Page 46

. . .

The lock beeped when Aku stepped into her condo, but the moment she saw the two bodies posted in her living room, her spine locked up.

“Hey boo,” Solar smiled. It dropped when Aku fully stepped into the condo.

They looked like they’d just stepped off the plane. Unannounced and at the worst time.

French sat on the arm of the couch, knee bouncing to show he was already on one. He was dressed down in a sweatsuit, gold watch shining from his wrist, and his diamond earrings catching the light. Solar was standing with her arms crossed, staring Aku down with a mix of worry and heat.

They had let themselves in. Aku cursed herself for having a keyless, digital lock.

“Aku,” Solar’s voice was already cutting sharp. “What the hell happened to your face?”

Her bottom lip trembled from the busted skin.

French stood, rushing to her, right behind Solar. “The fuck, baby girl?” His brown eyes examined her like he was looking for more than just some scars. He was looking for answers that her eyes always told him. They’d always been locked in like that.

“I’m fine.” Aku tried to pass through the room like they weren’t standing there, but French caught her arm.

“You ain’t fine,” he said, eyes narrowing. “That lip swole…who the fuck hit you? That nigga putting his hands on you?”

“No!” Aku pulled away. “It don’t matter.”

“Like hell it don’t.” French was pacing now. “You come back from wherever with a busted lip and bruised energy. Somebody touched you?”

“Daddy,” she whispered, hands shaking now. “Just chill.”

Solar’s voice followed. “She ain’t said nothin’ yet, French. Let her speak?—”

“Nah, fuck that,” French waved them off, voice rising. “She my baby. Somebody put hands on her, I need to know who and where.”

Aku opened her mouth, but before anything could come out, the door beeped then opened.

Malik stood at the door shocked for a few seconds before his long legs carried him in.

He stepped in slow, still in that stupid collar shirt. His eyes sat low, and his shoulders sagged like they were heavy from a flight he didn’t even unpack his emotions from yet. But the minute he looked up, he froze. Eyes locked on Solar.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

Her face was a mirror of Aku’s. Older, wiser, but still pretty, light brown and glowing. That unmistakable hood edge beneath southern sugar.

Then he saw French.

And it clicked.

Malik sniffled and nodded once.

French’s face didn’t move. “You ain’t gon’ speak, nigga?”

Malik shifted, licking over his teeth. “I was. But you ain’t give me time, cuh.”

Everything slowed down as if they were all in the twilight zone. Solar wanted to compliment Aku on how cute Malik was, but the tension grew too thick for her to say anything…especially when her baby had a busted lip.

French’s whole body tensed. “The fuck you just say to me?”

Solar sighed, “French.”

Aku smacked her hand over her face. “Oh Lord.”

French stormed forward, chest out. Malik squared up instinctively, dropping his bag and stepping to him with heat in his eyes. Years of survival kicked in, ready to fight even when he didn’t want to.

“I don’t give a fuck where you from,” French said, nose to nose. “You think you can disrespect me in my daughter’s house? Huh?!”

“I ain’t disrespect you,” Malik snapped back. “But you actin’ like you gon’ press a nigga for breathin’. I love your daughter, homie. I just ain’t gon’ bow for you.”

“Then you gon’ bleed for her, nigga?” French swung first.

Malik barely dodged it but his leg caught the couch arm and tipped a lamp over. Glass shattered. Solar screamed.

“Daddy, stop!” Aku shrieked

But it was too late.

Malik threw his forearm up, blocking a second swing, but French came at him harder.

Fists flying left and right. They weren’t pretty punches—these were street hits.

Quick, jagged, hot with emotion. Malik caught French once in the side, just trying to push him off.

French came back swinging, knocking a picture off the wall.

Solar ran in the middle. “Stop this dumb shit! Right now!”

Aku tried to grab her Daddy’s arm, but French jerked back too hard, slipped on the Persian rug Aku searched high and low for, falling over the coffee table. His body hit the ground hard, knocking Aku to the ground with him. Her body slid across the floor.

Malik stopped instantly. “Shit?—”

“Daddy!” Aku screamed, trying to catch her fall, but she was weak from her fight with Quesha.

Solar was already on the floor beside him. “You alright?! You good?!”

French groaned, rolling over, gripping his back.

Malik bent down, helping Aku lift him. His hands shook.

“I’m sorry,” Malik said, breath caught in his throat. “I ain’t mean for none of this to happen.”

“You the one got my baby fightin’ in the streets?

” French growled, grimacing in pain. And even though he didn’t have the details of what Aku got herself into, he just knew it had everything to do with the young nigga he’d decided he didn’t like from the moment Aku slipped up and said his name.

