12. Rakim
TWELVE
rakim
A DAY AND A HALF LATER . . .
I kept my focus on the task at hand as my father walked into my office inside the boxing gym.
I really wasn’t in the mood to talk to his ass, and ever since I pressed him in Las Vegas, he’d been trying to put up this father of the fucking year facade.
I wasn’t buying it, and the muthafucka should’ve known better.
“How you doing?” he queried.
“Straight.” I looked down at the documents atop my desk before typing in the schedule on my computer.
“You know the shit with you and Ayan—”
“I might have to smoke yo’ son.” I cut him off, sulking back in my seat and watching him closely as my words seeped in and settled.
If he wanted to discuss Ayan, we could but in the way I wanted to.
“He pushed up on my girl, and though she not going for the shit, it’s about time that nigga learns who and who not to fuck with. ”
My father groaned, running a hand down his exasperated face.
“Rah, that’s not just your brother, he’s your twin.”
“Fraternal.” I rested my chin on my interlaced fingers. “No different than my relation to Zaire and Jojo. It ain’t like it is with our younger brothers; they’re identical.”
Glancing off, he regained eye contact with me, then said, “Your brother is a famous and coveted boxer. If he disappears, they will not let it go, and this time, you would go to prison for life.”
“This time? You think I’d get caught?” I laughed, watching the horrific expression bleed into this nigga’s face at my revelation.
Leaning forward, Nate replied, “Rakim, just think about this shit. He’s—”
The man of the hour burst off into my office, the stench of whatever alcohol he’d been drinking peppering the air.
“You better knock like you got some fucking sense next time, nigga.” I glared up at him as he slammed the door, stumbling inside.
“Nigga, you drunk?” Nate exclaimed, looking his son up and down in disappointment.
“He fucked her behind my back and them kids ain’t mine!” Ayan pointed at me, whining like the bitch he was.
“Huh?” My father toggled between Ayan and me, confusion embedded in his face. “Where did you get this shit from about the kids?”
Running his wrist across his runny nose, he replied, stupidly, “I just know it. Plus, she ran to him with some bullshit, and the nigga got all in my face about it in Vegas. Remember? Don’t no nigga do that unless he fucking her still!”
“Well?” My dad looked over at me for an answer, brows furrowed.
Laughing and shaking my head, I said, “You one insecure ass, immature idiot, you know that?” I cocked my head, watching fury filter into my brother’s mug. “You hit her and send her outside with a black eye. Of course I saw the shit and put you in yo’ fucking place.”
“You have no business getting into your brother’s affairs,” my dad stated through clenched teeth as if he were scaring some fucking body.
“Of course you’d say that. You don’t see shit wrong with putting hands on women and even children for that matter.” I locked my eyes to his as I spoke.
Ignoring my statement and peeling his attention away from me to place on his discombobulated ass son, he said, “That shit is not true. LaMia loves you, and she would never sleep with someone else or lie about the paternity of ya kids. Aight?”
Nodding his head as if he agreed, Ayan opened his mouth to contradict his body language. “Nah. I’m getting a DNA test, and soon as that shit come back saying I’m related to the father and not the father, you gon’ have to see me.” His eyes were pinned on me as he spoke.
“That supposed to scare me?” I stood.
Without words, Ayan rushed around our father and toward me, making me deck his ass.
I gave him a deep one to the stomach as my father hollered, bending his ass over.
Flipping Ayan around and pinning his arms behind his back, I rammed his bitch ass into the wall, ignoring the way he wiggled and fought to release himself to no avail.
“Let him go!” Nate shouted.
“You can never beat me, nigga,” I spoke lowly to Ayan, causing him to try harder to break free, teeth digging into his bottom lip with the effort.
“Only reason people even pay yo’ bitch ass any mind is ’cause you that nigga son, and I ain’t in the game no more.
You’ll never be me, nigga. You’ll never be like me, nigga.
You could fuck every bitch I’ve fucked, do everything I do, eat everything I eat, drive what I drive, rock my same fits, or even piss the way I do, and you still wouldn’t be me.
It ain’t in you. That’s why we fraternal.
Even God knew I couldn’t be duplicated, bitch.
Make this the last muthafuckin’ time you run up ’cause I swear to God you won’t make it out next round.
“I don’t want yo’ bitch,” I let him know, feeling him physically freeze at that divulgence.
In all the years me and this nigga beefed, I’d never voiced that shit.
“But I do want Daylin, and if you make one more muthafuckin’ pass at her, Judd Jenkins won’t be the only bitch ass boxer I put in the ground. ”
“Let. Him. Go.” Nate walked up to tug on me, and I snatched away from him, releasing Ayan who was beyond vexed, storming from my office.
