6. TRUTH
TRUTH
Iwas back in Amai’s Mercedes for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, and it didn’t feel as awkward as it should have.
The leather seats still smelled expensive—like money and power. The dashboard glowed soft blue in the late afternoon light. The engine purred so quietly I could barely hear it over the low hum of the air conditioning.
I sat with the duffel bag of cash between my feet, my hands folded in my lap, trying not to think about the fact that I may have just quit my job.
Trying not to think about the fact that I’d signed a contract to carry a stranger’s baby.
Trying not to think about the way Amai’s voice had sounded when he’d told Amber she better respect me or regret it.
But mostly, I was trying not to think about the way my chest had tightened when he’d said I’m his.
I didn’t belong to anybody.
I’d told him that.
But the way he’d looked at me when I said it—like he was filing that information away for later, like he was planning to prove me wrong—made something low in my stomach twist.
I watched the streets pass by outside the window.
We were heading away from the Seventh Ward.
Away from Mama’s house.
I frowned.
“Where we going?” I asked.
Amai didn’t look at me. Just kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console.
“Quick stop,” he said.
“Quick stop where?”
“You’ll see.”
I turned in my seat to look at him. “Amai.”
“Relax,” he said, his voice calm. “I’m not kidnapping you.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You were thinking it.”
I wasn’t. But I didn’t argue.
We drove in silence for another few minutes. Then I saw the sign for Lakeside Mall and my stomach dropped.
“Amai!”
He pulled into the parking lot.
“What the fuck?” I said, sitting up straighter.
He didn’t answer. Just found a spot near the entrance, put the car in park, and turned off the engine.
Then he turned to look at me.
His eyes were dark. Unreadable.
“First thing you need to know about me,” he said, his voice low and precise, “is Amai Landry gon’ make sure you get your lick back every single time.”
I stared at him.
“Ain’t nobody about to play in your face,” he continued, “’cause that’s like playing in mine.”
My heart was pounding.
“Amai, what are you?—”
He opened his door and stepped out.
I sat there, frozen, watching him walk around the front of the car.
He opened my door.
Held out his hand.
“Come on,” he said.
“I don’t?—”
“Trust me.”
I looked at his hand. Then at his face.
Then I took his hand and let him pull me out of the car.
He walked to the trunk, popped it open, and grabbed the duffel bag. Locked it inside. Then he came back to me and reached for my hand again.
This time, he didn’t just hold it.
He entwined his fingers with mine.
The touch was warm. Firm. Possessive in a way that made my breath catch.
“Don’t trip,” he said, looking down at me. “Just go along with it.”
“Go along with what?”
He didn’t answer.
Just started walking toward the entrance, pulling me with him.
The automatic doors slid open, and we stepped inside.
The mall was busy—families with kids, teenagers in groups, couples walking hand-in-hand. The smell of pretzels and perfume and new clothes hit me all at once.
Amai walked like he owned the place.
Confident. Unhurried. Like every person in this mall was just an extra in a movie where he was the star.
And I was walking beside him, my hand in his, my heart racing, my mind trying to catch up to what was happening.
We walked past the food court. Past the shoe stores. Past the kiosks selling phone cases and sunglasses.
Then, I saw it.
Macy’s.
My stomach dropped.
“Amai.”
“Keep walking.”
We walked through the entrance.
And there she was.
Destiny.
Standing behind the makeup counter, her hair in a high ponytail, her nails painted red, her face done up like she was about to shoot a music video.
She looked up.
Saw me.
Then saw Amai.
Her mouth dropped open.
I felt Amai’s hand tighten around mine.
“Pick out whatever you want,” he said, his voice loud enough for Destiny to hear.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“You heard me.” He looked at Destiny. “Get the manager.”
Destiny’s eyes went wide. “I—what?”
“I said get the manager.” His voice was calm. Deadly. “Now.”
Destiny’s hands were shaking as she picked up the phone behind the counter.
A minute later, a woman in a black blazer and pencil skirt walked over. She was maybe fifty, with short gray hair and sharp eyes that softened the moment she saw Amai.
“Mr. Landry,” she said, smiling. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Denise,” Amai said, nodding. “I need your best salesperson. And I need you to fire her.” He nodded toward Destiny.
Denise’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry?”
“Fire her,” Amai repeated. “Right now.”
Denise looked at Destiny. Then at me. Then back at Amai.