Truthfully, French wasn’t going to like anyone she brought home, too scared she’d lose herself like her Mama did behind him.

“What happened to your face?” Malik’s voice turned soft when he looked at Aku. Her lip swollen and split. His eyes filled with heat again. “The fuck happened to you?”

“Quesha,” she whispered. “I had to show that hoe.”

His body stiffened like somebody yanked a chain in his spine. He took a step back, then forward again, pacing like he couldn’t figure out what direction to channel the heat crawling up his back.

Quesha? When the fuck did that happen?

His fists balled up on instinct.

“ When you get into it with Quesha?” he asked, voice low, dangerous.

“Malik—”

“ Nah, for real, Aku. When?”

She looked away. Aku felt she’d handled herself so there wasn’t much more Malik needed to do.

Every muscle in Malik’s body switched into go-mode. That Crescent side of him was already halfway out the door. Ready to pull up, ready to check shit on sight.

Didn’t matter that Quesha was a woman. Didn’t matter that she used to be somebody he looked out for. She could have been his cousin, his teacher, the fuckin’ mayor— he wasn’t playin’ about Aku.

Not now…not ever.

That was his girl, his love…the only thing in this fucked up world that felt like peace. She wasn’t supposed to be out here defending herself from no bitter-ass ex or whatever the hell Quesha had turned into.

French listening to get the details Aku hadn’t told him yet. He growled struggling to stand. “You got my baby fighting with a fuckin’ hoodrat?!”

Before he could lunge again, Solar yanked his shirt with both hands and shoved him back. “Adrian! Sit your hot ass down somewhere before I knock you out myself!”

He blinked, chewing on his lip. He needed a blunt or something to calm his nerves. Just like Malik, French was ready to see any and every one that wronged his baby.

“Now, you doing too damn much,” Solar snapped, holding him back with one hand and pointing at Malik with the other.

“How you mad our baby picked a nigga who act just like you?! Huh?! Look at him! He broke just like you was. He hurt like you was. And he in love with her just like you was with me when you was ready to die behind my name.”

French squinted. “You comparing me to him?”

“Hell yea!” she yelled. “’Cause you forgot who you used to be before you became this bougie ass version of yourself. That boy would walk barefoot to hell, if it meant Aku got to heaven safely. And I know that ‘cause I used to love a boy just like that…still do.”

French’s face softened.

Malik was still kneeling on the floor, staring up at Aku who hadn’t said a word in the last thirty seconds. Her face had gone pale.

“I don’t feel good,” she mumbled, hiccupping a sulfur burp.

Malik reached for her. “What’s wrong, Dorothy?”

Aku tried to get up. She didn’t make it, puking all over the hardwood. She felt dizzy. “I need to lay down.” Her hand swiped across her mouth. “And Daddy…don’t put your hands on him again.” She rolled her eyes.

Solar rushed to find something to clean up the mess, with a knowing look on her face.

Malik helped Aku up to get her cleaned up and in the bed.

His day had started off bad and was ending even worse.

He didn’t want to meet her Daddy like this—hated they had to talk with their fists, but that was the mirror looking in the mirror and anytime he faced a nigga just like him, it was on sight.

Aku leaned against the edge of the kitchen island, arms folded across her chest. It was the only thing keeping her from breaking.

The room was quiet. Her parents left while Malik washed her up.

When she was supposed to be laying down, they were in the kitchen with so much lurking on the tip of their tongues.

Malik was pacing, still a little wired from his meeting.

Shirt half-tucked, knuckles bruised, the adrenaline still boiling in his blood from the fight with French. His chest rose - heavy, jagged, but he hadn’t come down yet. His eyes kept cutting to her, but she wasn’t looking at him.

“You alright?” he finally asked.

Aku blinked, still a bit shaken up and not feeling well. Her eyes were wet but not spilling over. She bit her bottom lip, and it trembled slightly.

“Was it her?” she asked, her voice almost calm. “The girl?”

Malik froze.

“Was she the one you killed for?”

His breath caught. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to move. He turned to face her fully, hands balled at his sides, then relaxed when he saw how still she stood. His silence was loud.

“You ain’t gotta lie to me,” she added, softer now. “Just…I need to know who I’m in love with.”

He stepped closer. “Aku, it wasn’t supposed to go like that. I ain’t mean for none of that to touch you.”

She blinked at him. “So it was her.”

Malik’s jaw clenched, then loosened. “Yea, it was her. But that version of me? That nigga died that night too. I just ain’t have the balls to bury him till I met you.”