Page 50 of Love's Free Will

14

ROYAL

The air was thick with creativity and smoke—Malachi’s usual incense burning in the corner, mixing with the sweet scent of the blunts being passed back and forth. Studio C at Grindhouse was dim except for the amber glow of the board, casting shadows across everybody’s faces. The kind of lighting that made you want to bare your soul. And that’s exactly what we was doin’.

“Mic’s hot,” Malachi called out from behind the board. “Egypt, you ready?”

Egypt nodded from the booth, her lips close to the mic, those big-ass headphones swallowing her whole face. I’d asked Averi to get on the track, damn near begged her, but she refused. Instead, she called in a favor and had Egypt on a plane straight from Toronto where she was finishing up some movie.

Egypt pulled her faux locs into a messy bun, rolled her shoulders back, and then that voice came out smooth like honey over gravel.

Posted on the corner where the day fades to black,

Got dreams in my pocket and pain on my back…

Mama said be careful, streets don’t love nobody…

But I’m ridin’ for my name, ‘til the reaper come find me…

She hit every note with that gritty, emotional rasp that made people lean in. Made youfeelevery word.

Averi was sittin’ next to me on the couch, hoodie up, legs folded under her, and noddin’ along to the beat she had made, her work mixed with my lyrics created magic. I looked at my girl, proud as hell. She wasn’t even trying to be sexy and still looked like a whole fantasy.

“You hear that shit?” I said low, to nobody in particular. “That’s the one.”

Malachi leaned over, turning a few knobs. “That hook gon’ hit real ones in the chest. Deadass.”

When Egypt stepped out the booth, I gave her a dap and a quick hug. “You a fuckin’’ angel, Sis.”

She grinned. “I know.” Then turned to Averi. “You’re lucky I love you, girl. I wasn’t tryna work on my day off.”

Averi laughed. “I owe you dinner and a year’s worth of spa days.”

“You sure the fuck do.”

Malachi gave me a look. “You ready for that final verse?”

I stood up, cracked my neck. “Let’s get this shit done.”

I stepped in the booth, adjusted the mic, and let the beat hit. The baseline rumbled through my chest, and when Egypt’s hook came back in, I closed my eyes.

Then I let the verse pour out of me like a prayer I ain’t know I’d been holdin’ back.

Posted on the Ave where the shots rang out,

Learned how to hustle when the lights went out.

Grandma cooked rice, no meat in the pot,

Now it’s lobster and steak off a million-dollar drop.

But I remember cold nights, black hoodies, bad decisions,

Runnin' from the past like I could outrun the prison.

Now I’m prayed up, paid up, but never forget,

What it cost to be the man that these labels respect.

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