Page 177 of Own It

That was all I was to Rakim now—AJ and Ayanna’s mother. I used to be the girl he’d put a bullet in a nigga for. Now, he was telling me to save myself from my abusive relationship.

If I could go back in time, not only would I not have left him while imprisoned, but I would’ve basked in the time we had prior to his confinement a little more.

If someone would’ve told me back then that Rakim would be nonchalant and shrugging at someone causing me harm, I wouldn’t have believed it. But here we were.

“I don’t even have a job and two small kids. It’s not that easy.”

“You got good peoples, LaMia. Move back home, get a fucking job, go to school, get back into hair or some shit, and put that muthafucka on child support like a normal person.”

I expected him to say he had me, but I should’ve known better.

“He told me he’d murder me if I put him on child support,” I revealed.

Rakim snickered subtly.

“Ayan don’t know the first thing about murder. He may kill you accidentally by punching ya fucking face in, but he ain’t gon’ pick up a gun and drop you. He ain’t like that. It ain’t in him. But it’s yo’ life, LaMia. You wanna stay with him, if he allow you to, go’ head, lil mama. I’m gon’ always make sure them two are good whether you here or not.” He pointed behind me to where my kids were in the car.

“Mommy, I’m hungry!” AJ growled impatiently. “Let’s go!”

“Aye, nah.” Rakim shook his head at my son. “That’s not how you talk to women, especially ya mama. Ask nicely, AJ.”

With his little shoulders drooping, he replied, “Mommy, can we please go get some food? I’m gonna faint,” he reiterated, making Rakim and me chuckle.

“Yes.” I bobbed my head, and he shut the back door.

“He ain’t learning that shit on his own. Get out of there, LaMia,” was the last thing Rakim said before swaggering off, giving me one last glimpse of him.

Despite his words about never loving me and never wanting me, my heart still quickened in my chest as I took him in. And still, though he wasn’t mine to pester, I still wondered who he’d taken a DNA test for. I could only hope he’d cheated on the girl he claimed to love so much and possibly knocked someone up.

Once Rakim got to his car, never looking back, I made an about face and got into my own, processing our conversation.

* * *

ALMOST A WEEK LATER . . .

“Hi, I’m here to see Ayan Godfrey,” I said to the hotel clerk of the Maybourne Hotel.

The place was beautiful and smelled expensive, making me miss the life I used to have as Ayan’s main chick. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d romanced me in any kind of way. Maybe shortly after Ayanna was born, he did the most for me, making sure Rakim witnessed it, and I was too busy basking in it all to realize his motives.

Looking back, certain shit never made sense, like why he wanted to gift me a car at Nate’s home where, of course, Rakim, Zaire, and Josias were visiting on that same day, when we had our own residence.

Lately, Ayan wouldn’t take me out or do anything nice. If we happened to be hungry while out, we’d sit down somewhere, and if he got horny, he’d of course want sex, but there was nothing intentional anymore.

Like always, I became filled with regret as the blonde-haired woman typed on the screen before making a phone call. Because even from prison, Rakim kept the romance alive—as much as he could at least. I got roses at my shop weekly, luxury store appointments, letters, and, of course, all my bills paid even for my shop that Ayan eventually convinced me to sell.

“Alright, you can take this temporary key and go right up.” The pretty white girl brightened up once she placed the phone back in the receiver.

“Thanks.” I retrieved the card and sauntered toward the elevator to ride up to Ayan’s suite.

He’d been living here in this hotel ever since he accused Ayan Jr. and Ayanna of being Rakim’s. He hadn’t wanted me to visit or even bring the kids, but today for some reason, he allowed it. Because of that, I brought along the paternity results that Rakim was sure to have expedited. I’d had them for a few days now, but Ayan wasn’t interested in hearing about them or seeing them, which I knew was because he didn’t want to face the truth.

“Sup.” Ayan greeted me somberly as soon as I stepped inside of the beautiful and spacious suite.

He was seated on the couch, handsome as ever and shirtless while a view of the city and a grand piano rested behind him. The low fade, milky brown skin, and chiseled body were a sight for sore eyes.

Though Ayan’s insides were rotten, the man’s sexiness could never be taken from him. His height and build alone got the girls, so throw in the face and you could understand how stressful life had been dating a man most women coveted. Rakim caught the same amount, if not more women’s eyes, but he was loyal, leaving me to relax whenever he left the home or was propositioned by a brazen groupie or fan or random woman. Ayan was . . . not so dutiful.

“Hey. This is nice. I know you’re spending a pretty penny staying here.” I swept the room with my eyes before descending onto the couch, setting my Birkin beside me. “The house is humungous, Yan. You don’t have to be here to get space.” I baited him.