Page 3 of Own It

A cacophony of sounds surrounded me as I stood above Judd’s apparently lifeless body, blood pooling under his head.

Screams mixed with quick patterned runs, shattering glasses, and shouts full of bass all mixed together in a hazy medley as I remained in place, gun clutched tightly in my hand. I wanted to be sure Judd was dead, and if he wasn’t, I was gon’ shoot his bitch ass again until he was.

“Godfrey, what the fuck?” I heard Clifton Parks utter in disappointment and shock just as I was being manhandled by officers, them forcing my fucking hands behind my back after snatching my heat.

I kept calm and didn’t speak a word as them niggas read my Miranda rights.

As they escorted me to the patrol car, I combed through every parked car along the curb before expelling a heavy breath of relief, happy that LaMia wasn’t here to have to witness this shit.

* * *

FOUR MONTHS AND A MURDER TRIAL LATER . . .

“It is the judgment of the court that the defendant Rakim D. Godfrey be committed to California State Prison to be imprisoned for a term of three and a half years. With time served of four months, you are to remain imprisoned for three years and two months . . .”

The courtroom erupted at Judge Canton’s words, sentencing me for the murder of Judd Jenkins. Judging by the words being thrown across the courtroom, half felt it was justified while others shouted and screamed that I deserved life or even the electric chair.

Lucky for my ass, that wasn’t going to be the case. Not to mention the governor had put executions in California on hold for the past few years.

“Fuck.” I sighed, dropping my head some as my lawyer Omer grinned widely at our semi victory.

I didn’t wanna go to prison, but at least I wouldn’t be there for the remainder of my fucking life.

“What did I tell you, Rah?” The older black man beamed. Leaning in to speak lowly before the guards approached, Omer added, “It was good you did it right away.”

I already knew that which was why I’d opted to smoke Judd as soon as LaMia told me what the fuck he did. I would’ve murdered the nigga anyway, real shit, because of the disrespect for me and my woman, but I knew the different effect premeditated murder and a crime of passion would have on my repercussions.

Had I gone home and stewed on the shit just to placate LaMia like she wanted a nigga to, my life would be looking a lot differently right now.

Speaking of LaMia, my eyes landed on my baby as she pressed the bottom half of her body into the thick wooden railing separating us so she could hug my neck tightly.

“That shit gon’ fly by, baby,” I promised, wishing I could wrap my arms around her, but I was already being yanked on and cuffed.

“I know.” She kissed my neck. “I will write, answer the phone, and be waiting right here for you.”

She didn’t know how good it felt to hear those words slip from her sexy lips. I wasn’t sure how true it was, but a nigga could hope.

I smirked softly, pulling back some to stare down into her innocent brown eyes just as my brothers Zaire, Josias, and my fraternal twin, Ayan, approached to say their goodbyes to a nigga.

“You need a shank in there?” Josias asked half seriously, making me shake my head with a smirk.

I was smiling, putting on like I was relaxed, but low-key, I was on edge. I probably did need a fucking shank, and if I did, I’d be sure to get one. I wasn’t sure what the fuck to expect when I went in, but I would be on guard at all times.

“I don’t need that,” I pretended, considering we were right in front of the officers rushing my ass to hurry up and say my goodbyes.

Zaire, the most sensitive of us all, was clearly too fucked up to joke with a nigga like his twin had, so he simply bobbed his head at me with glazed eyes. I surveilled him for a beat, picking up on what he was putting down, and I couldn’t lie, I felt like shit.

Though Ayan and I were only five minutes apart, I’d been the protector for my brothers, especially Josias and Zaire. With me going away, Zaire was clearly worried.

“You a Godfrey, nigga. Stay up,” I told him, signaling to him to poke his chest out.

Zaire gave me another half-hearted nod before walking off toward the exit of the courtroom, where our father, Nate, stood off in the distance, looking me over in disdain.

To him, I was foolish to throw away my whole fucking career all for LaMia, or any woman, period, for that matter. Therefore, he had nothing to say to me. He was in attendance for appearances and nothing more, so I didn’t expect him to come up and say anything special or comforting to a nigga.

Nate was a hard, callous muthafucka. You’d find more comfort on a spiked ball than in that nigga. But our mother had died only a year ago from a heart attack, so our iron-fisted and evil father was all we had, much to our chagrin.

And while I wouldn’t change a thing about defending my lady’s honor and respect, I couldn’t even front on the fact that I, too, was troubled by the cost of it all. I would never box professionally again. Shit, I’d be lucky if I could ever work anywhere again. I’d have to create my own job if I made it out of prison alive.