“You can go too, nigga.” I nodded toward the exit, grabbing my phone to see if Daylin had hit me back yet.
“You wrong if you been messing with that girl this whole time.” Nate spoke as he stood in the doorway of my office, watching me text my girl back.
“One day both you and him will learn that I ain’t ever wanted shit he had, including her.” I gestured for him to keep it pushing and then followed him out, locking my office up.
Making my way downstairs to the main floor, I spotted tipsy ass Ayan conversing with some random nigga who trained here.
“Yeah, ’cause that’s dope. If we—”
“Excuse me.” I cut the nigga off and gave Ayan my attention. “Make a move on or say anything else to my girl, and we gon’ be the new aged Cain and Abel ’round this bitch. And I’ll make Cain look like a muthafuckin’ saint.”
Ayan and the muthafucka he was chopping it up with looked slightly terrified, though Ayan tried his best to hold onto his furious expression while old boy was astounded.
Leaving out the gym, I hopped in my whip and drove straight to the bakery. Mylo and I had to pack up the truck for Josias, and I was already running about fifteen minutes late. Hopefully that nigga started without me.
Parking in the back, I entered through the side, seeing Mylo hard at work.
“Good. Thought yo’ slow ass would be sitting here staring at the fucking wall, waiting for me,” I quipped, and Mylo responded with a halfhearted laugh. “Slow people need love too, my nigga. Don’t be offended.” I washed my hands, seeing him finally crack a fucking smile. “You know Téa?”
“Huh?” Mylo whipped his head around to face me fully, surprised etched in his features.
“Téa. Old girl that’s pregnant by my brother. You was acting spooked when we went to see her like y’all got history or some shit.” I taped up one of the boxes in the queue. “Keep it a buck with me, Mylo. I prefer being real over bullshit, no matter what it is.” I kept my eyes on the box as I spoke.
Sighing, he said, “Yeah, I know her. She works at Perry’s, that mid-level strip club.
” He paused and I waited, continuing to work.
“She ain’t no stranger to fucking for the right amount of bread.
I only know because I don’ hit before,” he revealed, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in himself.
“You hit her recently enough for that baby to be yours?” I questioned, feeling the anger rise within me.
I didn’t like being lied to, but the part that had me the most upset was the fact that the bitch had possibly gotten my fucking hopes up about having some semblance of my brother left here on this earth. For that, I wouldn’t let her ass make it if the unborn turned out not to be related to us.
“Nah. Absolutely not.” He shook his head with finality, and I just surveyed him for a moment to see if I detected any dishonesty in the nigga. Thankfully, I didn’t. “I ain’t gon’ front though. It’s possible that baby ain’t Zaire’s regardless.”
“I’m already knowing.” I stayed focused, keeping up the coolheaded veneer, but on the inside, a nigga was fuming for real.
If Téa was lying, she’d be dead before she even had a muthafuckin’ chance to regret the shit.
* * *
Stepping back after ringing the doorbell of Talid and Shardaya’s, I chuckled hearing the fumbling of the locks behind the door, knowing it was their son, Khalid.
“Boy, move! What did I tell you about trying to answer the door!” Shardaya admonished her baby boy as Daylin and I chuckled in unison.
“Okay!” he exclaimed just as the door came open. “Rah!” He rushed past his mama to hug me.
“What’s good, man?” I smiled down at him. “This is my girlfriend, Daylin.” I rocked my head in her direction, seeing how brightly she beamed down at him.
“Wow. You are sexy,” he said.
“Boy!” Shardaya swatted him as I did my best to bottle my laughter. “Sorry. It is so nice to meet you.” Shardaya hugged Daylin after shoving her son in the house and instructing his ass to go play in his room.
“No worries.” Daylin was giggling as she trailed Shardaya into the house while I followed, closing the door. “Your house is so beautiful.”
“Thank you, girl. We just got it remodeled like a year ago. I think my husband wanted to keep me occupied,” Shardaya stated proudly, and I could tell she was in better spirits now that my cousin was doing much better. “You want a tour?”
“Um, yeah, if you don’t mind.” Daylin grinned.
“Can you be without her for like twenty minutes?” Shardaya jested.
“To be honest, not really, so make the shit quicker than that,” I half joked. I could be without Daylin, but low-key, a nigga really couldn’t. The ladies giggled before Daylin stepped up for a kiss to which I happily obliged her. “Where my cousin?”
“He’s in the backyard under the cabana,” Shardaya answered before leading my girl off.