1
SYMPHONY SINCLAIRE, AKA ‘SYM’
This shit was getting old . . .
As I sank deeper into the club’s cushioned, velvet couch, my eyes drifted closed. There wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before happening around me. The gang was taking shots, getting so fucked up that nobody needed to be behind a wheel.
Muyuki was standing on the couch beside me. She had one foot on the back of the couch while her hand was on the wall. Her ass bounced to the beat of the song expertly. Every eye was on her, just the way she wanted them to be, . . . except for mine.
“I’m not gon’ lie! I wanna fuck that bitch!” Art’s voice yelled above the music.
I didn’t move an inch, because I was too busy enjoying the world covered in a blanket of darkness. “Who?”
“Muyuki,” he said in awe. I didn’t have to pop an eye open to know his eyes were trained on her ass. I understood his fascination; she was a sight to see, but I was too used to it now. Nothing she did aroused me anymore. If anything, everything she did repulsed me to the point of no return.
I shrugged. “Fuck the bitch then. She’ll probably let you.”
“And you wouldn’t mind?” he questioned with caution laced in his tone.
I chuckled with a shake of my head. “Nah . . .” I hummed in tune with the bass of the music.
Ki was just something fun to pass the time. At first, I thought it could be more, but I realized rather quickly that she was just a pretty face with a box of press-on nails for a brain. It was to the point now that I didn’t even like to be around her. She was lucky I even let her ass into the section that night. Ironically, her desperate need for attention was the only reason I allowed her access. The way I saw it, if everyone was focused on her, no one would bother me. So far, it was going well.
After finishing another successful tour, the team flooded Penthouse to celebrate. For some reason, I wasn’t in the mood to do anything. I was in my prime as an artist, but personally, I felt like something was missing. It was to the point where I didn’t even look forward to waking up, because I knew my days and nights would be filled with the same boring-ass tasks, which included having to meet expectations other people had for me. My every move was dictated and watched so badly that I felt like a fucking prisoner to this lifestyle.
My eyes popped open when I felt hands rubbing my chest. Ki ran her fingers over the iced-out S chain resting on my sternum. “Can I wear your chain?” she asked randomly.
I slapped her hand away with a frown. “You can’t,” I replied while maneuvering her off my lap. My vibrating phone kept me from saying more. When I saw the South Carolina area code, I instantly knew who it was. I hopped up quickly, startling everyone, but I paid them no mind as I raced toward the back entrance.
When I was safely outside, and the music blasting inside the club was muffled by the door slamming shut behind me, I finally answered the incoming call. “Hello?”
My heart hammered against my sternum as I waited for a response. “Hi, Mr. Sinclaire. I have some good news for you. I finally found him.”
I pressed my phone to my chest, allowing my head to dip back as my eyes clashed with the starry sky above. Those words were exactly what I needed right then. I sent up a silent prayer of gratitude before returning the phone to my ear. “Where is he?”
The next day . . .
I was a damn nervous wreck in the backseat of my weDrive. I’d just landed in Solaire and was on my way to the address my private investigator provided me in the file. I couldn’t stop my knee from bouncing as I tried my best to predict the future. Would he even want to see me? Would he even remember who I was?
Over the years, as my name started to grow, I expected him to reach out to me somehow and someway. There we were, eleven years later, and not a single peep. That day, the ear-deafening silence would finally come to an end, and my body was having a hard time processing that. I mean, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. There was sweat pooling above my brow, and my fucking heart was racing. It only got worse when the driver eased the truck to a complete stop.
Even though there was a tint on the Eskimo, I could see the white paint peeling on the small home sitting behind a rickety fence. There was a pink, girly bike leaning against the porch, making me smile. Rubbing my hands up and down my thigh, I took a few deep breaths to gather myself.
“Can you wait until I’m finished? I don’t know how long it’s going to take, but I will pay you whatever your rate is,” I told the driver who picked me up from the airport.
He was an older Black guy who looked like he’d been doing this type of work all his life. He gave me a militant nod. “Yes, sir.”
Now that we’d settled that, I reached for the door handle to let myself out. I pushed my way through the fence and up the sidewalk. When my foot hit the first step, I saw the curtain move as if someone was peeking out. I gulped my nerves down, knowing I couldn’t turn around. It was what I wanted more than anything in this world—more than the fame, . . . the money, . . . or the hos constantly throwing themselves at me. . .
Lifting my arm, I knocked on the door three times. Taking a step back, I allowed some space between the door and me, for comfort. The curtain fluttered again before a deep voice called out, “Who is it?”
“Symphony,” I replied, being sure to project my voice so I could be heard through the door.
After a few seconds, I could hear the door unlock, and then my brother was standing there. A smile broke out on my face as I saw that he looked the same, just a lot older, with a fierce-set jaw and eyes that looked cold enough to slice through flesh. Other than that, he was still the boy I remembered from my blurry visions of the past.
“Symphony?” he muttered in surprise.
I nodded once and swallowed the raw emotions trying to bubble out of me. “It’s me. I finally fucking found you,” I whispered because my voice cracked like a little bitch.
