Scoffing, I looked off only briefly, then said, “You can help me, or I can tell his brother you know shit but refuse to say anything.”
Laughing, he asked, “Fuck is his brother supposed to be, my daddy?”
“Wanna find out for yourself?” I lifted a brow and watched as Kevin’s face fell.
“I’ll help, but only ’cause it’s right. Whomever his brother is, a nigga ain’t worried.” He waved me off.
“Thanks.” I rose, and he grabbed my hand.
“I can’t get nothing for being nice?” He frowned.
“Nigga!” I snatched my hand and switched out of the room once I’d opened the door.
I finished out my shift, doing table dances for a little while since I’d already worked the stage a couple hours ago.
After changing, I grabbed my things and slipped into my The North Face coat I’d been able to secure with the money Rakim had given me. I’d be looking at new apartments tomorrow and then a car for the next time he gave me money.
As I stepped outside, phone out to order my Uber since my Honda had died, I heard a loud car horn. Peering up, I spotted Mylo driving a black Denali, the passenger side window rolled down.
“Are you stalking me?” I sucked my teeth.
“Nah. I’m making sure you get a ride home. Come on.” He hit the locks.
“Rakim didn’t send you here to snap my neck or something, right?”
“Fuck would he do that for?” Mylo smiled, and for the first time since he’d reentered my life, I remembered he was actually cute.
He had smooth brown skin, a mustache and goatee combo, curly hair that he kept cut short, and a tall, lean frame. His smile was something, though, and he looked way finer when he wasn’t scowling like what I was used to seeing him do.
“’Cause you ran to him with your lies and rumors about me,” I half joked.
“I didn’t. Come on.” He waved for me to come closer, so I did after checking my surroundings once more, making Mylo shake his head at me. “I also wanna be sure you don’t take on no extra jobs while Zaire’s supposed baby is in ya stomach.”
“It’s not his supposed baby. It is his baby, and I’m not doing that nor looking to do it in the future now that Rakim is breaking me off so well.” I sank back into the seat, enjoying Mylo’s pleasant scent.
“Then why you dancing if he breaking you off so well?” He whipped the streets.
“Wanted to question someone I figured Zaire had bought pills from before to see if he sold him some bad shit,” I admitted, peering out of the window.
Glancing between me and the street ahead, he said, “Yeah? Me and Rah on that same shit. He tell you anything?”
“Nah, he didn’t do it. Said he’s too scared to sell anything harder than pills and weed.” I nibbled on the edge of my nail. “Told me he’d keep an ear out, though, to see if he can get me some information.”
“Aight, well you know where to bring whatever you hear, right?”
“Of course.” I glanced his way, admiring the hazel color of his eyes. Hm.
“You hungry?” Mylo offered, nearing my home.
“I am, but I have a little freezer burrito I plan to warm up and eat.” I bobbed my head, not wanting him to ask me to go eat or anything.
Not only was that weird considering my condition and his connection to my baby daddy, but I didn’t date. I wouldn’t even know how to have an outing with a man that didn’t involve drugs, alcohol, or sex. And the first two could no longer be apart of my life.
“Ugh. The fuck. I’m offering you real food, and you want that bullshit?” He shook his head, strong jaw moving before he licked his supple brown lips, causing me to lick my own as I basked in his side profile.
“I do. I got a whole bag from the grocery store, and they are my new obsession.” I picked my bag up from being on the floor between my feet. “I’m right here. Don’t pass it.”
Pulling over, Mylo eyed me as I put my phone up and got ready to get out of the car.
“Maybe we should exchange numbers in case you need anything.”
“Nah.” I hopped down onto the curb. “I got Rakim’s. Thanks for the ride. Night.” I slammed the door and hurried inside before the niggas noticed me and started hollering for my number.
Mylo was cute, but other than admiring one another, there was nothing else for us to do.