Page 63 of Just Like Summer

twenty-three

“Girl,” Dania gritted, yanking Kamilla into a side hallway. “What the fuck happened? Everyone is talking about C4 and Tez. But he’s not in cuffs sooo….”

Kamilla huffed, rolled her eyes, and swayed her head. “We went to Pepe’s to grab some food. Martez and his pack of idiots showed up. Whatever they got going on is deep. If I didn’t pull him back, he would’ve killed him.”

“You did what?” Dania snapped.

Kamilla slightly frowned and shrugged. “I pulled him back. What’s the problem?”

Dania stared at her, hands on her spreading hips. “I know you’re new to this…like being in this Azul life. Don’t do that shit again.”

“What? It was that or watch him get arrested. That’s something I can’t watch,” Kamilla stated.

“And if something were to happen to you when you were pulling him out that mayhem, there would be nothing standing. You got to know who you got, girl. He might be everything you want when y’all are alone. The shit is beautiful – dizzying even. Out here, those niggas are killers. I don’t know about you, but I can’t live with any more blood on my hands.”

Kamilla took her turn to stare at Dania. “Any more?”

A half-nod preceded Dania’s answer. “Some nigga from CK tried to rob me one night. When I got back to the apartment, I told Nate. Nate is a step down from the crazy that Cairo is and it’s still too fuckin’ much. Him and Cairo left and when they got back, the issue was handled. A whole block of niggas gone. Houses burned down, niggas dead in the street. It’s the territory, but I’d rather not be the person responsible for holding guilt. I don’t want that for you.”

“I hear you,” Kamilla hummed. “Makes sense why they’re inseparable.”

“Blood can’t make them no closer. They’ll die for each other, kill for each other. I’d rather watch them live. Raise their kids, look back on all of this holding cigars and glasses of bourbon.”

“Yeah, me too. I won’t interfere anymore,” Kamilla yielded.

“And when it comes to Martez,” Dania added with a pointed glare. “Cousin or not, he deserves to choke on dirt the rest of his existence.”

“He’s not my cousin,” Kamilla corrected. “He’s a leech, a clout chaser. Apparently my mother’s brother was something to be feared and because she said she was responsible for him dying, she looked after Martez. And he manipulated that and every woman in my family. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a bitch.”

“And that’s putting it lightly,” Dania said before pushing a breath out. “Are you okay?”

Kamilla leaned her back on the wall and shrugged. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t do that with me. We’ve been friends for like a week and neither us are leaving them, so we’re like sisters,” Dania stated. “Are you okay?”

Kamilla swayed her head. “Repressed memories. Flashes I can’t really understand. Layering everything else. But I’ll be alright.”

“Listen, K. You don’t have to be strong here. Not with me, okay?” Dania offered, opening her arms.

Kamilla accepted her hug. Accepted the warmth of friendship. Accepted someone who knew the pain and would hold her hand while they navigated through it. “Thank you, D.”

“Eh, I’m sure there’ll be a day I need the same talk,” Dania chuckled, releasing her. “Come on, those niggas are good but they need that golden ear.”

Kamilla frowned. “The what?”

“Golden Ear. That’s what Fahaad and Ekho have been calling you. You got your daddy’s frown and his ear. How you’re flying under the radar is crazy to me.”

Inside the studio, Kamilla and Dania took their spot. Nate fidgeted with a camera, taking his role as Cairo’s communications manager seriously. Cairo sat at the board regrouping and building a beat that had the perfect mix of kick and edge. There was a particular sound that Cairo was making for himself that set him apart from what Kamilla had heard.

She moved from her corner to his side. While he bobbed, mixed, and adjusted, he leaned over to hear her notes.

“It’s good. No notes. But you need to tag it. So, when this plays in every car from here to Ganton Hills, they know who did it,” she spoke just above a whisper.

Cairo nodded, handing her a mic. “Give me the tag.”

Kamilla shook her head, pushing the mic away. “No, this is your moment.”

“Mila, baby,” he lowly muttered. “Our shit. Tag it.”