“Mr. Landry, I?—”
“She disrespected someone I care about,” Amai said, his voice flat. “That’s unacceptable. So, either you fire her right now, or I take my business elsewhere. Your choice.”
Denise didn’t hesitate.
She turned to Destiny. “You’re terminated. Effective immediately. Security will escort you out.”
Destiny’s face hardened. “What? You can’t?—”
“I just did.” Denise gestured to a security guard standing near the entrance. “Please escort Ms. Encino off the premises.”
Destiny started screaming.
“This is bullshit! You can’t fire me for no reason! I’m gonna sue! I’m gonna?—”
The security guard grabbed her arm and started pulling her toward the exit.
Destiny twisted around, her eyes wild, her voice shrill. “You think you special now, Truth? You think you better than me cause you got some nigga with money? You still the same broke bitch you always been!”
Amai stepped forward.
His voice was quiet. Lethal.
“You ain’t gonna do shit,” he said.
Destiny’s mouth snapped shut.
The security guard dragged her out.
The store went silent.
Then Denise turned to me, her professional smile back in place. “I’ll get you our best associate. Please, take your time. Anything you want is yours.”
She walked away.
I stood there, my hand still in Amai’s, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
“What the fuck just happened?” I whispered.
Amai looked down at me. “I told you. You getting your lick back.”
I stared at him.
Then I started laughing.
I couldn’t help it.
The sound bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest—part shock, part relief, part pure, unfiltered joy.
“Oh, my God,” I said, covering my mouth with my free hand. “Oh, my God! You just?—”
“I just handled it,” Amai said. “Now, go spend some money.”
I looked up at him, my eyes wide. “Don’t get it fucked up. I can spend a nigga money, nah.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
“Then spend that shit,” he said.
I grinned.
“Spend dat shit, spend dat shit,” I sang under my breath, doing a little two-step right there in the middle of Macy’s.
Amai shook his head, but I saw the amusement in his eyes.
“Where’s the Goyard bag?” I asked, looking around like I was about to go to war.
Amai reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Black card.
Held it up.
“I don’t need one,” he said.
I stopped moving.
Stared at the card.
Then at him.
“Oh, it’s like that?”
“It’s like that.”
I snatched the card out of his hand.
“Bet.”
I went crazy.
Not in the way Destiny probably thought I would—throwing shit in a cart, grabbing anything expensive just because I could.
No.
I went crazy in the way Mama taught me.
I thought about my sisters first.
Saroya needed new shoes. Her three kids were always growing out of everything, and she never bought anything for herself.
I found a pair of Nikes in her size. Then a cute jacket I knew she’d love. Then a purse because she’d been carrying the same one for three years.
Honor’s husband was in and out of county, which meant she was always stretched thin.
I grabbed her some jeans, a couple of nice tops, and a perfume I knew she’d been eyeing last time we went to the mall together.
Raven worked at a salon and already had a bag, but I still got her some perfume and some expensive earrings.
Then, I thought about Mama.
Mama, who’d kept us alive in that shotgun house. Who’d paid it off in 2014 and never asked anyone for help. Who drank too much and loved too hard and never let us forget where we came from.
I found her a new robe—soft, plush, the kind she’d never buy for herself. Then some slippers. Then a bottle of her favorite perfume that she only wore on Sundays.
By the time I was done, I had two full bags, and I wasn’t even close to finished.
I looked around and saw Amai sitting in one of the chairs near the dressing rooms, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest.
Watching me.
Not on his phone. Not distracted.
Just watching.
I walked over to him, my bags in hand, my heart still racing.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m great,” I said. “But I’m not done.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
I grinned. “You sure about this?”
“I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”
I believed him.
So, I kept going.
I bought myself a dress—something I’d never wear to Magnolia Gardens but might wear to… wherever Amai was taking me next.
I bought new shoes. A new purse. Some makeup I didn’t need but wanted anyway.
I bought a jacket that made me feel like somebody who had her shit together.
By the time I was done, I had six bags and Amai’s Black card had been swiped so many times I’d lost count.
The associate—a woman named Monica who treated me like I was Beyoncé—helped me carry everything to the register.
Amai stood and walked over, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.
Monica rang everything up.
The total flashed on the screen.
$3,847.62.
I looked at Amai.
He didn’t even blink.
I handed Monica the card.
She swiped it.
Approved.
Monica handed him the receipt and smiled. “Thank you so much, Mr. Landry. It’s always a pleasure.”
“Appreciate you,” Amai said.
Then he looked at me. “You done?”