She turned around wearing that same grin saying, “You wish baby boy.”
“Bullshit. You know good and goddamn well you like when a nigga looking. It’s cool. I know how to look and not touch,” I threw back.
She stopped in her tracks and closed the small gap between us. She was up on her toes and still wasn’t at a level to whisper in a nigga ear. “Atkins, are you flirting with an officer?”
“Hell nah. I’m flirting with yo’ ass,” I spoke in a serious tone. Ryia was a pig either way it went but she held weight in all the right places. I’d have her ass pent to a wall taking her down if I really wanted her.
I couldn’t lie. The way I hadn’t been able to enjoy the visuals of a woman outside these walls, had me eyeing her like a child would candy in a store. Ryia was genuinely pretty as fuck though. However, she was an opp no matter how you looked at it. Nice on the eyes but would never get me to cross that line if it was thrown.
The way her yellow ass was turning red to the way that one deep dimple she sported dipped in, I knew she was feeling a nigga. The uniform pants she decided to wear today was making that ass sit up just right. She was one of the only female officers that came to work smelling like a fuckin’ woman too. She knew the niggas in here needed that softness every now and again and she provided it.
Once we reached my cell, she stopped me right in front of it. “I don’t want no shit out of you today, Atkins. Give a girl a break, aight?”
“You saying that like I just be poppin’ off in this muthafucka. Don’t fuck with me, and I won’t put you down. Plain and simple. I keep telling yo’ pretty ass that. Check them niggas, not me. Then again, you must be looking for any excuse to put yo’ hands on me,” I teased.
“Inside Atkins and watch your mouth. We’re back in the main hall,” she stated in a stern tone.
Scoffing, I entered my cell with my hands raised in front of me so that she could take off the shackles. If it was any other C.O., the cuffs would’ve been digging in my skin. You better believe I went off every goddamn time too. I wasn’t one of themyes boysthey could play with or push around. When I first got in this muthafucka, I wasn’t really sweating it since I knew I wasn’t gon’ spend too much time here. However, the magic I thought Windale had didn’t work for me.
This entire situation still didn’t sit right with me. I had a few officers on payroll, so when that goofy ass officer pulled me over, I was ready for him to give me my ticket and head to the crib. Imagine my fuckin’ surprise when them damn pigs pulled out two bricks from my whip. What made it so bad, I was the only muthafucka in shock. Immediately I could tell a nigga had been set up.
One quick glance at the packaging, and I knew that shit ain’t belong to me. However, what the fuck was I supposed to say to prove it didn’t? My shit ain’t wrapped and tagged like that? Show them my personal logo so they’ll know what to look for next time? Nah., I had to wear that shit, but Windale was the man that was supposed to get that shit off my back.
I wrecked my brain for a whole fuckin’ year trying to figure out who the hell had a hard on for me. This was really my own fuckin’ fault. I had a bad habit on leaving the doors on my car unlocked. I never left shit in that muthafucka to be taken, and it didn’t move without a key, so I wasn’t thinking nothing of it. I never thought that shit would come back to bite me in the ass.
It wasn’t too many people cruising round the city in a Bentley, let alone have their shit customized like mine. I had three in total but that copper tent on black was a nigga favorite. She was my first and meant a lot to me. Folks in the city knew it was me and knew better than to stand close to the whip, so opening the door and planting two bricks had me perplexed asfuck. But once again, that shit was on me. I was comfortable when I should’ve never been no matter what kind of mindset I had.
“Thank you, Ryia,” I sang making her job more a lil’ more difficult.
The metal doors closed, and another conversation was thrown my way. “What’s with the long face youngblood?” my celly asked.
Grady was an old head that was sat down for thirty years. Much like me, he was in the game too. His fuck up was selling to an undercover. According to him, the chick he was fuckin’ on sent the nigga his way. Whole time, that was her husband, and he was inching to take him down. Grady swore the cop threatened to kill her if she didn’t give him up. Bitches played too many games for me, which was why I never let them do more than swallow a nigga kids.
“Another week and my fuck ass lawyer ain’t got shit for me,” I answered.
“I keep telling you them lawyers ain’t good enough. You putting all yo’ trust in them instead of being knowledgeable ‘bout yo’ case. Go to the library and read up on it. I wish I would’ve done it years ago. I found things out ‘bout my case that could’ve had my sentenced lightened, but I didn’t find out until I took the time to learn. Thirty years should’ve been ten or less. Don’t make the same mistake youngblood,” he advised me.
Nodding, I took a seat on my bunk and kicked my feet up. “How the hell you end up with thirty years just off selling to an undercover? What other charges did they stack on you?” I inquired.
“She was a biracial woman with a white husband. You should know sexual assault was thrown at me as well. I caught five years off that alone. I had an ounce of weed on me, so they hit me with the max sentence. My partner wanted to take the fall, but he hada baby on the way. I wanted him to see his mini me. He never got to, but it was what I wanted for him.”
“Yo’ partner must’ve been a real one,” I voiced thinking ‘bout Kong. My day one had my back all the way and I knew whole heartedly he would’ve jumped to take the charges.
“Man, Bentayga was one of the realest. His brother-in-law took his life before he could meet his son. A few weeks after his death, I got knocked. I miss my brotha and that’s the truth youngblood.”
“You know what’s funny Old Skool? Bentayga’s my pops.”
Some shuffling was going around up top and next thing I know, he hopped down off his bunk. He squatted on the side of my bunk and just stared at a nigga. He cocked his head to the side and squinted a few times. I could tell he was just trying to take in my features better. When a smirk appeared, I knew he saw Bentayga in me.
“Damn. Seems like that nigga Bent got the upper hand after all. How’s your mom? Sis was his ride or die. When you saw him, you saw her,” he asked.
Finally sitting up, my feet touched the floor. There were many stories floating around the city ‘bout my parents but this nigga was the only one that could give me something real. Old Skool knew them personally and he was the closest thing I could get to knowing them as well.
“She passed away giving birth to me. I lost both my parents before I could take my first breath. It’s cool though. Bentayga’s legacy is alive and weight ain’t shifted in the slightest,” I assured him.
He dropped his head and gave a slight nod. “Condolences youngblood. Damn, Rhema was just as real as yo’ pops. Whatever she wanted he provided. He really did love the fuck out of her. That’s something you ain’t got to question. Believe that.”
We dapped up showing love. I never doubted their love, but it was good to know that it was solid. Black love was rare these days. Whenever I saw pictures of them, I saw that plus more. I yearned for what they shared for myself. I never stated it but all I wanted was a woman to love and build with. That went for both businesses and family.
