Page 29

ADIR

This shit with Hakeem and Jamaine had me on edge.

While I didn't give a fuck about Jamaine, somebody was surely trying to lure me out of hibernation. That was what I felt. Too much time had passed, and I was no closer to having an answer for either of their deaths. Shit was bugging the fuck out of me.

Part of that was what had me on edge. The other part had me unable to sleep, which meant I had shit to do. Pretty’s body was tucked against mine, and she was peacefully sleeping after being riled up by the action at the game. I kissed the nape of her neck, then carefully climbed from the bed.

Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I shot a quick text to Russ, Zel, and Alli. I put some joggers on then left the room. When I came out of the room, I saw faint flashing lights coming from the living room as if the television was on. I thought that was strange because each of the boys had their own rooms in the house I’d purchased a few months ago. Pretty’s mama was buried in Orlando, so her being able to come and spend time here would be so, with her being comfortable in her own house and not a hotel.

Inside the living room, Quilo laid stretched out on the sofa with his arm hanging off, remote in hand with it pointed at the television. He had the volume all the way down, and his eyes were wide open.

“‘Sup, baby?” I asked him.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. His right arm held bruises from the beating his body took on the field. The defensive line tried taking my boy out. He was a thoroughbred though, fighting through non-calls, dirty plays, and blatant illegal tackles to bring home the championship.

“I can’t sleep,” he said.

I joined him on the couch and asked, “Why not?”

“You gon’ let me cuss right quick?”

Chuckling, I said, “Yeah, mane.”

“You told me to leave everything in Orlando, and I did. I didn’t start no shit, and I kept my mouth shut when my old classmates were on the field talkin’ shit. Saar wanted to bulldoze they asses. I told him to keep it cool ‘cause you said not to let anybody trick me out my spot. I told him the same thing.”

I had to laugh at Saar. That nigga was a young man of few words, but he had my son’s back against anybody.

“We both have scouts on us heavy, and to let muhfuckas ruin that is just stupid.”

“I agree. So, why can’t you sleep?”

He sighed and rested against the back of the couch. “I can tell you like being a dad, Adir.”

“I love it.”

“Anybody can see that.” He looked at me then. “What made you wanna be a good dad?”

I realized that Quilo was thinking about his own dad. The same nigga who had my muthafuckin’ ass up. Some shit was off with him. I’d watched his moves most of the game and even peeped how those knuckleheads acted around him. Before I adopted Quilo, I’d already looked into his court cases. I looked into every nigga that was named in any documents pertaining to him. So, I knew those knuckleheads laughing it up with Quinton Matthews were Quilo’s old homeboys.

Quinton Matthews hadn’t too long gotten out of jail. I knew that shit, too. My pops kept tabs on Quinton for obvious reasons. If his ass even acted like he wanted to reach out to my wife or son, he was going to meet his maker.

I expected him to be out tonight, though. With Quilo’s name ringing through the high school, college, and pro football streets, it was bound to bring everyone who was tied to him out the woodworks. I wasn’t having that shit.

“I was raised by a family of men who instilled in me what the love of a father is supposed to be like. That’s not to say that men who are raised without a father are incapable of showing their children love. Really, it’s all about wanting what’s best for someone you either created or took full responsibility for. I spoil my sons because I don’t want the streets to. I scold and correct my sons because I don’t want the laws to. I give equal attention, time, patience, and grace to each of you because I want y’all to pass that same shit down to ya own kids one day.”

He turned back to the television and slowly nodded.

“I pour into my sons because I want them to pour into the woman they will one day bump into and realize is the love of their lives.”

He snickered. “Is Pretty the love of ya life?”

I grinned. “She’s the love of a million lifetimes, my baby.”

His grin matched mine, then slowly faded. “A few of my old classmates run for Quinton. They kept makin’ comments about how he could have me knocked off if he wanted to.”

My blood instantly boiled.

“So, I told them to make sure he knew that he could go fuck himself, and if he had an issue to get at you ‘cause I refused to say a word to that nigga. I’ve never had the first conversation wit’ that nigga, bruh. Never wanted to for how he didn’t give a fuck about my mama.”

I tucked Quilo’s information to the back of my mind and said, “You did right.” The fact that he knew I would have his back spoke volumes.

“That’s why those niggas jumped me. Quinton said I disrespected him, so he had to teach me a lesson.” He laughed then. “Bruh, you saw the way Saar body slammed ol’ boy?”

