Page 6 of The Richest Gangstas in the Room
"Watch ya mouth, you know I don’t like that bitch word," I said, but couldn't help smiling as I walked over. Mya was still my baby, even if she thought she was grown. Her box braids were fresh falling past her shoulders, gold hair jewelry catching light at the ends.
Morgan looked up from her phone, her cat-shaped eyes taking me in from head to toe.
"Mmm-hmm, coming in here late as hell, looking like you just left a nigga's bed."
"Mind your business," I said, dropping my Chanel bag on the empty chair next to them. It was a knock-off Chanel bag, but none of these bitches in here could tell the difference.
"And what you mean late? Shid, I'm right on time."
"Girl, please." Morgan rolled her eyes; her lashes were so thick they looked like they might fly off her face. "We've been here for over an hour. Mya already got her fill-in done."
"I had some business to handle." I kept my voice even. What’s understood didn’t need to be explained, they both knew exactly what kind of business I had to handle, but I never discussed the details with them. It simply wasn’t nobody’s business about what I did and who I did it with.
"Business," Morgan repeated, the glossy lips curving into a smirk.
"That business got a name?"
"Morgan, shut up," Mya laughed, swatting at her. "Leave my sister alone. She out here gettin’ to the bag, unlike you, who be letting that bum ass nigga run through your pockets."
"First of all, mind the business that pays you whore," Morgan snapped back chuckling, That's how we talked with each other, always talking shit but it was nothing but love between us for sure. "And secondly, DeAndre stay giving me bread, he just bought me these." She pointed to the diamond studs in her ears.
Miss Sue, the shop owner, called my name from her station. "Yah-Yah! You want usual? French tip with diamonds?"
"Nah, not today, Miss Sue. imma get them coffin-shaped, and I want a red polish with some gold glitter."
"Ooooh," Mya sing-songed, "somebody feeling fancy. Mr. Clyde must've paid well tonight."
I shot her a look sharp enough to cut glass. "What I just tell y’all about being in my business?"
Mya rolled her eyes. "Girl, it ain't nobody in here who don't know what's what. You think these hoes getting these fake ass Birkin bags from working at Target?"
She had a point. Half the bitches in Fancy Fingers were either dancers, escorts, or had a dope dealer or sugar daddy on lock.
Chicago was expensive, and minimum wage didn't cover Louboutin’s.
“Nah our good big sis, just thinks she’s bigger than the program now,” Morgan sassed and I rolled my eyes,
“Oh, bitch shut yo’ hating ass up.” I retorted and Morgan started laughing.
“Hell, yea I’m hating, I need a nigga like Mr. Clyde on deck. Shit DeAndre aint got enough paper for me.”
“See…that’s why you gotta watch a hating ass hoe Mya, Lemme find out you sniffing up behind Mr. Clyde, I’ll shoot a bitch for that old mufucka,”
“Girl you not on shit.” Morgan snapped back laughing.
“Try me, see that’s why I gotta keep a .45 for hoes like you.” I retorted jokingly staring at Morgan.
“Bitch I’m always ready for the smoke.” She shot back giggling.
“You two hoes been arguing like this since high school” Mya added,
“And we still together,” Morgan sang in herin living colorvoice causing me to smile.
That part was true. Me and Morgan went way back, to freshman year, we shared lockers, cheap lip gloss, and big dreams we didn’t know how to reach yet. She was the first person I ever talked to about my parents. The first person who didn’t look at me like I was broken afterward. When everybody else faded, Morgan was right there. We were high school best friends turned grown-woman confidants.
“Speaking of men… my new lil boo Rah been acting real generous lately.” Mya said, I raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Real generous,” she said proudly. “Food, weed, money. The nigga took me shopping twice this week. And I ain’t even have to ask.”
