15. Rakim
FIFTEEN
rakim
BOOF!
The rickety door to the old ass trap house flew open as soon as I kicked the shit in, startling its occupants.
Josias was right on my fucking bumper, AK loaded up like mine as we started to let off shots into each and every muthafucka inside.
The living scattered like roaches, but since the old wooden home only had one entry and exit—Mylo guarding the back—there was nowhere to run.
Few attempted to extract their weapons but were too slow against the rage and gunfire Josias and I carried.
A couple niggas ran out from the kitchen, guns drawn, but their pistols were no match, causing them to become Swiss cheese before their finger could even curl on the trigger.
While the seven niggas who were once filling up pill capsules with fentanyl lay dead, my brother and I moseyed through the two-bedroom, one-bathroom home to inspect and be sure we caught everybody.
Slight whimpers caught my attention, and when I looked down, I spotted a bitch under the bed.
“You work here?” I queried, awaiting her response. If she was smart, she’d know what to say.
I was seeing red, wanting to take out every muthafucka pushing that death into the streets.
Selling fentanyl was the equivalent to robbing muthafuckas, but instead of it being their possessions, it was their lives.
May have sounded hypocritical considering what I did, but I wasn’t logical in the moment.
Muthafuckas like the ones in the living room had taken my brother’s life, and instead of continuing to scour the streets, investigating and interrogating, I decided I’d just clean these muthafuckas off the streets regardless of their involvement in me losing Zaire.
My efforts would save the next individual from ingesting bad dope.
“Ye-yes,” she sputtered like a fool.
Before she could say another word, I lifted my shit, aimed, and blew her fucking face open. Only muthafuckas I was sparing tonight were children, and thankfully, none were present.
“Clear.” Josias stepped into the room, moving back once he saw blood start to pool from under the bed. “Caught one, huh?”
“Yep. Let’s go.” I started out, and he trailed me as we met Mylo around the front, hopping into the blacked-out van and pulling off.
“Tell old boy Ryan to find us some more locations. I wanna get every muthafucka that think it’s cool to sell that shit, ’cause one is bound to be the fucking culprit,” I announced.
“I got you,” Josias replied, bobbing his head to affirm my plans.
I didn’t know if this shit would make a nigga feel any better, but it would do for now. It felt euphoric in the moment, unlike the helplessness that consumed a nigga every day that passed where I’d done nothing to avenge my baby brother’s death.
* * *
Slipping my key card into the door of the big ass hotel suite out in Beverly Hills, I trod over the threshold.
Closing the door gently, I made my way across the room and out onto the balcony where I spotted Ayan looking over, clutching a glass of brown liquor.
This shit was clearly his favorite thing to do.
The Hennessy bottle was half empty, letting me know this wasn’t his first of the night.
“The fuck?” He frowned, looking around spooked and rightfully so. “How the fuck you get into my room?” His eyes continuously toggled between me and the interior of his suite while wearing a befuddled expression.
“You thought that little show you put on in front of my girl was gon’ do something, huh?
” I ignored his question because it was irrelevant.
“You and LaMia both know them ain’t my fucking kids, but anything to put salt on my shit, right?
” I looked down over the balcony as well, watching all the fly ass cars whip up and down the street in the affluent city.
Sipping, he replied, “Wasn’t no show, nigga. It’s real shit. You been fucking LaMia behind my back this whole time.” He gulped the remaining liquor down and refilled his glass.
I just watched his side profile for a moment, then said, “You just a bitch ass nigga, Yan. You trying to find any excuse to absolve yaself of fatherhood and LaMia because she don’t mean shit to you now that you see I don’t want her.”
“Get over yaself, Rah. Every fucking thing ain’t about you. That ho been fucking you, and I found out then told yo’ precious new boo, so now you hot.” He laughed drunkenly into his glass, slurping some of the alcohol.
“Crazy we shared a fucking womb and ain’t shit alike.
” I shook my head, speaking more so to myself than anything.
“You weak in every sense of the word. You weak for putting ya hands on women, weak for trying to find any out you can from being a father, and you especially weak for trying to make moves on my woman.”
Scoffing, he volleyed, “I wanted her before she was ever yours. So people can stop acting like I only want what the fuck you got, ’cause that shit ain’t ever been true.
From the looks of things, you want whatever I got.
You been fucking my woman and now you don’ made the one I was checking for yours.
” He smirked, shivering some at the cold Los Angeles air.
It was nighttime, no sun present even a little bit, so it was too cold for a nigga to be out here in a short-sleeved top like him.
“LaMia was mine, we both know that. And if you truly fucked with her, you would’ve allowed her to break up with a nigga then heal.
But nah, yo’ whole reasoning for even checking for her was to get something over a nigga.
So you couldn’t wait. You had to snatch her ass and knock her up as quickly as possible to have some shit to dangle in my face, not even realizing I wouldn’t give a fuck about her as soon as she betrayed me.
“Now, you miserable and don’ started a whole family with a woman you never truly wanted.
” I chuckled, feeling Ayan shoot daggers at me as I pretended not to see him, basking in the city below us.
He was silent, so I knew what I said was true.
And though he and I weren’t close or identical twins, I still knew the nigga well.
“As for Daylin, you liking what you see and her not reciprocating those feelings don’t make her yours, chump.
