Page 90 of Own It

I noticed he spoke with a lisp he didn’t have the last time we met.

“Yeah.”

I could tell he wasn’t expecting that answer because his glower relaxed before he put the tough nigga mask back on.

“Listen.” I sat up, twirling the gun around my finger. “When you arrive to LA tomorrow⁠—”

“How the fuck you know when I come back?”

“’Cause I do, nigga, and I ain’t gon’ get into why Daylin thinks you gon’ be gone for a few more days, but it don’t matter at this point. When you land and see Baby, she gon’ break up with yo’ ass, and you gon’ accept it.”

“She ain’t gon’ break up with me and⁠—”

“She is, nigga.” I nodded. “And you not gon’ put up a fight. You gon’ nod ya muthafuckin’ head and go on about yo’ fucking life.”

“And why would I do that? She don’t even wanna be with you.”

“Damn, and to think I was gon’ invite you to the wedding. You just lost yo’ fucking invite.” I rose. “Do what I said, bitch.”

“Or what?” His voice trembled, probably from the memory of that uppercut in the club that had his mouth leaking.

Pressing my gun to the middle of his forehead before he could blink, I said, “Or I’m gon’ kill you. See, you and Daylin’s story is over with, nigga. Even if she don’t fuck with me, she not gon’ fuck with you. So do anything but agree to the breakup and you dead. It don’t get no muthafuckin’ simpler than that. We got an understanding, or do I need to knock ya teeth into ya esophagus for the wheels to start turning?”

“W-we got an understand . . . ding,” he sputtered.

“Cool.” I stepped around him, putting the safety on my heat and concealing it before stepping out the room and going about my fucking night.

I had a phone call with my baby in a bit.

TWO

shaun smith

THE NEXT EVENING . . .

I clutched the hotel phone, listening as Daylin’s office phone trilled. I was scared to call her cellphone in case that off-kilter ass nigga had her shit tapped or something.

I wasn’t usually scared of anything or anyone, but that Rakim nigga was weird. And after the way his punch sent me to the ER in need of stitches from severing my tongue with my teeth, I wasn’t trying to have smoke with him directly.

My injury was no surprise considering he used to be a professional fucking boxer—something I only recently learned—but after looking into his ass a little bit more, I found out he ran a damn boxing gym and bread distribution company, confusing me on why the muthafucka was so criminally violent. But as I delved deeper into my fucking searches last night, I came upon an article explaining why the nigga stopped boxing, and it was due to catching a murder charge. Now, his behavior made fucking sense. He wasn’t just criminally violent; he was a criminal.

“Hello?” My girl picked up her office phone, sounding as sweet as ever. I’d missed her ass more than I ever thought I would.

“Hey, boo.” I grinned, and when she paused like she had to remember who the fuck this was, I immediately began frowning.

“Hey, Shaun.”

“Not boo? Just Shaun?”

Chuckling sort of uncomfortably, she replied, “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I know you came back to a lot after being held by that fucking psycho. I wish I was in town when he let you go,” I said, trying to test her temperature on how she felt about the situation and Rakim. Again, she went mute. Clearing my throat, I asked, “How are you, boo?”

“I’m fine. Um, what time do you land again? Should I pick you up?”

“Nah, Morris will.” I scratched at my jaw, at a loss for words at how she was acting toward me.

This wasn’t my Daylin. And though she’d requested a break prior to being kidnapped, I’d assumed that after dealing with such a horrifying event, her mind would change, realizing how good of a man I was. The biggest wakeup call would forever be almost losing your life or being in a dangerous situation.