Asao was interested to know how bad. Anything he could use to his advantage was gold.
“What do you mean?”
“The label is broke. Too many bad investments with artists and Cobra is greedy as fuck. What he should have been puttingback into the label he threw away on bitches and blow. Which was why I said you’ve got a situation.”
Asao frowned. “I’m not tied to him. His money problems don’t have shit to do with me.”
“They do if that’s really your girl. He’s been hitting it bad for a lil minute, and to keep up appearances, he’s been selling shit off. First thing to go was your girl’s masters. You say that’s you right?”
“Who bought ’em?” While he waited for the answer, Asao was already plotting how he was gonna touch each and every person who played a role in fucking Samari over with the label. At the top of that list was the muthafucker who’d sold her life source. Right under him was the muthafucker who’d purchased it. Because make no doubt about it, Samari’s music was indeed the life source that kept her alive.
“He isn’t in the industry. A ballplayer, Mase somebody. Shit, I’m high as fuck and can’t remember his last name.”
Asao didn’t need his boy to remember because he already had it committed to memory, Samari’s ex.
“How much?”
“You don’t have to buy them shits back, fam. We can pull up and handle that our way.” B-Syde’s lazy grin surfaced, exposing what he was blazing, and Asao shot down the thought.
He wouldn’t allow another man to be her savior. That responsibility was his and his alone. Aside from his ego, Asao owed a debt to the universe, and until it was paid in full, his soul wouldn’t rest or be at ease. He selfishly placed Samari in the position to be his redemption. As unhealthy as his need was, there wasn’t shit he could do about it. The need had already taken on a life of its own.
“I’m not paying a muthafucking thing. I’m just trying to see what type of L he’s going to suffer.”
B-Syde nodded in understanding. “Quarter mil, but it was worth ten times that. She’s talented as fuck, but like I said earlier, I feel the murder pushing through your veins; so I don’t have to tell you that.”
Asao brushed a hand over his waves, dropping his head for a brief minute to temper the smile that surfaced at how easily he was being read. Samari had him showing his hand.
“Nah, you don’t have to tell me shit. That all?”
B-Syde chuckled, lifted the bottle of Black Ops from the table, and filled the glass next to it. “Fuck you mean, isn’t that enough?”
He extended it to Asao who shook his head to decline. He needed to stay level. The killer was already pushing to the surface and alcohol would only feed his hunger. “I’m straight on that. I need to head out. ’Preciate you getting that for me. Whenever whatever,” Asao delivered with assurance that he was now the one who owed a favor. One he would pay up on without hesitation. He was a man of his word.
With a nod, B-Syde decided to cash in. “Whatever you have your hands on, I want in.”
“What makes you think I have my hands on something?”
“Because I know you. I’m trying to get in on the ground level of what you’re doing with Cap’s place before that shit blows up. I’m willing to invest. Money, talent, shit, whatever the fuck I need to do to get my name on it.”
Asao stood, tossing his chin. His boy was solid. He had skills lyrically and having B-Syde onboard could work in Asao’s favor when it came to time management. B-Syde was also respected, even if he kept his music off mainstream and preferred to be underground and local.
“Aight, you can get that. I’ll tell Niles to hit you up when we figure out what this shit looks like.”
“Bet.”
Two hours after leaving The Spot, Asao’s mind was still heavy. He wanted to fuck shit up, empty clips and drop bodies behind a woman who wasn’t even officially his. He smoked as he drove around the city, not having a gotdamn clue where he was heading until he ended up parked in the same spot he’d vacated hours prior. This time he pulled up to his place in Crescent Cove alone and the shit left him feeling unsettled as he moved through the quiet darkness heading to the deck.
Asao stopped beside the lounge he’d shared with Samari, staring at the spot where she’d stood allowing the tide to move over her feet. It was too dark for him to verify whether or not the footprints she’d left in the sand were still there, but logically he knew they weren’t. The tide had moved deeper into the shore, erasing her presence.
Problem was, water couldn’t do shit with the presence she’d left in his home or on his spirit. His eyes dropped to the lounge before he lowered his body and stretched out the same as he had been earlier but his mind wouldn’t slow down and his body wouldn’t relax.
“Ain’t this some shit,” he mumbled, knowing exactly what the problem was.
His peace had been stolen by the pretty little thing who had him waging war in his mind. This house was no longer his serenity in her absence. It was now a reminder that she was imprinted in spaces she had no business being.
With a laugh of irritation, Asao closed his eyes and fought through the urge to leave because there was only one place he could process being at the moment. Wherever the fuck she was. He was relentless with an insatiable need to turn her inside out. He wanted to fuck her senseless and make her an addict of his deep strokes but he also wanted to know all her secrets paired with the simple shit nobody thought about or considered important.
Why the fuck I need to know what side of the bed she prefers and whether or not she needs to sleep with the TV on?
