Page 151 of Own It

FIFTEEN

rakim

BOOF!

The rickety door to the old ass trap house flew open as soon as I kicked the shit in, startling its occupants. Josias was right on my fucking bumper, AK loaded up like mine as we started to let off shots into each and every muthafucka inside. The living scattered like roaches, but since the old wooden home only had one entry and exit—Mylo guarding the back—there was nowhere to run.

Few attempted to extract their weapons but were too slow against the rage and gunfire Josias and I carried.

A couple niggas ran out from the kitchen, guns drawn, but their pistols were no match, causing them to become Swiss cheese before their finger could even curl on the trigger.

While the seven niggas who were once filling up pill capsules with fentanyl lay dead, my brother and I moseyed through the two-bedroom, one-bathroom home to inspect and be sure we caught everybody.

Slight whimpers caught my attention, and when I looked down, I spotted a bitch under the bed.

“You work here?” I queried, awaiting her response. If she was smart, she’d know what to say.

I was seeing red, wanting to take out every muthafucka pushing that death into the streets. Selling fentanyl was the equivalent to robbing muthafuckas, but instead of it being their possessions, it was their lives. May have sounded hypocritical considering what I did, but I wasn’t logical in the moment.

Muthafuckas like the ones in the living room had taken my brother’s life, and instead of continuing to scour the streets, investigating and interrogating, I decided I’d just clean these muthafuckas off the streets regardless of their involvement in me losing Zaire. My efforts would save the next individual from ingesting bad dope.

“Ye-yes,” she sputtered like a fool.

Before she could say another word, I lifted my shit, aimed, and blew her fucking face open. Only muthafuckas I was sparing tonight were children, and thankfully, none were present.

“Clear.” Josias stepped into the room, moving back once he saw blood start to pool from under the bed. “Caught one, huh?”

“Yep. Let’s go.” I started out, and he trailed me as we met Mylo around the front, hopping into the blacked-out van and pulling off. “Tell old boy Ryan to find us some more locations. I wanna get every muthafucka that think it’s cool to sell that shit, ’cause one is bound to be the fucking culprit,” I announced.

“I got you,” Josias replied, bobbing his head to affirm my plans.

I didn’t know if this shit would make a nigga feel any better, but it would do for now. It felt euphoric in the moment, unlike the helplessness that consumed a nigga every day that passed where I’d done nothing to avenge my baby brother’s death.

* * *

Slipping my key card into the door of the big ass hotel suite out in Beverly Hills, I trod over the threshold. Closing the door gently, I made my way across the room and out onto the balcony where I spotted Ayan looking over, clutching a glass of brown liquor. This shit was clearly his favorite thing to do.

The Hennessy bottle was half empty, letting me know this wasn’t his first of the night.

“The fuck?” He frowned, looking around spooked and rightfully so. “How the fuck you get into my room?” His eyes continuously toggled between me and the interior of his suite while wearing a befuddled expression.

“You thought that little show you put on in front of my girl was gon’ do something, huh?” I ignored his question because it was irrelevant. “You and LaMia both know them ain’t my fucking kids, but anything to put salt on my shit, right?” I looked down over the balcony as well, watching all the fly ass cars whip up and down the street in the affluent city.

Sipping, he replied, “Wasn’t no show, nigga. It’s real shit. You been fucking LaMia behind my back this whole time.” He gulped the remaining liquor down and refilled his glass.

I just watched his side profile for a moment, then said, “You just a bitch ass nigga, Yan. You trying to find any excuse to absolve yaself of fatherhood and LaMia because she don’t mean shit to you now that you see I don’t want her.”

“Get over yaself, Rah. Every fucking thing ain’t about you. That ho been fucking you, and I found out then told yo’ precious new boo, so now you hot.” He laughed drunkenly into his glass, slurping some of the alcohol.

“Crazy we shared a fucking womb and ain’t shit alike.” I shook my head, speaking more so to myself than anything. “You weak in every sense of the word. You weak for putting ya hands on women, weak for trying to find any out you can from being a father, and you especially weak for trying to make moves on my woman.”

Scoffing, he volleyed, “I wanted her before she was ever yours. So people can stop acting like I only want what the fuck you got, ’cause that shit ain’t ever been true. From the looks of things, you want whatever I got. You been fucking my woman and now you don’ made the one I was checking for yours.” He smirked, shivering some at the cold Los Angeles air.

It was nighttime, no sun present even a little bit, so it was too cold for a nigga to be out here in a short-sleeved top like him.

“LaMia was mine, we both know that. And if you truly fucked with her, you would’ve allowed her to break up with a nigga then heal. But nah, yo’ whole reasoning for even checking for her was to get something over a nigga. So you couldn’t wait. You had to snatch her ass and knock her up as quickly as possible to have some shit to dangle in my face, not even realizing I wouldn’t give a fuck about her as soon as she betrayed me.

“Now, you miserable and don’ started a whole family with a woman you never truly wanted.” I chuckled, feeling Ayan shoot daggers at me as I pretended not to see him, basking in the city below us. He was silent, so I knew what I said was true. And though he and I weren’t close or identical twins, I still knew the nigga well. “As for Daylin, you liking what you see and her not reciprocating those feelings don’t make her yours, chump.” I finally gave him eye contact. “Per usual, I’m what she wanted,” I added solely to fuck with him, despite the accuracy.