by Sequaia
Who would’ve known that him finding two kids behind his restaurant five years ago would make him a permanent and positive fixture in my life? He was the only person I listened to outside of my mom, and I listened to him more. When I got caught up, he cussed me out and smacked me upside the head a couple of times. Then he told me to take my ass to school and not leave until I got my degree. Telling me that if I thought selling drugs would be enough to improve my life, then I was dumber than a mothafucka.
Taking his advice was the best thing I’d done. Obtaining my business degree laced me with the biggest group of weed and pillheads I’d ever encountered, making my pockets fat. Those were the only drugs I sold, and they made me a grip of money. Selling drugs was my primary source of income. Investing in Mr. Lewis’s restaurant, owning a consulting firm, and my mother’s medical spa also had me cool financially. Still, something was missing. Monetarily, I was straight. It just couldn’t fill the empty spot in my heart.
I rinsed off, exited the shower, then wrapped a towel around my waist. Heading to the sink, I brushed my teeth before looking myself over in the mirror. I was still cut up like a fresh-out felon. Though a little pudge was growing at the bottom of my six-pack, a result of the free food I consumed frequenting at Mr. Lewis’s spot, a dietary menu was going to be added to the suggestion box next time I rolled up because I couldn’t be walking around like I inhaled beers all day.
Stepping back into my bedroom, I hit the remote on my nightstand, powering on my sixty-five-inch plasma that hung on the wall a few feet from my bed. I dropped the remote with my mouth wide open, shocked as hell from what I saw on the screen. I’d know that smile, those eyes, that sexy-ass butterscotch skin from anywhere. Like a lovesick nigga, my knees just about gave out. My mouth was still opened somewhat as I stared at the screen so hard that my eyes started to burn. After the commercial ended, I was still stuck, staring.
“Aúrea.” Her name left my lips as a smile spread from them while shaking my head. Baby girl had made it, and I couldn’t have been prouder. That’s what she craved . . . to be on TV. To become a superstar, and though this was only a T.J. Maxx commercial, it seemed she’d done what she set out to do. “She’s okay,” I whispered in confirmation.
For five years, I beat myself up for letting her go, being too much of a coward to run to L.A. and look for her. When the money started rolling in, a private detective was on my list of people to hire. I just didn’t hire one. She dipped. Not once had she tried to reach out. Not via social media, shit that I hardly used now. Not a text, when all these years I still had the same number. There were a million reasons in the world for me to find her. Yet, the few that told me to let her go were greater in weight, so I did just that.
Seeing her on TV, in good spirits, looking as beautiful as I remembered, reminded me there was one last thing I could do for her. Her bitch-ass foster father hadn’t slipped through the cracks. He became a distant living memory. Trying to push her out of mind resulted in him being removed. It was his bitch ass that drove her to leave, made me lose my girl. I wasn’t a skinny, 18-year-old boy anymore, either. It was time for Von to meet Prentice, the man. His ass was one wrong I was about to right, even if Aúrea never came back after all this time. And I doubted she would. But at least Von’s ass would be taken care of—one less bitch nigga sucking the good air from the real niggas.
13
Prentice
Rocko and Chuck’s aggressive growling at my front door woke me from my nap, causing me to roll off the sofa onto the floor.
“Shit!” I grumbled, not expecting to have fallen on my ass. Blowing out a frustrated breath, I leaped up. My body full of aggravated tension, I made my way to my cell, resting on the coffee table.
“What the fuck?” I wasn’t expecting company, so I had no clue who was at my front door.
Opening the Ring app on my phone, I saw my girl, a term I use very loosely. Brittney was on the other side of the door, looking irritated as hell. Releasing a light chuckle, I thought about leaving her ass out there since, once again, she thought it was cool to show up unannounced after I told her on multiple occasions that wasn’t how I got down.
“Rocko, Chuck, go lie down.” Both dogs whimpered before doing what the hell I said. They actually had the nerve to look sad, like I’d done something to them. I took my time walking to the door.
“Really, Prentice?” Brittney grumbled, pushing her way inside.
