Page 67 of Rayzor: Tell Me It’s Mine II

“Okay,” she said.

“Baby, seriously, don’t do nothing crazy. He’s still your manager.”

“Fuck that nigga.”

I walked into Morrison’s office. He was sitting on the other side of his desk like a guest as the bald mothafucka from Vegas occupied his desk chair.

“Ah, the man of the hour,” he said.

“This nigga keeps popping up. Who the fuck are you?”

“A friend of an old friend.”

“Well. I ain’t got no friends.”

“You have more friends than you realize.”

“Rayzor, take a seat.”

I wasn’t about to sit next to Morrison or across from the nigga I didn’t know. I stood.

“You posted those pictures?”

“First off, congratulations on the new nuptials.”

“How the fuck you get them?”

“They were sent anonymously.”

“And you leaked them to the blogs.”

“It was a payday that I couldn’t refuse. They paid seven figures for this story.”

I jumped up. “And you made my life a payout. My fucking family has been exposed.”

“It’s either today or later. You’re a star. Your life isn’t private, Rayzor, no matter how you make it seem.”

The bald nigga laughed.

“Rayzor, this isn’t as bad as you think.”

“Who the fuck was talking to you, nigga?” I swung on his ass because I still owed that nigga from Vegas.

“Buttermilk told me you’re hard to tame, but I don’t think you are.”

“Who the fuck is Buttermilk?”

A creepy smile showed his big ass veneers.

“Theresa. Didn’t she tell you her nickname?”

I snapped out of it since he wanted to play in my face and shit. This is the second time he’s mentioned my mama in a way that I didn’t like. He knew what he was doing; he wanted a reaction.

Security had to pull me away from his ass. His lip leaked blood. He was helped up from the floor, dusting off his suit jacket and wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

“Keep my fuckin’ mama’s name out your mouth, nigga.”

“You just like to keep score, so do I.”