Page 91 of Own It

“Alright, well we should meet the next morning so that I can talk to you.”

“About what?” I snickered skittishly. “Progressing our relationship?”

“The conversation I wanted to have before I went away, Shaun.”

She didn’t call me boo or babe yet again. I rarely heard my name from Daylin unless we were fucking arguing.

“Aight, well I love you, boo.”

“See you soon.”

“Damn, I can’t get told ‘I love you’ back?” I chuckled to soften the blow and lighten the sour ass mood of this call. “You really don’t love me no more?”

Had that nigga truly gotten in her head? I’d heard of shit where hostages got attached to their kidnappers and shit, but I thought that was for weak ass females, . . . not ones like Daylin.

“Shaun, stop. See you Thursday morning.” She hung up, skipping right past my fucking inquiry.

Putting the phone back down in the cradle to hang it up, I sat there muddling through my thoughts and trying to understand what the fuck was actually going on.

On one hand, I was wise and knew what battles to pick or leave alone, and any nigga that could make me almost bite my fucking tongue off with an uppercut wasn’t really a nigga I was trying to compete with. Same time, I loved Daylin with everything in me and had mapped our lives out to the point where I wasn’t even sure life was worth living if she wasn’t with me.

“Did you hear me?” Morgin collapsed onto the bed, whatever bodywash she’d used in the shower peppering the air around me.

“Nah. What you say?” I looked over my shoulder at her laid out, wearing the hotel’s robe.

I’d told Daylin I wouldn’t be back for a couple more days, even though I came in today because I needed to spend some time with Morgin. Aside from her gold digging and ghetto tendencies, she had good pussy and was a freak.

Initially, I felt bad for cheating on Daylin and with her assistant, but then again, this was all her fucking fault. How she expected a grown ass man to abstain from sex was wild to me.

I tried not to fall into this bitch, I truly did, but after Morgin kept making eyes at a nigga and eventually slid in my DMs on social media, I fell victim to her shit. She was beautiful too—light skinned, fat ass, hips, pretty face, and rare ass blue eyes she claimed to have gotten from her grandfather—so it wasn’t as if I’d stumbled into some shit with an ugly bitch like most niggas. Still, she wasn’t Daylin.

Daylin had all she did in the looks department, but the way she carried herself spoke volumes. Not to mention she was a hustler and successful, so I knew she would make an amazing wife.

Only complaint I had about her other than the sex was how she got out of pocket on occasion. She could be disrespectful and demeaning, emasculating a nigga to no end. That was the one thing Morgin had up on her. The latter respected me for the most part and acted as if I were a catch, whereas Daylin made it obvious a nigga was disposable.

“I said I’m hungry. You told me after we fucked, we could get some room service. I want steak.” Morgin pouted, rubbing up and down my bare shoulder.

“Aight, I got you.” I picked up the menu, listening to her squeal with excitement. I loved that it didn’t take much to impress a bitch like Morgin. After ordering us both some food to the room, along with dessert and drinks, I said, “Aye, you be keeping our shit on the low, right?”

“Of course.” She frowned. “I been fucking you for almost two years and no one knows, right?”

“Right.” I ran a hand down my fade in contemplation. “You don’t be dropping hints or nothing, right? Not even recently?”

“Shaun. No. What the hell is this about? Why would I mess up all that you do for me by telling her?”

She was right. I paid Morgin’s bills and allowed her to use the money she made working for my girl as play money. However, she wouldn’t be the first stupid ass kept bitch that didn’t play her role wisely.

“I don’t know, man. Daylin been acting weird, even before she . . . left. I just spoke to her on the phone while you was in the shower, and she was dry as fuck.”

I refused to believe Rakim had Daylin so wrapped up in him over a matter of a couple months, when I’d been with her for three years. Yeah, she may have fallen for some shit while in captivity, but by now, whatever spell he’d cast on her should’ve been lifted.

“Weelllll . . .” Morgin sat up on the edge of the bed beside me, making me look her way with bated breath. “A foine ass nigga did come in and bring her some roses, food, and I think some money because he was carrying a Bank of America bank bag, and when he left, he no longer had it.”

“The fuck,” I mumbled, already knowing exactly who that was.

This shit was real. I’d lost my woman and to a muthafucka that kidnapped her. What kind of shit was this? When muthafuckas said nice guys finished last, they meant that shit.

Here I was damn near kissing the fucking ground she walked on when, clearly, I should’ve been hiding in her closet preparing to sack her ass and transport her to a remote location for holding. ’Cause while Rakim was getting her love, I was getting told she needed a break and dry ass phone calls.