Page 121 of Own It

“My fault, Mylo.” Josias ran a hand down his face.

“You straight. I ain’t been fucking off, bruh. But niggas out here is either too afraid to admit to selling that shit or they really don’t fuck with that. Fentanyl is some gutter shit. Real dope dealers don’t fuck with that.” Mylo spit facts.

I nodded affirmatively, wading through my own damn thoughts as to who sold the shit to Zaire.

“We gotta look outside of these block huggers. Head to them uppity muthafuckas in the suburbs,” I suggested as Josias and Mylo rocked their heads in agreement.

We chopped it up a bit longer before Josias left to make some actual bread deliveries to a few of the small grocery stores around the hood.

“Nigga, I thought we was going to the port?” Mylo queried when he noticed I was headed in the opposite direction.

“We are. I just gotta make a quick stop first.” I pulled up to the small and dirty ass apartment building in Hawthorne.

Hopping out, I rounded the back of my whip and stepped onto the curb, ignoring the niggas looking my way. I didn’t need to say a word or provide eye contact to let them niggas know I couldn’t and wouldn’t be pressed.

Entering the gate that had seen better days, I located Téa’s apartment on the second floor and made my way up. Via text, she let me know she was home all day and only worked nights, so I could stop by any time before eight p.m.

“The fuck are we?” Mylo’s brows furrowed as I knocked on her door, stepping back some so she could see me.

I chuckled at Mylo keeping a hand on his heat as he swept the area of the apartment.

“Oh . . .” Téa froze upon answering the door, eyes darting between Mylo and me.

“This the homie Mylo.” I stepped in as she moved back, widening the door to allow us entry.

“Nice to meet you, Mylo.” She faked a smile and exhaled heavily. “I thought you would text or call before coming so . . .” She started trying to tidy up.

“You good with all that. I do shit at random most times, so while I apologize for the unannounced drop in, I can’t say that shit won’t happen again,” I admitted, noticing then that Mylo was staying by the door, seemingly refusing to step further into the apartment.

“No worries.” She tightened her robe and folded her arms.

“For you. I ain’t come to stay, only to drop this off.” Taking in her surroundings, I added, “You gotta move up out of here, lil mama.”

“I like this place.”

Smiling, I said, “And while that’s cool, if you put my niece or nephew’s life in jeopardy, I’m gon’ have to do the same to yours. So it’s best we not even have to go there. What you carrying is possibly the only piece of my fucking brother I got left, and I won’t put them in harm’s way because you like this hood ass spot.”

“Alright.” She succumbed. “Thank you.” She peered down into the bank bag.

“Should be enough to find you a new spot, get some movers, and maybe not have to work nights.” I lifted my brows for some confirmation.

“Yeah. Is this gonna be monthly or . . .?”

“Monthly, maybe more frequently when I feel like it.”

“Okay then, yeah, I should be able to take some time off my job.” She zipped the bag back, eyes toggling between me and Mylo’s weird ass who was acting as if he were super glued to the fucking door.

“I’ll be in touch. Stay safe.” I turned to leave, and Mylo yanked the door open, hurrying over the threshold and toward the stairs.

“Damn, nigga. I’d think you’d never been to the hood before with the way you acting,” I jested as I trailed him down the stairs and toward the rickety gate that led to the street.

“Sup.” One of the niggas hovering the area finally spoke.

“What’s good?” I nodded my head up to him and so did Mylo before I yielded traffic then stepped out to get in on the driver’s side. “Hawthorne that scary to yo’ big ass? This barely the hood,” I said.

“Nah, them niggas just look like they plotting.” He peered out of his window at them.

“Yeah. Aight.” I pulled off from the curb.