Page 122 of Own It

NINE

téa gates

THE NEXT MORNING . . .

Someone pounding on my front door jarred me from my deep sleep. I’d been up all night researching apartments in much better areas because I didn’t want to risk anything happening to me while pregnant. Though Rakim seemed cool, he scared the shit out of me, and after looking into the Godfrey family and learning why he was nicknamed a disgraced heavyweight boxer, I wanted no issues with him.

He was a hustler at heart though—that much was obvious. My father, before he died, always said a man who can get rich, lose it, and get rich again were the true hustlers. That was definitely Rakim because now that his boxing career had plummeted, he was able to reinvent and come back with that bread line I’d seen in stores myself.

It made me wonder if he had a girlfriend. Not because I wanted him—even if I did, I was pregnant by his brother, so that ship had sailed—but because he was so mysterious and gave very little in the way that he talked but also his demeanor.

“Fuck.” I groaned, tossing the covers off me and going toward the living room.

I grabbed a knife on the way because last time this happened, it was a crackhead at my door who attempted to rob my ass when I told them I didn’t have any money. Though Hawthorne wasn’t a particularly horrible area or even deemed hood amongst most LA natives, it was sure on its way to being pretty terrible.

“What’s up?” Mylo stated, gesturing behind me to ask if he could come in.

“Yeah, um, what are you doing here?” I frowned, shutting the door once he was inside.

“What shit you trying to pull, baby girl?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Téa. If anybody know how you get down, I do.” His mouth twisted in aggravation.

I was uncomfortable in the moment considering Mylo had been one of the niggas I’d fucked for cash but only once. It was over a year ago, though, so I wasn’t sure why he was worried about what I had going on with Zaire.

The money I made from stripping was just enough for me to get by since the owner of the place had started hiking prices on shit, making the act of coming into Perry’s look less and less attractive. And my pay depended heavily on how many niggas came to the club every night. With how slow shit was, I had to make ends meet, so I started offering other services, sometimes onsite and others in hotel rooms or back seats of the car, just depending.

I did have some standards though. Not any man could walk in, offer some cash to me, and fuck. I had to at least be attracted to him, and he needed to have fat pockets. Lastly, I only did extracurricular work when I was falling on super hard times. This wasn’t some every night or even every month shit.

“What does how I get down have to do with anything?” I snapped.

“You fuck niggas for money, including me, so who is to say Zaire is yo’ baby daddy?”

“Because when I fuck niggas for money, I make them strap up, or did you forget that part?” I raised my own brow at him.

Waving me off and pacing briefly, Mylo halted his moves and spoke through gritted teeth. “You playing a dangerous fucking game, Classy.” He used my stripper name. “Ain’t no way you expect me to believe Zaire was the only nigga that don’ nutted in you.”

“It’s Téa, and he is. I actually liked him. I didn’t link with him for money.” I folded my arms and glanced off. “He was different.”

Mylo laughed satirically.

Only reason I was even keeping this baby was because I was lonely. I had no relationship with my mother, and my father had died when I was in high school. Additionally, Zaire made an impression on me, and I figured this would’ve been something he would be excited about. Then, when I found out he’d passed, I knew I couldn’t get rid of his legacy especially after informing his brother.

“We gon’ see if Rakim believe the shit you spitting.” He went for the door.

“Wait, no. I swear to God this is Zaire’s baby. Not only am I usually safe, I stopped getting money on the side for a few months before we had our night together.” Looking up into Mylo’s hazel eyes, I begged. “Please do not tell your friend anything.”

Shaking his head, he replied, “Can’t do that, Téa. Rah would kill a nigga and rightfully so. But you just better hope that fucking DNA proves everything you saying or you good as dead. I can promise you that shit.”

“Then I have nothing to worry about,” I responded confidently.

Mylo sneered before shaking his head and yanking my front door open to leave.

Sitting down on the couch, I prayed that Rakim kept his word about waiting for a DNA and didn’t just come to his own conclusions and kill me.

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