We shared a laugh because that shit was funny after the fact. Sending folks to jump on one kid to turn around and get embarrassed in front of all those people was the highlight of my holiday season.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

Quilo nodded. “Without a doubt.”

To think, just six months ago, he couldn’t stand the sight of me. Now, I was out here willing to sacrifice everything to avenge my son.

Clearing my throat caught the attention of the man sleeping with his dick out and his mouth wide open. His eyes snapped open, and he quickly sprang up as if I was someone who’d popped out of his darkest dreams.

“The fuck—”

“Shh… We wouldn’t want to wake the niggas in the living room.”

His eyes widened.

“Now… What the hell possessed you to have hands put on my jit?”

Quinton’s dark face seemed to flush. “He… He’s my son. His disrespectful ass asked for it!” he hissed.

“Hm. It’s funny ‘cause last time I checked, my last name is on his driver’s license.”

“Yo’ last name don’t mean shit ‘round here!” His voice escalated.

I looked back and checked behind me at the open door to see if anyone would come inside. The lighted hallway was just as empty as it was when I walked into his room. When no one appeared, I turned back to him.

“You expectin’ somebody?” I asked.

His back straightened, and he sat up even more. As he did so, he took note of the plastic covering most of the floor and the dresser. Nervously, his eyes darted to the nightstand where his gun laid.

“Reach for it,” I urged him.

Hesitantly, he did. Once the deadly weapon was in his hand, I produced my own.

“Now… We’re even,” I said and watched him visibly gulp. His hand shook as he pointed the weapon at me and fired. Nothing happened.

Reaching for the lamp, I turned it on, further illuminating his room.

“Now, we should start over before you piss me the fuck off. What possessed you to have hands put on my son?”

He stuttered and fumbled over something to say.

“I’ll help you. Weak ass nigga shit is what drove you to fuck up the rest of ya miserable life.”

Gulping, he stared at me and waited for my next move. His eyes bounced from my ski mask covered face to the heat still clutched in my leather-gloved hand.

“Oh, it ain’t fair anymore, is it?” Chuckling, I holstered my gun. “Now, my son told you that if you had an issue to get at me. I’m here. What you wanna do?”

As his eyes watched me closely, he climbed from the bed and stood in front of me. Sizing me up, he smirked.

“You think you can fuck wit’ me, nigga?”

“I’on know. You tell me.”

He swung on me, his fist missing my face by a hair as I dodged his blow. With death in my eyes, I uppercut his ass, then drove my fist dead into the center of his face. He crashed against the nightstand, crushing the lamp, and knocking everything off the nightstand. Hands shaking, he brought them to his nose to try to catch the blood flowing from it. Incensed, he climbed back to his feet and came at me a second time, resulting in me cracking his jaw. He hit the floor. Repeatedly, I kicked him in his face until he was unrecognizable and unmoving.

“Bitch! Fuck wrong wit’ you?” I stooped over him and screamed in his face as if he was still with the land of the living. Just because I couldn’t help myself, I took my heat out and put two in his skull.

Walking back into the living room, I took note of the two niggas hogtied and deceased in the middle of the tan carpet atop plastic wrap.

“Wrap their asses up and burn this shit to the ground,” I ordered.

Back at home, I crept back inside the house, checked on Quilo to find him in his bed sleeping, then went straight to the bathroom. My clothes had already been removed and handled along with the van containing Quinton and his homeboys’ bodies. Thankfully, I had family tucked in all four corners of the country. Whether it was a Winters, Fountain, or Smith…they stayed ready for whatever.

I showered, dried off, then applied some lotion to my skin before donning a pair of boxers.

“Where were you?” Pretty asked as I eased back into the bed.

Wrapping my arm around her, I brought her back into the fold of my body.

“I went to see ya pops,” I answered.

Once a little groggy, her eyes popped open, and her head swiveled around to look at me.

“What? Why?”

“He had Quilo jumped.”

She chuckled lightly. “And here I thought I was keeping my internal struggles from you.”

“Oh, you was gon’ keep that to ya’self?”

“Nope. I just wasn’t sure and didn’t want to start anything.”

I kissed her forehead. “Well, you didn’t start anything. I definitely finished it though.” Yawning, I got comfortable and closed my eyes.

“Did you kill him?”

“Mm, hm.”

Moments later, Pretty snuggled closer to me. Not even minutes later, we were both fast asleep.