“Really what, Brit? It ain’t like I knew you were on the way.” I looked at her, not moved at all by her thick, bushy brows that she furrowed, or the pout gracing her plump, pink lips, one of my favorite parts of her body, as they always provided me a special kind of comfort when wrapped around my manhood.
“Well, as your girlfriend, I should be able to come and go as I please.”
“Who gave you the title as my girlfriend, Brittney? You or me? Keep it real too.” It took everything in me not to laugh in her face as embarrassment washed over it. I watched as she used her hand to straighten out her long weave, shifting her body weight from one side to the other.
“Every time I think you care, you prove me wrong,” she pouted, shaking her head dramatically.
“I didn’t say I don’t care, Brit.” I inched closer to her, grasping her by the waist. Other than being rough around the edges, Brittney was a cool girl. Just not the girl for me. I mean, not the girl meant to be my girlfriend—my wife. If I were to end up with Brittney, it would be me settling for someone I really didn’t want, and I refused to do that. Brittney did look good on a nigga’s arm. Her weave was always done up. I still didn’t know if she had any real hair up under that shit. I mean, I guess she had to have enough to tag that fake shit on the top. Her body was shapely, her stomach kind of flat, and for me, she stayed wet. All that, and still, I couldn’t see a future with her.
“Are you ever going to commit to me? Are you ever going to be more to me than what you are? I mean, to me, you’re my boyfriend. I don’t want to be with anyone but you. You don’t feel the same about me, and it sucks.”
“Probably not. So we can keep doing what we doing until one of us don’t want to do it no more. Or you can cut your losses now.” This repetitive-ass conversation still managed to hurt her feelings. Not sure why she thought my mind would change.
“I don’t know why you keep fighting me when you and I both know there’s not another woman who can make you feel like I do.”
She let the jean jacket she had on fall to the floor before taking her hand and massaging my dick through my basketball shorts. Instantly, I hardened because getting me there was never an issue of Brittney’s. She leaned in, pressing her lips to mine, and I obliged. We didn’t kiss often. Kissing wasn’t my thing. It was too intimate and couple-ish since we weren’t on that. I usually dodged her lips. Tonight, though, since her feelings were already hurt and I wasn’t trying to cock-block myself, I let the move slide.
“Mmm,” she moaned into my lips as she pushed my shorts down. Swiftly, I stepped out of them, then led her over to the couch. By now, my dick was as hard as a brick, and taking her upstairs to my bedroom would waste too much time. Breaking our kiss, I kept my eyes on hers, helping remove the black crop tee she wore. The knee-length skirt she had on, I wasted no time lifting above her ass before twirling her around and bending her over the sofa. She didn’t have on panties, which let me know she came over here to start some shit and get fucked. Slowly, I eased into her wetness and stood there just for a second, collecting myself. That initial entry with Brittney was always toe-curling. Then after about five strokes, the shit was just cool ’cause she ain’t know how to throw it back.
“Prentice,” she cried my name, sounding like she was out of breath. I had barely begun to stroke her.
“Throw that shit back, Brit,” I urged, slapping her on the ass.
“I can’t . . . You-u-you’re too big,” she moaned, causing me to roll my eyes. Maybe this was the other reason she couldn’t be my girl. She was as cute as Laura Wi
nslow from Family Matters but couldn’t handle me in the bedroom. Damn deal-breaker.
Gripping her hair, I forced her head up, placing my lips to her ear. “You telling me you came all the way over here to get fucked and can’t handle it? You should be used to this by now, Brit.”
“You make me feel good, Prentice. But you know I can’t take it all,” she pushed out, taking a breath after each word.
“I do, huh?” My reply was sarcastic as hell. Indeed, I knew she couldn’t take all that I was packing. She never missed a beat to remind me when I was inside her.
Tugging her weave a little tighter, pounding faster, I felt myself getting ready to reach my peak.
“Prentice, baby, I’m about to come,” she moaned.
“Come,” I ordered. And within seconds, Brittney’s entire body was shaking. I stroked her a few more times before pulling out and releasing on her ass as she collapsed over the couch.