” I finally gave him eye contact. “Per usual, I’m what she wanted,” I added solely to fuck with him, despite the accuracy.
I wasn’t a cocky nigga; it just wasn’t in me.
I had confidence, but it didn’t stem from what woman liked me better than the next nigga, my clothes and jewelry, or my bank balance.
That was some immature, high school shit.
My confidence came from within, and Ayan’s was the opposite.
He based his worth on how many fights he won, what women liked him, and how much money he had, and that was why he was essentially worthless no matter how much he tried and strived.
Even still, a woman like Daylin being mine was still brag worthy.
“Man, fuck you!” Ayan snapped, tossing his glass full of liquor at me like a bitch before charging my way.
I dodged the airborne drink and blocked his punch before sending one into his stomach to fold him over.
Gripping the back of his Prada polo-style shirt, I tossed him over the balcony, causing him to shriek.
“Fuck who?” I asked, slightly struggling to keep a hold onto this big ass nigga since we were what for what in size, but I truly didn’t give a fuck if I dropped his ass.
“Let me up!” He screamed, having lost all that bass he once carried while clawing on the balcony railing in attempt to gain ahold of it.
“Look at you, nigga.” I laughed, especially seeing his horror laden expression. “Dangling in the air like the runt of the litter.”
“Dog. Rah! Bring me the fuck up!” He continuously fought to grab onto something, looking stupid as fuck.
“Keep moving and you gon’ make me drop yo’ ass. I guess that ain’t too bad though, huh? You may die or, worse, big bad Ayan would have to go through life probably paralyzed and eventually end up broke.”
“Please, bruh.” Tears welled in his eyes, and I saw a semblance of the brother that I could very rarely play video games with when we were in elementary school.
It’d been decades since Ayan and I did anything together out of free will and just the two of us.
“Press my woman again or do anything to try to jeopardize our relationship, and I swear to God, Ayan Godfrey, I will murk you,” I promised him, and judging by the way his eyes never wavered from mine, I knew he’d picked up on how dire my statement was.
“I got you. I’m off th-that.” His voice quavered a bit.
Clenching my teeth, I slipped my freehand under his armpit and then quickly let go of his shirt to put the other under his opposite arm as he latched onto my shoulder. In one good heave, I pulled his weak ass over the balcony and dropped him.
“Move wisely, Yan, and that includes fixing that hand problem you got,” I tossed over my shoulder as I ambled through the sliding doors, the room, and out the hotel door.
* * *
Pulling up into a park outside of the hair salon in Inglewood, I retrieved my iPhone and tapped Téa’s name. Stepping out as the line trilled, I made sure I had my shit on me. I wasn’t known, but that still didn’t mean shit was sweet.
“Hello?” She answered skeptically.
“Come outside.”
“Umm, I’m under the dryer right now, Rah. Can you just tell me over the phone?”
“Nope. Come outside, or I can come inside and cause a scene. You got sixty seconds.” I hung up.
Leaning against the front of my whip, I waited, and moments later, Téa emerged from the salon wearing a clear shower cap-like hat and a frown that was a mixture of puzzlement and a reaction to the glaring sun.
“What’s going on?” she queried, shielding her eyes with her small hand as she took me in. I could tell by her slightly frigid body language that she was afraid.
“You be selling pussy?” I got right to the shit.
She opened and closed her mouth, sputtering but unable to form a coherent sentence.
“I-I used to, but I don’t do that anymore. And even when I did do it, it wasn’t all the time. It was rare and—”
“Ain’t this some shit.” I stood upright, taking in the scene to hopefully quell the urge I felt to choke this bitch out.
“Bu-but I swear I haven’t done it in a while! Are you asking because you think this baby might not be your kin?”
“The fuck you think?” I snapped, making her jump backward and place a hand on the slight bulge in her abdomen. “I’m not fucking you, so why else would I care what you did with that pussy, Téa?”
She nodded to say she understood as I took a breath.
“Well there is nothing to worry about, Rah, because I hadn’t done it in a long while before Zaire. Not to mention, I was always using protection. He was the only time I didn’t.”
“I should murk you for keeping this shit a secret.” I drank her in, contemplating. I had killed muthafuckas for less.
I was trying to dial that shit back, though, because it was hard compartmentalizing. Looking at my hands go from pulling triggers to caressing my lady was a mindfuck I didn’t like experiencing.
“Please,” she whimpered. “I will do anything. How can I prove—”
“Blood test and ASAP.”
“I thought those were unsafe to do before the baby arrives,” she countered.
Lowering my voice, I said, “Either you get the shit now or you die now. It’s up to you. But if you think I’m gon’ be footing the bill for ya lifestyle until you give birth with no indication of if that’s my blood, you insane for real.”
“Okay,” she agreed, unwillingly.
“Good.” I stepped off the curb, pulling the handle to my car. “I’ll be in touch. And it’s too late to run. You run, I hunt.” I locked my eyes onto hers before climbing into my car.
Téa stood there for a moment before whipping around and walking back inside of the salon.
I wasn’t too fond of killing women, especially ones in her condition, but if she’d come up with some ploy to play games with a nigga, using my dead brother in the process, I was pushing her shit back as well as whatever nigga she had backing her up.
It was usually always a nigga behind the scenes of shit like this.