I was a son of Bentayga Evans. Bentley and I truly did look alike. While he kept his hair tapered on the sides and cornrows down the middle, I had locs. It took me a year to make myself over and become that nigga clone. Angel requesting a year before leaving worked in my favor lil’ did she know. Bentley was sentenced to ten good years and by the time he was released, I would’ve run off on the plug.
Turning on the cell, I then unfolded the letter I stole from Bentley’s whip. At the bottom was a number to Taylor & Taylor. The numbers were dialed, and the line rang. I did my homework on Yonnis Taylor. He wasn’t shit to play with and neither was his twin sister Yolani. She handled shit like a boss much like he did. There were clippings of them all over YouTube dominating courtrooms left and right. I had to be on my shit with him.
It wasn’t like I could really fail at this shit. Ain’t none of them niggas ever seen Bentley. He ain’t never mentioned family outside of Daisy so I knew this was my only opportunity with acing the plan.
“This is Taylor & Taylor with Jhene speaking. How may I help you?”
“Yeah, I need to speak with Yonnis Taylor. I received a letter from his office ‘bout claiming an inheritance,” I answered.
“One moment while I put you on hold.” She put me on hold, and I sorted my next line of cocaine. One of the reason I was suspended as well was due to not being able to pass drug test. All it took was one hit of that white girl and a nigga was hooked. I had control over my shit though. I wasn’t no powda head, and Idamn sure wasn’t looking for more than this simple high. “Hello, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Mr. Taylor is available for the next hour before he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day. If missed, we can set you up an appointment to be seen,” she replied.
“I’m right outside. I was just calling to make sure he was in and free. Thank you so much.”
“Sure thing.”
I hung up, pressed my nose to glass tray on my arm rest, and inhaled the white substance. I had to hand it to Royce. His product was just as good as Bentley’s. The only difference was his hit you first while Bentley’s lasted longer. They would make some serious paper if they ever teamed up for real. It would never happen though because they were both dominate niggas and sitting at two different tables with the same roles. That was water and oil.
My head fell back to the headrest as I closed my eyes. The effects of the substance and the shot I took prior to getting in the Springs was mixing well. I felt damned good. I fished for the wallet out the armrest that held the fake I.D with Bentley’s name and info on it. That year gave me more than enough time to fully step into the role of baby bro. Him being away from the Atkins was just a beneficial come up for me.
I switched out the wallet with my real one, grabbed the manilla envelope full of letters from who I learned to be was Bentley’s maternal grandmother named Rose, the letter from Yonnis, and stepped out the rented whip. Angel put her name on this shit too. Her naïve ass was just happy to have a man that took care of her. She did whatever a nigga asked her to.
I ran down the details I managed to remember repeatedly in my head. There was no telling what kind of questions I was ‘bout to get hit with. A prepared nigga could never fail.
Entering the building, I was greeted by the front receptionist. “Welcome to Taylor & Taylor. How can we assist you?” she sounded like the woman I’d spoken to minutes ago.
Throwing on a fake smile, I responded with, “I’m here for Yonnis Taylor. I believe we just spoke on the phone.”
“Yes. One moment, let me phone him and see if he’s ready to see anyone.” She picked up the receiver and did like she said. Her words to him were low to where even with me standing in front of her, I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Once she hung up the phone, she was back to me with full attention. “He’ll be right out to you. Have a seat anywhere to your right.”
Following her instructions, I took a seat that got visuals to the doors that led to the back. I would know before he would me. His picture circulated as one of the top attorneys in the country. Being the Atkins family lawyer was of no surprise. Them alone had the bread to keep that nigga fed for life. Hell, the way his firm was set up, I just knew the Atkins wasn’t his only top client’s.
The tempered glass doors parted and out walked a nigga that dripped in labels. You could tell they were nothing to him from how professional he looked. I made sure to come in labels as well. Bentley was never caught lacking in the 305. Even if it was just a pair of sweats, you better believe Burberry was on the tag. I had to play the part.
Yonnis scanned the lobby looking right over me. I scoffed at him thinking I was regular ass nigga. As of now, I was Bentley Atkins and getting looked over was crazy work. Anytime I rolled with him and Kong, niggas knew he was a boss immediately. I ain’t get none of that respect which caused my hatred for baby bro to grow even more.
Standing, I cleared my throat and said, “I heard you was looking for me.”
His focus fell on me sizing me up from head to toe. His lip turned up as his brows dipped. The nigga eyed me like he could read through my façade with ease. I didn’t move a muscle. I knew I looked like my brother ‘cause we looked nothing like them Atkins. We were products of Bentayga, and he gave way more dominance than any Atkins I’d come across.
Royce wasn’t shit but a legal nigga trying to be a king pin. He put on like he was this big bad wolf, but he was a puppy doing whatever his bitch said. Bentley, well, that nigga damn sure had more screw loose than Royce. His only problem was he never really killed a nigga off top. He loved that torturing shit. I had that down pact too though. Being a narc taught me a lot, but being Bentley’s shadow for so long showed me how to walk in Bentayga’s shoes. He moved just like my father did from what Ma Dukes claimed.
“You’re Bentley?” he inquired.
“Is it so hard to believe? I mean, what kind of nigga was you expecting to see?” I threw back.
His mug sharpened, and I lowkey felt like I answered too much like Enzo than Bentley. Bentley showed more professionalism in public settings. I didn’t have that training since Mona raised me in the pits of the hood. I really didn’t know how to turn that shit on and off.
“Not this nigga, I can assure you that,” he replied. He pocketed his hands and glared me the fuck down. He wasn’t moving either and was damn sure challenging a nigga.
“Dial it back Yonnis. Who’s this?” Out of nowhere, his twin Yolani showed up behind him. When she stepped into view, I salivated. She was nothing less than fine and her curves were vicious.
“Bentley Atkins,” I answered before Yonnis could.
“Allegedly,” he chimed.