“I’ll be back.” Glancing down at her, I chuckled, knowing she wouldn’t be able to move right away. I went into the bathroom, grabbed a towel to wipe myself, then another for her.
After she cleaned up, she sat down, getting comfortable, with her shoes removed and feet on my couch resting underneath her ass. Coo’, I thought, taking the seat next to her.
“I really care about you, Prentice. Like enough to love you,” she told me, resting her head on my shoulder. There was no reason to reply because she knew what was up, regardless of her playing like she didn’t.
I picked the remote up from the end table and powered on the TV, turning to the sports channel. Besides releasing a little scoff from her lips, she ain’t say anything else.
“Hold up.” I lifted her head from my shoulder as I stood to answer my phone.
Brittney sucked her teeth, and I shook my head as I slid the answer button to the right.
“What’s up?”
“That package you wanted to be delivered has made it to its destination.”
“A’ight, hold tight. I’ll be there to grab it shortly.”
“It’s all good.”
The excitement surging through my body was hardly containable. I put the order in a few days ago, and already my guys had come through. Talk about perfect-fucking-customer-service.
“You’re leaving?” Disappointment could be heard in Brittney’s tone and seen on her face once I turned back toward her.
“Yeah, something came up. You can stay or go, but I gotta dip.”
“If I stay, can you put the dogs away?”
“This they shit. So, no. They not thinking about you. Decide now because I gotta get going.”
Anxiously, I placed my Nike slides on my feet with black socks on. Real niggas wore socks and slides, no matter what.
“Fine. I’ll just wait in your room with the door locked. They scare me.”
“Nah, you can wait right here. You not about to be in my room going through my stuff, Brit. You not slick. The blankets are in the hall closet if you get tired. I’ll be back.”
“Fine.” She sat that ass back on the sofa, arms folded over her cantaloupe-sized breasts, pouting.
“Chuck, Rocko, go to your rooms,” I yelled out before eyeing Brittney.
“They gon’ chill, but the moment they hear you moving around and shit like you ain’t got no business, they gon’ come and check yo’ ass, believe that.” It was up to her if she took heed to my warning. If she didn’t, she would learn the hard way that my dogs weren’t to be tested. This was my first time leaving her here alone, and it would be the last. Because of the call I received, she was getting a pass. I knew I was making a mistake, contradicting myself like a mothafucka by letting her stay.
“All right.” Defeat was prominent in her reply.
“Don’t wait up,” I threw over my shoulder, heading out the door.
“Guess you not goin’ to see another bitch, since my pussy juice is still on you,” she mumbled, but I heard her ass.
“Damn,” I muttered at the realization of what she just said as I walked out the door. I had wiped off, but only a shower would guarantee all residue was removed.
Being pressed for time was causing me to slip. I needed to make this run quick. Brittney being alone at my place for one minute was already too long. I looked up at my door again before jumping into my car, headed to my package.
The drive to my package was going smoothly until I got caught by a red light about a block ahead of my destination. While stopped, my hand tightly gripped the steering wheel, issuing a mild pain through my fingers. Crazy, I wasn’t aware of how tight I was grasping it until I felt numbing. I loosened my grip as the light turned green, and I hit the gas, causing my car to jerk as the tires spun a bit. Relax, nigga, I chastised myself as I pulled into the lot of the storage unit. I was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning, and if I wanted this shit to go right, I had to pull myself together and calm down. It had been a minute since I had to put in this kind of work, but this would be a sweeter score settled than any other.
Stepping out of my ride, I locked my doors, then rubbed my hands together in eager anticipation. At the door, I tapped twice, and my entire demeanor shifted as the door slowly opened.
“What up, boss man?” my worker, Nick, spoke, extending his hand for a pound.
“My package still intact?” I inquired, following behind him.
We stepped into another room, lit by a small lamp. The lamp was right over the person I was there to see. My package. Aka Von’s bitch ass. Underneath the chair he was sitting on was plastic to contain the mess that would be made.
“Who’s there?” He attempted to sound unafraid, though the lack of vibrato in his tone proved otherwise.
