Page 153 of Own It

She nodded to say she understood as I took a breath.

“Well there is nothing to worry about, Rah, because I hadn’t done it in a long while before Zaire. Not to mention, I was always using protection. He was the only time I didn’t.”

“I should murk you for keeping this shit a secret.” I drank her in, contemplating. I had killed muthafuckas for less.

I was trying to dial that shit back, though, because it was hard compartmentalizing. Looking at my hands go from pulling triggers to caressing my lady was a mindfuck I didn’t like experiencing.

“Please,” she whimpered. “I will do anything. How can I prove⁠—”

“Blood test and ASAP.”

“I thought those were unsafe to do before the baby arrives,” she countered.

Lowering my voice, I said, “Either you get the shit now or you die now. It’s up to you. But if you think I’m gon’ be footing the bill for ya lifestyle until you give birth with no indication of if that’s my blood, you insane for real.”

“Okay,” she agreed, unwillingly.

“Good.” I stepped off the curb, pulling the handle to my car. “I’ll be in touch. And it’s too late to run. You run, I hunt.” I locked my eyes onto hers before climbing into my car.

Téa stood there for a moment before whipping around and walking back inside of the salon.

I wasn’t too fond of killing women, especially ones in her condition, but if she’d come up with some ploy to play games with a nigga, using my dead brother in the process, I was pushing her shit back as well as whatever nigga she had backing her up. It was usually always a nigga behind the scenes of shit like this.

SIXTEEN

téa

DAYS LATER BACK IN LOS ANGELES . . .

Tying my hair up in the bathroom mirror, I nibbled on my lip wondering when I would be taking this invasive ass DNA test that Rakim had requested.

As I meandered through my thoughts, my doorbell sounded off. It was nice having a doorbell in my new apartment and not having to be startled by someone banging on my door loudly enough to get my attention. I was thankful to Rakim for this.

Padding out into the hallway, rounding the corner to the door, I peered through the peephole once I arrived, expecting to see Rakim. Instead, Mylo was standing there making me wonder why the fuck Rakim sent him or what he’d instructed him to do. Additionally, I was pissed that he’d actually ran his mouth about what I used to engage in to make money on the side.

“Yes?” I opened the door, frowning even harder when I peeped the white plastic bag containing food suspended from his long fingers.

Mylo was fine as hell, always looking clean, and though he didn’t wear too many flashy things or logos, you could sense that he had bread.

Currently, he wore black Nike joggers, socks, Nike slides, and a white T-shirt that wasn’t too tight but snug enough for me to see the wife beater hugging his muscular frame under. He appeared to be only slightly shorter than Rakim, but he was well over six feet.

“Thought you’d want some shit other than TV dinners for the baby.” He smirked, smooth brown skin seemingly glistening under the bright lights of the apartment building’s hallway.

“So you’re bringing me food, why? Is this an apology for snitching to Rakim?” I folded my arms, brow hiked and ignoring the gust of his cologne that had danced past me every time he adjusted his posture.

“Nah, it’s not. I told you I couldn’t keep that shit from him. Rah is like my brother, and I barely know you, so why the fuck would I betray his trust to appease you?” Mylo ran a hand down the bottom half of his face, caressing his dark chin hairs.

“Okay, so take him some food, nigga.” I tried to close the door, but he blocked it, sliding inside as if he’d been invited. “Excuse you!” I snapped, enraged but also baffled at the way he’d begun moseying around my kitchen, opening up the food as if he was my man or paid the bills in my shit. “Hello?”

“I know you ain’t ate today, and that’s not good. Nor are them nasty ass TV dinners. Quit being so fucking bullheaded and sit yo’ ass down,” he demanded just as a hunger pang ping-ponged around my stomach.

Irritated but not too much to turn down the food now permeating the air of my apartment, I took a seat at the small round dining table and waited. Mylo brought the Styrofoam over to me, accompanied by some of my new silverware. He did the same for himself, and once I prayed, I dug into the pancakes, bacon, and eggs from the unknown place. Knowing LA, it was from one of those random burger spots.

“Thank you.” I finally came up for air after taking down half the stack of pancakes so far.

“You welcome.” He bobbed his head. “I apologize for exposing something you probably ain’t want people to know, but in this situation, I had to keep it real. Rakim and I are in a business where loyalty and trust means more than money. You can’t do what we do around niggas who keep secrets, especially ones of this magnitude.”

“I get it.” I smirked subtly, liking that he found some way to apologize to me all the while holding onto his standards. “You know he popped up to my hair appointment, and I’m still trying to figure out how the fuck he knew I was there.”