Page 8 of The Prodigy 2: Rise of a Queen

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Jakari

AftermeandMalikatalked, I was keyed up and jittery from all that emotion and talking. I went through my boxes and found some gym clothes. I threw those on, grabbed some water, and told Mal I was gonna test out the new gym.

It was nice as hell. State of the art. Clean. And since it was the middle of the day on a Tuesday, it wasn’t crowded.

The tv on the wall was set to the local news. I was hiking up Stone Mountain on the treadmill when the anchor started talking about the unsolved shooting at Sliders. I watched in amusement as a local officer begged the public for tips.

The only witness to that crime wasn’t giving them shit. I’d made sure of that.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, frowning at the screen and the number I didn’t recognize.

“Who dis?” I answered.

“It’s the bitch you blocked.”

I knew that sultry voice anywhere. And that ratchet ass attitude. Last time I had any contact with her was when I threatened her about running up on Mal.

“Oh. What up, K?”

“You, nigga.” She laughed. “I heard somebody lit yo ass up. You good?”

I turned off the treadmill and slowed to a stop. I needed to be able to concentrate whenever Kittora was in the mix.

“Yo, who phone you callin’ from?”

“My cousin’s.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m straight. ‘Preciate you checkin’ on me.”

“Yo ass don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, I don’t deserve? After you went up to my wife’s job fuckin’ with her? Don’t make me hang up and block you on your cousin’s phone, too, hoe.”

She laughed again. I could picture her flipping her bright red hair over her shoulder. “Okay, it was kinda foul. But I was mad at you.”

“Then you come talk tome. Leaveherout of it. She ain’t do shit to you.”

She paused. “She took you from me.”

“Nah, sweetheart. That ain’t how relationships work. And you fulla shit, anyway. You don’t give two fucks about my relationship status.”

“Whatever, nigga. You miss me?”

Unbelievable, except not really. Kittora was slick like that. She wasn’t really pressed about me. She just didn’t like to lose. She was sweet talkin’ me so she could have me in her back pocket like she did every other nigga she messed with. It was all a game to her.

And to keep it a buck, I kinda did miss that shit. Cuz wasn’t no feelings involved when I was dealing with her ratchet ass. I never had to feel bad, or think hard, or play it careful with her heart. She ain’t have no heart, and that was attractive as fuck sometimes. All you had to do to make her happy was fuck her right and smoke her out. It was easy.

This husband shit—thisloveshit—was hard as fuck.

“Hell nah, I don’t miss yo ass. You too messy for me.”

“Nigga, please. You love that messy shit.”

I laughed. “Occasionally. I ain’t tryna live like that, though.”

“Yeah, okay. Niggas get married and start actin’ brand new.”

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