I chuckled angrily as I stepped toward him. He had the nerve to be afraid. Guess fear only mattered when he was the one on the other side of it.
“Yo’ bitch ass scared?” I stepped into view. His eyes met mine, and they were wide as saucers when he recognized me.
“I . . . I know you,” he stuttered, and I smirked.
“You do, huh?”
“Ye . . . Yeah, you’re my daughter’s friend. Or used to be.” He sounded relieved now. I guess he thought recognizing me and associating me with someone we both knew wasn’t his daughter would help him.
“Who’s your daughter?” I slowly asked, keeping eye contact with him. My hands twitched, itching to wrap around his neck, but I was gonna keep my cool a little longer.
“Aú . . . Aúrea,” he spit out.
“That’s your daughter, huh? Then tell me, what kind of sick mothafucka rapes his own daughter for over five years?” I slapped the shit out of him before he could respond.
“I never touched her.”
Cocking my head to the side, I looked at him as if he’d just spoken to me in Portuguese. “Look, man. You gon’ die tonight no matter what you say. Best thing for you to do . . . is be real. Clear yo’ conscience and shit before I send you to hell. Now, what would make a man rape his daughter?” I asked again, much firmer this time. The blow to his face should have let him know I wasn’t playing.
“She’s not my real daughter. Plus, she asked for it. I didn’t mean it, though. I feel bad. Horrible. If I could apologize, I would.”
Tears were streaming down his face, but they didn’t move me in the least. He never cared for Aúrea’s tears. Then he had the nerve to lie about her.
“Well, you will never get that chance, but she will have justice.”
I reached behind my back, removing the gun I had tucked away, shooting him in a kneecap.
“Ahh, shit! Please,” he cried as blood spilled from his leg like a broken fire hydrant.
“Why’d you do it?” Closing in on him, I put my gun underneath his chin.
“My wife is sick, man. She’s dying. Please don’t kill me. She needs me,” he begged, and I laughed. I mean, a hearty laugh like Kevin Hart or someone had just told me a joke.
“Why did you do it?” Slow and deliberate was how I delivered the words. I needed to kn
ow what possessed him to do what he’d done—and for all those years. However, if he tried to bullshit his way through the answer again, he’d die with his reason.
“I was sick, man. I know it was wrong, which was why I did my best to find her.”
“You looked for her?” I asked, looking at him, confused as hell.
“Yes,” he breathed out, taking in a huge gasp of air. “I never found her. No idea where to even look. I wanted to apologize. I knew what I did was wrong, man. I don’t deserve to die for it. I’ve changed, been going to church. God—”
“God forgives—but I don’t. Your sin is too great. Have a nice life in hell.” I pulled the trigger, sending his brain splattering everywhere.
I’ve waited for this moment since the day Aúrea told me what he’d been doing to her.
Back then, I was mad enough to kill him, yet was still unsure if taking a man’s life was something I could do. When they say timing is everything, I understood that more than ever now. ’Cause if I could, I’d bring his ass back from the dead, just to kill him again.
Pow!
I turned to see Nick’s gun smoking and pointed at Von.
“What the fuck?” I hissed.
“My fault, boss man. I couldn’t help it. I know you killed his bitch ass, but my trigger finger was itching, though. It takes a bitch-ass nigga to do what he did. I got a daughter, man. Niggas like him deserve to die a thousand times.”
“Clean this shit up. No evidence,” I ordered, removing my shirt and putting the gun inside of it. Those two items I would get rid of myself.
“Got you, boss,” Nick assured me.
I nodded and headed to my car. The drive to Mr. Lewis’s place was slower than usual. I was riding dirty and had to make it there without any hiccups. Once there, I used my key and went inside. I headed to the master grill, lit the fire just like he taught me when I worked for him and threw both items inside. For twenty minutes, I sat there, waiting for the shirt to become ashes and for the gun to be as damaged as possible before I tossed it in the lake near my home. When he opened shop in the morning, he would know I’d been there. Mr. Lewis never missed a beat when it came to this place. I looked around, making sure I left nothing behind before turning everything off and exiting.
