Page 6 of Own It

“Mia! LaMia!” I shouted louder than I’d ever had at her before the line went dead.

For a moment, I sat there, phone still in hand and pressed flush to my face, staring off into what was no longer the confining walls of a fucking prison but the dark, depressing abyss.

“She excited?” Joe walked back up, eyes twinkling in anticipation to hear what he assumed would be a nigga gloating.

“Something like that,” I replied somewhat absentmindedly, more focused on the fact that Ayan’s spot would be my first stop upon release.

* * *

RELEASE DAY . . . FEW WEEKS LATER . . .

Mind elsewhere, I grabbed my belongings that the officer handed over to me before dryly directing my ass toward the exit as if I needed the instruction.

Half of the shit in the bag, I didn’t even recognize due to how long it’d been since I’d harbored it.

“Fuck.” I grumbled at the bright ass sun shining down on me, just as I witnessed a fly ass truck that looked like it came from the future pull up.

I’d been locked down, but I didn’t think I’d been away long enough for niggas to be whipping cars that looked like they could also take flight.

Before the tinted windows even lowered, I smirked, already knowing it was my little brothers, Zaire and Josias.

“My nigga free!” Josias, the wilder of the two, flew from the back seat of the truck as I started toward him.

Zaire, rounding the back of the truck since he’d clearly been on the driver’s side, trailed his excited ass twin with a grin on his face.

“What’s good, nigga?” I tried not to laugh as Josias rushed me, embracing me like a fucking kid.

Though we weren’t the most emotional and definitely didn’t do hugs, kisses, or anything of that fucking nature, I couldn’t lie and say the shit didn’t feel good than a muthafucka to see my people again.

Not only was I just happy to see them niggas, I was happy to be out and look out for their asses. LaMia wasn’t the only one I was worried about while behind bars.

Hugging Josias and Zaire partially reminded me of the betrayal I’d become privy to only weeks ago, and somehow, a nigga was just as pissed about it as I was when I heard Ayan’s voice in LaMia’s background. I had to chill though, bask in the fucking moment of my freedom.

“Damn, muthafucka, you need a haircut.” Josias frowned in disapproval as he eyed my grown out, kinky locks.

I refused to get my shit cut on the inside, but the barber would be one of my first fucking stops for sure. I couldn’t wait to clean my head and face up.

“Bet I could still pull,” I jested, following behind my brothers.

Truthfully, the last thing on my mind was pulling anything. All desire I’d had to deep dive into some pussy had been drained from me the moment I made that phone call to my now ex.

For years I’d been celibate, dreaming of the fucking day I could slide back up in my girl, and now that whole dream had become like a tire with a slow leak over the past weeks.

“Exactly, big bruh. Hating ass Jojo.” Zaire shook his head, hitting a button on the key fob to unlock the doors.

“Front seat for you since it’s for an occasion.” Josias gestured toward the front of the vehicle before returning to the back.

“’Preciate that.” I surveyed the weird ass car before climbing in and settling into the plush seats.

For a moment, I shut my eyes, basking in the feeling of something so luxe against my damn skin. Prison was a place I never wanted to return to and made the stint a nigga had spent in jail during my trial seem like a fucking hotel.

The shit I’d experienced and saw would keep me up at night for the next few years and even after that; it would be ingrained in my damn head. The fights, the thievery, the murders, niggas being turned into bitches, and worst of all, being confined, put away from normal society. I felt off being free. Not having a muthafucka tell me when I could take a piss or eat would take some getting used to, just like being bossed around did.

Three years of never being able to fully go to sleep, doing my fucking best not to let a nigga attempting to test me actually succeed, and always having to look over my shoulder, had stressed my ass beyond belief.

As I pulled down the visor mirror to get a good look at my overgrown beard and hair, I could see that I’d aged far beyond the three and some change years, from the lack of sleep and constant distress. A nigga didn’t feel nor look twenty-eight years old in my opinion.

The last year being inside had been the easiest for me, since by that time, I had proven myself, and niggas didn’t want any parts. A seasoned prisoner by that time, my days had shifted from ones of survival to a waiting game. I remained low-key as fuck and to myself, only conversing with Joe, and even that, I kept to a minimum.