Page 7 of Own It

It was a stark difference from when a nigga first got processed where muthafuckas recognized me as the heavyweight boxing champion that I was and wanted to prove their bravado by starting a fight with me. I now sported a jagged scar under my eye as proof from when a hating ass nigga tried to blind me for warming his fucking head until he was snoozing on the yard. I could hear my mama now, talking shit about how they ruined my handsome face.

Nevertheless, after putting a few of them niggas to sleep with my fists and being thrown in the miserable ass hole for it, I had no more fucking issues.

“How you feel, bruh?” Zaire questioned as he hopped onto the freeway.

“Shit . . . free.” I tried to find some better language but could only speak the truth.

As I took in my favorite city—Los Angeles—I noticed my brothers giving each other looks through the rearview mirror. For a minute, I tried to pick up on what they were discussing without asking but eventually said fuck it. One brother had already fucked me over, and though I wasn’t as surprised by Ayan’s actions, I truthfully couldn’t put shit past anyone at this point.

“Y’all got some shit y’all wanna get off ya chest?” I eventually queried, propping my elbow up on the center console and toying with my beard as I scoured the city with my eyes.

Zaire cleared his throat. “Look, I want you to know Jojo and I ain’t have shit to do with what I’m about to tell you.”

“Is it about Ayan and LaMia?” I finally gave Zaire brief eye contact, chuckling a bit at the way my little brother’s mouth fell open.

“How you find out?” Josias quizzed from the back seat.

“Over the phone. Hit her up and she told me she couldn’t fuck with a nigga no more,” I replied, not wanting to relive the way I was feeling in the moment. As big, bad, and emotionless as I tried to be, I couldn’t lie and say that shit didn’t hurt.

It would’ve fucked me up regardless, but shit seemed to multiply in pain when you was locked up. For a while, getting back to LaMia was the only thing that kept me from killing a few muthafuckas on the inside. Losing that made a nigga feel like the ground had fell in from beneath me.

“Fuck.” Zaire shook his head, toggling between the road and me. “We was suspicious when they would be together all the time, then finally when Jojo pressed Yan about it, he admitted it. Pops told us not to tell you while you was inside.”

“Aight, so how you gon’ get ya bitch back?” Josias inquired, causing me to chuckle some, caught off guard by his question.

“I’m not,” I answered honestly.

For a split second after LaMia hung up, I thought about getting out and convincing her to come back to where she belonged, but that thought vanished as quickly as the shit came. I was big on loyalty and stingy with pussy that belonged to me or was supposed to. By saying that, I was done with both LaMia and Ayan, but the latter wouldn’t be able to escape a much-needed ass whupping.

“So you gon’ let that nigga run off into the sunset?” Zaire frowned. “At least get her back, smash, and then dump her bop ass!”

As Josias cosigned his twin, I shook my head with a smirk.

“I’m good off that. He can keep her, and most definitely, he can keep the pussy.”

“Man, you just got out. You telling me you don’t need none?” Josias sucked his teeth.

“I do, but that ain’t gon’ be no problem, Jojo. I can find that shit anywhere. It ain’t gotta be from her.”

“I still say you hit that shit one mo’ ’gain and then just start punching her ass in the back of the head during doggy,” Josias stated, sending the whole car into a fit of laughter.

“Nigga stupid.” I snickered, still in deep thought.

I directed my brothers to stop so I could grab something quick to eat before I was dropped off at home. Upon first sight, it was clear that LaMia hadn’t been there in a while, and I didn’t wanna think about how many nights she got off the phone with a nigga to lay up with Ayan.

Shit had changed drastically while I was inside. While my career waned and deteriorated to nothing, Ayan had come in and filled my shoes. He’d been doing pretty well, well enough for news about his fights to hit the inside of the California State Prison. Despite our differences, I was proud of the nigga until his treacherous act. Now seeing shit for what it was and always would be—Ayan was envious and would always vie for whatever I had, even my woman.

I showered, brushed, flossed, and rinsed with mouthwash before putting on some gray joggers, a wife beater, socks, and corduroy slippers. Smelling some of my colognes, I tried to see if any were still viable, and after recognizing they’d all gone to shit, I left out.

Thanks to Zaire filling up one of my Range Rover trucks, I had enough gas to make it to my twin’s destination.

It took a nigga a minute, but I eventually remembered the route to my brother’s home. I didn’t even check to make sure Ayan was there because it didn’t matter. I would sit outside of his home for twenty-four hours straight if I needed to.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to, as I pulled to a stop in front of his home to see a few cars there. Though Ayan had been boxing the past few years, he clearly still wasn’t rich enough to leave the home he’d been able to purchase with the life insurance money we’d all received from our mother’s sudden death.

Seeing the truck I’d gifted LaMia parked in the driveway caused my anger to resurge and swell, making me climb from the car abruptly and tread up the walkway.

Without a word, I banged on the fucking door as if this were a drug raid waiting to commence, causing Ayan to yank the door open, wearing a frown. When recognition set in, his glower quickly morphed into an expression filled with terror just before I hit his ass in the face causing him to stumble back inside to which I followed.