Page 165 of Own It

Daylin blushed before bolting her lips to mine in feverish kisses. She then lay back on my shoulder, and it wasn’t long before she drifted off.

It took me a minute to follow suit, as I began wondering who took that fucking photo, and also, who sent it. If Téa was behind that shit, unfortunately, my violent streak wouldn’t be tucking itself away any time soon.

EIGHTEEN

shaun

A WEEK LATER . . .

I stared at the television absentmindedly while inhaling on the blunt I held between my fingers. I felt like a shell of myself because I didn’t have Daylin, and I wasn’t staying at my own place out of fear of Rakim popping up or some shit since I went against his warning by showing up at Daylin’s warehouse.

I couldn’t be sure if he was looking for a nigga or not, but I wasn’t gonna be foolish and wait for him to show up in my bedroom with a 9mm pressed to my forehead.

It was difficult being unable to make moves and get money like I was used to, but I needed the shit I’d done to die down or something before I freely walked the streets.

I didn’t know much about Rakim or why he had enough pull to be in my fucking hotel room without me knowing or be privy to my flight information.

I’d had the homie Morris ask around about the nigga, but most people only knew what I did—that Rakim Godfrey was a disgraced boxer who’d caught a murder charge and now owned a bread distribution company and a boxing gym. None of that shit told me how he was moving like a muthafuckin’ CIA agent.

The front door of the raggedy ass apartment came open, and my homie Morris stepped inside. I hated having to stay with any-fucking-body, but it was what it was.

“Aye, somebody here for you.” He put his back to the closed door.

His words made me sit upright and use every muscle in my body to keep from leaping across this tired ass living room to choke him out.

Ashing my blunt and waving the smoke I’d blown out, I questioned, “Why the fuck you telling muthafuckas where I am!”

“I ain’t tell nobody shit, Shaun. Relax, nigga. Some old head walked up on me while I was outside shooting dice and said he needed to speak with you and he knew you was up in my fucking apartment.” Morris’s brows furrowed as he sized me up like I was the dummy.

“Where they at?”

“Down the hall.”

“You said an old head?” I inquired, and Morris nodded to confirm. Pulling my heat onto my lap and removing the safety, I said, “Let him in.”

Morris opened the door, looked out, and waved for whomever this random nigga was. I was skittish as shit, hoping like hell this wasn’t some nigga sent by Rakim to murk me.

Was I stupid for letting the nigga in? Maybe so. But I would be thinking about the shit all week if I didn’t. Not to mention both Morris and I were strapped, so it was unlikely that whoever this nigga was would make it out alive in a two against one situation.

Suddenly, Morris widened the door and stepped back, allowing probably the biggest nigga I’d ever seen to enter. Instantly, I felt as if my gun wouldn’t be enough. I darted my eyes to Morris’s hip to see his piece locked and hopefully fully loaded. We’d need every bullet in both of our guns to even make this big muthafucka stumble.

“What’s good?” the large nigga greeted as Morris shut the door. He watched my homie closely as if Morris could take him on himself.

“What’s good?” I rose to my feet. “Who you?”

“Nate,” the man replied shortly, making me frown in confusion.

“Aight, Nate. Who the fuck are you? How you know me, and how the fuck you find me? Quit with all this mysterious shit,” I fussed, taking him in and wondering why he looked somewhat familiar.

“I found you because ya boy here ain’t too bright. I spotted him and followed him from the store. If you gon’ hide somewhere, next time maybe don’t include him.” Nate rocked his head toward Morris, who sucked his teeth at him. “My son knows where you at too.”

“Yo’ son?” I was even more befuddled now. “Fuck is yo’ son, man?” At this point, I was becoming impatient and aggravated.

“Rakim, but I think you may have had an inkling already,” he replied, and I could feel the way my eyes mushroomed at that revelation.

That was why this giant ass nigga looked familiar. Rakim was his twin, only not as stocky or tall. Rakim was tall as fuck, but his father? Otherworldly.

“Oh shit!” Morris’s brows rose to his hairline as he put a fist to his mouth. “You Big Bully, the boxer!”