I woke up stretched out, muscles tense, head pounding. Everything was a blur after the fight. I went to grab my phone and it wasn’t there. Then I felt around on the bed and noticed Naya wasn’t there.
I grabbed my shorts, slipped them on and dragged across the floor.
The walls were silent, and the light from the living room area of the room pulled me in.
Naya was dressed and seated with my recruiter Celine from six fucking years ago looking guilty. Next to them was a mothafucka in a suite I couldn’t recognize.
My antennas went up. Shit wasn’t making sense. It felt like a set up.
“What the fuck–”
Then the mothafucka who had been following me around in the silver whip popped up from the other side of the door. I rushed the mothafucka, hemming his ass up. His clothes smelled like cigar smoke.
“Didn’t I tell you it was on sight next time, mothafucka?”
He lowly chuckled, showing his yellow teeth.
“Rayzor,” Naya called out.
Not Courtland, but Rayzor.
“Rayzor. We came for you to see things our way, but…” the nigga in the suit stated.
I tilted my head in confusion.
“You might want to take a seat Rayzor,” Celine commented.
“Sit.” Naya patted next to her calmly.
Too calm for me because this shit was feeling like a setup.
My eyes zoomed across the faces of everyone in the room while I had this nigga’s shirt in my hands. I wanted to take his ass through the wall.
“Where the fuck my security? They just letting random mothafuckas in my shit,” I mumbled.
My chest heaved up and down.
The man glanced down at his Rolex, adjusting his jacket. Celine was standing against the wall behind him, all eyes on me. All wearing smirks in the middle of chaos.
“Who the fuck is this nigga?” I rhetorically asked.
“For you to have won big, you’re ungrateful,” he stated.
“Rayzor, please,” Celine exclaimed.
“They have something you might wanna hear,” Naya said.
The man held up his hand. Naya’s mouth clasp shut like he controlled her.
“You know these mothafuckas?” I asked Naya. “It don’t matter. Get the fuck on.”
He uncrossed his legs. “You shouldn’t be so quick to throw people out.” He crossed them back again the opposite direction. “It’s unbecoming. And it’s very impolite to do that to the person that put you in this position.”
I froze.
Fist balled. Face scrunched.
I stepped forward. “Nigga, what? Say. If you a fan and put money on me, you got your bread from my win. But ain’t a mothafuckin’ soul put me nowhere but me and these…” I showed my fists.
