Page 1 of Hood Legacy

“Alright, so what do you think?”Pyrite Stone asked me as we watched the reel tape. The players were dope; I knew that before I even sat down, but I also knew there was a reason that Pyrite was asking for my opinion. I leaned back in my chair and swayed as I watched Pyrite and two other men wait for my reaction. One of them, I knew. Uron Grayson was a name and face everyone in the NBA recognized, and to have him step into the W was a blessing. The other nigga was the unknown anomaly that was rubbing me the wrong way. Michael Beach, the head of player and team public development, or some bullshit title like that. We’d seen each other around, never said more than five words, and from the look on his face right now, I could tell he didn’t want to be here. “Hood?”

“Yeah?” I slowly took my eyes off Michael and turned to Pyrite. “What’s up?”

“What do you think?”

“About?” I questioned, even though I knew what he was asking.

“The players?” He sat back in his chair and crossed his ankles. Pyrite was a calculated nigga, had been since I met him years back, and even more so now that he was stepping into team ownership. With an NBA and now a WNBA team, he was making moves, big-ass moves that had niggas paying attention. “Who is a yes or no?”

“The bigs are a no,” I said, shaking my head. “They are sloppy and won't mesh well with Mercy’s playing style. They have poor control of their body movements, and we would be taking a risk each time they step onto the court.

“He’s right,” Uron said, nodding. “The three on this tape, aren’t it. They play like a one-woman team. It won’t work. Mercy isn’t selfish on the court, but she controls the paint. Her footwork is bar none, and she can score from damn near everywhere. They move too wildly; I bet you they’ll all be hurt by the end of the season.”

“They are good for revenue, though,” Michael interjected, and I didn’t glance his way. Nigga’s stupid ass voice pissed me smooth the fuck off. “That’s what you want when you’re a new team. You need the players that will bring you the fans.”

“I need a winning team,” Pyrite said, shaking his head. “The fans will come if I have the best lineup.” He turned back to me and lifted his brow. “Who do you say yes to on the list?”

“The two wing players are cool,” I replied, and he chuckled. I hadn’t answered his question because he knew what I would say. I only had one person I wanted to bring to the Queens, and he knew who it was.

“Word is they are looking for trades,” Uron said, looking up from his phone. “I can make a few calls and set up a meeting.”

“The W already has a few teams looking at them, but we could set up a narrative to make it seem like we are having tryouts to gain their interest. Invite only,” Michael interjected, and I kissed my teeth. The way he was talking, I would’ve sworn he had a big ass say-so in this and wasn’t just here for the media side of it all. “As the expansion team for the year, we have a lot of eyes on us. We have to make this work for other cities to follow.”

“We?” I questioned, slightly annoyed. “Who the fuck is we?”

Michael looked up from his phone and sneered, making me laugh. I stopped moving, rested my elbows on my desk, and stared him down.

“We as in the W.” He turned to Pyrite as if dismissing me and shook his head. “This is a meeting we should be taking in private. The team doctor doesn’t need a say-so in the decisions unless it’s about a player's health, and even then, I’d always get a second opinion.”

“Aye, Michael,” I called out calmly. When he turned his attention back to me, I reached over, grabbed his tie, and yanked it down, making him slam his head into the desk. His head bounced a little bit, so I pinned him down so he couldn’t move. His bitch ass squirmed under the pressure I had on his head, but that was it. “Do not fucking disrespect me like that again. I’m not sure who you are used to dealing with, but I am not the one for that shit. Pyrite asked me my opinion; that’s all you need to know because that’s your fucking lane, my nigga.”

“Hood,” Pyrite laughed. “It’s cool, big dog.”

“Teach this nigga some respect before you bring him into my space again, Pyrite,” I said, shaking my head. I turned my attention back to Michael. “The next time I cross paths with you, you better have some better manners, or I’ma snap your fucking neck. You understand me?”

Michael attempted to nod his head, but that only pissed me off more, so I put my full weight into crushing his shit. What kind of grown-ass man let another nigga snatch him up and didn’t do shit about it. He was weak as fuck for this, mentally and physically.

“Let that nigga go, Hood,” Uron laughed. “He can't even answer you. Stop, tempered ass nigga.”

“Fuck him,” I replied. I put my full weight into crushing his shit which only made him scream. “I want to see his ass cry now.”

“What player impressed you, Hood?” Pyrite asked as if Michael wasn’t screaming at the top of his lungs.

The door opened, and the head of security, Yeti, entered the room. He looked at me, then at Michael, gave a low chuckle, shook his head, and left. He’d seen me in action enough times to know that I had this shit under control and wasn’t letting up until I was ready.

“Just one,” I said, and he nodded. “Get her here.”

Pyrite and Uron stood and adjusted their clothes. I stepped back, taking the weight off Michael’s head, and pushed him away. He stumbled back but caught himself on the chair before he could fall. “This is how you conduct yourself?” he yelled and looked between the three of us. “I will be going to the commissioner about this!”

“You want me to dial the number or you got it?” Pyrite asked with a laugh. “You look a little shaky over there!”

Michael stepped in our direction, then stopped, and I chuckled lowly. This nigga’s pride was hurt, but he wasn’t stupid enough to try any of us. “This behavior won't be tolerated in the W.” His face twisted in anger, then he started gathering his shit and sprinted out of my office.

“He's definitely going to snitch,” I laughed as I retook my seat. “Whatever the cost is to make this shit go away, let me know, Pyrite.”

“I ain’t worried about it,” he denied, shaking his head. “The commissioner owes me, so it’ll be buried before he finishes his first sentence.” He shrugged. “Nigga gonna be hot every time we walk into a room because we ain’t going nowhere.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Uron said, dapping Pyrite up and turning his attention to me. “You didn’t like that nigga, huh?”

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