“Zi, c’mon, man. You can’t take that.”

  Martaveous was trying hard to get the Game Boy from Zi, but it was no use. Zi was holding it over his head, knowing he couldn’t reach it.

  “I can, and I will.”

  “I’m going to tell Dom you stole it,” Martaveous warned.

  “You gonna keep your fucking mouth shut,” Zi threatened. “Should’ve did a better job at keeping your friend’s stuff.”

  He sat down and started playing it, and Martaveous stood, worried. Zi was right. If he went and told his mother, she wouldn’t do anything. If anything, she would punish Martaveous. She seemed to like to do that. So his only option was to go to Dom and let him know what was up or find a way to get it back before Dom noticed.

  Hopefully, he could figure out a way to get it. Dom was the only real friend he had. He didn’t want to lose his friend, and Zi was trying to take away anything that brought him joy. That was the story of Martaveous’s life. Anything that brought him joy was taken away.

  Chapter Five

  1995

  I hate it here. I swear to God I wish I could kick Zi’s ass.

  Martaveous was lying in his bed thinking about how Zi had gotten him in trouble and then stolen something that didn’t even belong to him. That’s what he was really worried about. He had to get it back. He didn’t want Dom mad at him. Because he was constantly switching foster homes, he didn’t have many friends. Dom was nice enough to let him play with it. If he didn’t get it back, he could kiss that friendship goodbye.

  But he knew Zi wouldn’t just hand over the Game Boy. No. Even if he didn’t want to play with it, he would keep it just to upset Martaveous. So he had to come up with a plan to get it back. Martaveous had watched Zi put it in his backpack earlier. He figured Zi wouldn’t leave it at home. Not when his mother could find it because then she would ask him where he got it from, and either Martaveous would get accused of stealing again, or Zi would get caught in a lie. But knowing Martaveous’s luck, he would get in trouble, as usual.

  He had to watch Zi closely. That was going to be the only way he got it back. He was tired of Zi picking on him. He looked over at Zi and Tyson sleeping in their beds, all peaceful. He wished that Tyson would help him, but, of course, he was loyal to his brother. Martaveous couldn’t even really be mad. They were twins, so he got that he would look out for his blood, but Tyson could tell him to chill out.

  He grabbed his pillow tight and closed his eyes, worried about what he would do at school the next day. The only thing that he could think to do was watch and wait for the opportunity to take the Game Boy out of Zi’s book bag.

  The next morning, he got up and watched Zi closely. He watched him get ready for school like there wasn’t anything wrong. When Martaveous walked into the bathroom, Zi smirked as he brushed his teeth. Martaveous kept quiet and just watched. He didn’t trust Zi at all, and he knew that he would do something hateful.

  Martaveous looked for his toothbrush, but it was nowhere to be found. Zi finished brushing his teeth and moved over to the toilet. Lifting the lid, he started grinning as Martaveous stood, trying to figure out why. He glanced over and saw Zi pissing on his toothbrush. Zi started laughing, and Martaveous stomped out of the bathroom. He was sick of him.

  You gon’ get yours, he thought.

  He walked downstairs to eat his breakfast before school, and Mrs. Banks was busy cooking something that stunk at the stove.

  “You better make sure that whatever you dirty up, you clean before you leave this house,” she told him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, mad at what Zi had just pulled.

  He sat down and ate the slop that she called breakfast. She couldn’t cook for shit. He didn’t understand how the hell she was so big and didn’t know how to cook.

  Zi walked past with Tyson, and they walked out the door. Martaveous quickly wolfed down the nasty food and headed to school. He needed to keep a safe distance but be close enough to see what Zi did with the backpack. He hoped that Zi did what he usually did and put the backpack in his locker. One good thing about being from the streets, he knew how to pick a lock.

  He figured it would be easy enough. He would get into his locker, find the Game Boy, give it back to Dom, and be done with it. He knew Zi would figure it out at some point, but he would worry about that part later. He watched as Zi and Tyson walked into school with their friends. They were so busy talking, that they paid him no attention. He lurked close but didn’t see Zi put up his book bag.

  Martaveous walked into class and found Dom was sitting waiting for him. He sat down next to him in his seat and spoke.

  “Hey, you got my Game Boy?” he asked. “Mom found out I gave it to you and threatened to put me on punishment.”

