"Mypanties, Remy." Her hands dropped to her sides as tears sparkled in her eyes.
My jaw flexed hard as I stared into the empty drawer. Nah—there's no way.
"That was my underwear drawer," she pointed, shaking her head. Fear and disbelief were etched into every word." And every single pair isgone."
Chapter 40
B&E.
That's what I used to do before I entered the drug game. Got good at it too. Real fucking good. I could be and out of someone's house in less than five minutes. Learned my way around a lock from my big homie until he took a bullet to his face.
I got reckless after he died. Stopped giving a fuck about a lot of shit. I was out here wilding. That became my downfall.
I caught a Breaking & Entering charge at eighteen. Fresh out of high school. Still wet behind the ears. They hit me with a big boy sentence too—ten years. I was scared as fuck. But I was a fighter. Always had been. I went in prepared to defend myself by any means necessary.
High Desert State Prison.
Yeah…I already knew I was fucked.
My mama told me point blank that if I got my “black ass” locked up not to call her. And she stood on that shit too. Didn’t matter that the money I made selling stolen goods financed her lifestyle for years.
She turned her back on me.
So did my sisters.
Everybody did.
That type of abandonment does something to a young man. I went into prison angry at everybody. My family. Myself. The system. My dead homie for leaving me out here alone.
I fought constantly those first two years. Stayed getting thrown in the hole and catching extra time. I didn't care about shit.
Then eventually…I got tired.
The next couple years I settled down. Read a lot. Worked out. Got big as shit. The respect came early because niggas learned quick not to play with me.
Eventually I became what they considered a 'model inmate'. Quiet. Calm. Disciplined.
The nigga who could stop fights instead of starting them. That shit was intentional though. Behind the scenes I had CO’s in my pocket helping me make moves. I was slanging everything in that bitch. Phones. Drugs. Snacks. Whatever could make me a profit I sold.
Hell—even inmates. Boy pussy was still pussy when a muhfucka been under lock and key too long. I offered protection, they gave up some ass. Fair exchange.
I sold everything and did it well. That’s how I met Syrus’s wild ass. Nigga came in on an assault charge for stomping somebody’s head in. He entered that bitch swinging too. Angry at the world. I got him under control though. Showed him how to move and survive between those walls. And how to stay outthe way long enough to make it back to the streets wreaking havoc again.
And for a minute shit was smooth. The money was flowing. CO’s paid and my respect solidified.
Then…Eva walked in.
She was the prettiest thing I had ever seen in my life. Thick. A sun-kissed, brown-skin cougar in her mid-thirties wearing them correctional officer pants like they were painted on. Every nigga in that prison went into heat behind her.
And Eva knew exactly what the fuck she was doing too. I could tell she got a kick out of being lusted after. Her nose was in the air a little bit. She walked around like she was untouchable.
I wanted to touch her anyway.
The first day she walked through that pod, I knew she wanted me. And I wanted her too.
Bad. I’d lay in my bunk at night thinking about her. Fantasizing about all the filthy shit I wanted to do to her once I finally got my chance.
It started small. Her doing rounds. Smiling at me longer than she should. Little conversations. Extra check-ins. Then eventually we started flirting on the low. Months passed like that. Slow burn. Tension building every shift.
