Page 16 of The Perfect Verse
“I could have been, Solomon,” she spat with an attitude. Outside of his grandmother, she was the only one to call him by his government name. “You were supposed to send me money,remember? I need to pay rent, get groceries, and since when have I ever needed to remind you? Remember, this was your idea. I could have stayed home in Miami with you.”
Crazily, Serita was also the reason he wanted his younger sister, Mango, to go off to school. The last thing he wanted was her hanging around on Tram’s arm. He was cool, always had been, but he was a local scammer who kept his sister dressed in nothing but the best. A gun to his head one night when he snuck into Mango’s room was all it took for him to fall in line.
She wasn’t as street smart as Erika, who had two children, nor Leah, who left the comforts of their mama’s home at seventeen, chasing her boyfriend, Greasy. It didn’t last long since he was serving time for armed robbery. He told them all, if a man fed you, he had the power to starve you, and he’d be damned if he allowed that with his sisters. He scratched his head as Serita rambled on and on about all the shit she couldn’t do because he hadn’t picked up.
“Are you listening?”
“Yeah.” He huffed. “And why the fuck would you want to stay here? To run behind my ass? I’m barely home, Rita. I also told you we have a tour coming up.” It was true. Nazir, the owner of Gush Records, had reached out and told them he was finalizing a twenty-city tour. “Plus, you’re smart, Rita, and you had multiple schools that accepted you.”
“Schools I didn’t want to apply for,” she muttered. She was still in her feelings that he’d paid Erika three grand to apply on her behalf. Erika needed the money, and he needed Serita out of his hair. “You forced that on me. I was perfectly fine attending school in Miami.”
“Naw, I gave you options, and you’re halfway there. GPA on point, and if you take that education seriously, you’ll be the next Johnnie Cochran. What? You don’t want to be our attorney anymore? Come on, man. Don’t lose sight.”
“There are law schools in Miami, but I hear you.”
“And your aunt, Jimia, loves having you up there.” She gladly took her in, allowing her to wash clothes and cook homemade meals on the weekends for her first two years at Clarke University. She was Serita’s only aunt and one who couldn’t stand her parents. They were uppity and hadn’t prepared Serita for life. Instead, they prepared her to marry rich. The only good thing was that they did send her to private schools.
When she threatened to unenroll, he tossed the idea of her having her own apartment. It was after they’d first signed to Gush Records, him as the beat maker and deejay, and Donovan as the face of the label. While Donovan was his main artist, Nazir paid him to make beats for other artists signed to the label.
In no time, he’d made more than he’d ever made on the streets selling dope and robbing. The last thing he needed was to complicate his life with Serita’s nagging ass, especially after he had a taste of Kaleela’s sweet pussy having ass.
Serita was easy on the eyes, though. She came with a big ass, a broad smile, and long, natural hair that cascaded down her shoulders, against a smooth, blemish-free caramel complexion. She was also a walking fashionista to the point that Scooter sent her a few items from his clothing line for her to showcase in the yard. A few posts with her following and his clientele shot up. Not many knew, but that was also another stream of income. If it were possible, he’d retire his mother, aunts, uncles, and even his grandmother, who was a bookie.
That was why he needed a woman like Kaleela on his arm. She didn’t need his money or his fame, and he liked her, probably long before he admitted it to himself. He’d see her around the hood and wondered why no nigga had snatched her up and sat her ass down.
“Aye, let me shoot you this bread. My bad. Shit got away from me yesterday.” He busily tapped on his cell, accessing his bank account.
“Oh, and I need a little more for my weekly self-care. Can you believe I broke a nail, checking out books at the library? Professor Chapman knew research was more than what I could find online. Thank God it’s my last year. Well, almost last year.” She huffed, staring at herself as she twirled in front of the mirror. She needed a few new outfits too, praying he was generous.
“Thank you!” She squealed at the five grand that had hit her account. That was more than enough since her rent was only twenty-five hundred. He’d purposely sent more since he had plans to ignore her for the rest of the weekend.
He then made his way to the bathroom and relieved himself as she complained about two friends at school she knew were jealous of her, as well as a purse she had to have. When she shifted to her holiday plans, which included him, he knew he needed to cut the conversation short.
“Say, let me holler at you later. I’m running late. Again, I apologize for not handling that yesterday, but I’m headed to the studio.”
“The same one that has that shitty reception? Is that why your cell is always going to voicemail?” Serita was smart but so clueless. Still, it worked in his favor.
“Yeah.” He pushed out a puff of air.
“Oh, that’s terrible, but thanks again, baby. I love you,” she cooed.
“Yeah, me too,” he replied, hearing someone bang on his door. He went to his room and grabbed his pistol. He still lived in the hood, but it was better than where they all grew up. In fact, they all moved out of Liberty City except his granny Rene. Since she refused to move, they did their best by fixing uptheir childhood home and installing security systems inside and outside.
“Fucking Dread Man,” he muttered, peeping out his blinds before he opened the door.
“Move, man.” He laughed, then walked into the living room before he made his way down the hall. “The hell you been, nigga? I know whoever she is must be tired as fuck. Went off the fucking grid yesterday. I hope you ain’t killed her ass,” he teased, not finding anyone.
“Dread Man, seriously?” He closed the door and went to the kitchen. He needed to eat. The pussy was fulfilling, but once they were locked in for an all-night session, his only meal would be some fast food they would have delivered.
“Handle your own bitch problems.”
“What problems?” Donovan challenged, then slid into the kitchen chair as Scooter started prepping omelets. If nothing else, Granny Rene made sure all her grands knew how to cook. “I know you ain’t talking about Shay. That girl’s full of shit.”
“I know. Chaney knows she still comes through?”
“Ain’t nothing to tell. She need her ends, I give it to her, then send her crab ass on her fucking way.”
Sashay, Donovan’s first love, was a snake of all snakes and had been since they first linked up when she helped them rob her ex-boyfriend. They were fifteen. Ten years later, she wasn’t any better, especially after she slept with his boy Gucci. Admittedly, he was drunk, even told on himself, but Sashay tried to cry rape.