  “Yea. Uh . . . I put it in my locker so I wouldn’t lose it,” Martaveous lied. “I’ll get it after lunch.”

  Dom nodded, and they both paid attention to their teacher as she began her lessons. Martaveous tried to concentrate, but his mind was racing. He needed to get that Game Boy back.

  It was almost noon, and Martaveous knew that Zi had PE now. He raised his hand to be excused to the bathroom and headed straight there. Hiding in the stall, he waited until five minutes after twelve, then quietly snuck through the hall to Zi’s locker. Pulling the clip from his pocket, he spent a few minutes picking the lock until it opened.

  Looking around, he saw that the coast was clear, so he opened the locker. His heart was beating rapidly. He sighed with relief when he saw Zi’s book bag hanging there. He remembered him putting it in his locker when he went to PE.

  Quickly opening the bag, he found the Game Boy and stuffed it in the back of his shirt. He closed the backpack and locker, placing the lock back on, and began to walk down the hall when he thought about the smug look on Zi’s face that morning when he peed on his toothbrush.

  Smiling, he turned around and went back to the locker. After taking yet another few minutes to pick the lock, he once again opened the locker. Then unzipping his pants, Martaveous pulled his dick out and peed inside of Zi’s backpack, making sure to pee on everything. When he was done, he closed the bag back up and locked the locker.

  Happy, he walked down the hall returning to class. He felt better knowing that he had gotten his friend’s stuff back. But of course, when he got home, he knew that he would have to watch his back. He had practically declared World War III with that move.

  He walked back to class, lying to his teacher about having a stomachache, and sat down. He slid Dom his Game Boy and spent the rest of the class wondering what would happen when he got home.

  All throughout the day, he was nervous wherever he went. He knew that Zi had gotten back to his locker to get his backpack. It wasn’t going to take him long to see the Game Boy gone and realize Martaveous was the culprit. But if he said anything, Martaveous would just play stupid. He couldn’t prove it was him.

  The rest of the day rushed by, and finally, it was time to go home. Martaveous said goodbye to his friend and hightailed it out of there. He passed some of Zi’s friends, and he knew that the way they were looking at him, he was going to get it. Walking down the streets, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Mrs. Bank’s car outside. Even though he knew Zi would come after him, he figured that at least with her in the house, it would make it a little bit easier for him. He just needed to stick close to the woman. He couldn’t stand her, but for the sake of not getting stomped out, he would do whatever she needed to be done.

  He walked into the house and saw her sitting on the couch smoking a cigarette and drinking.

  “Hey, Mrs. Banks,” he greeted.

  “Go on in the kitchen and do your homework,” she barked, not even looking at him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he nodded.

  He walked through the house quietly and went into the kitchen. Sitting down, he pulled out his work and started his assignments, feeling like he was waiting on death row. When he heard the door burst open, he flinched.

  “Where is he?” he heard.

  “Boy, don’t y’all be coming in here making all that noise. I’m tryin’a watch my stories,” she snapped.

  It got quiet, and Martaveous was trying to figure out his best move. He didn’t have time to, however, because in walked Tyson and Zi at the door. Tyson stood blocking the door, and Zi came closer.

  “I’ma kick your little bitch ass,” he growled.

  Martaveous’s heart dropped to his chest as he tried to play it cool. “What are you talking about?” he said, uneasy.

  “You pissed in my backpack.”

  Zi lunged at him, and Martaveous jumped up from his chair to run. He couldn’t run to the door because Tyson had it blocked. Zi charged at him full speed and took a swing. Instantly, Martaveous felt pain in his face as he fell to the ground. Zi jumped on him and started pounding.

  “Get off me!” he strained.

  Martaveous tried to fight back, but Zi was twice his size, and he knew that he couldn’t do but so much. They were both shuffling around, knocking stuff over, when Mrs. Banks came stomping into the kitchen.

  “Yo, here come Mama. Chill,” Tyson said quickly.

  Zi didn’t hear him, though. He grabbed Martaveous and put him in a headlock. He tightened his grip, and by then, Martaveous could barely breathe. He did the only thing he could think of—he bit him, and Zi screamed out in pain.

  Martaveous broke free from his grasp and ran over to the knives that their mother had in the corner. He grabbed one, gripping it tightly and aiming it toward the brothers.

  “Have y’all lost y’all damn mind?” Mrs. Banks screamed, walking in.

  “Zi and Tyson came in here and jumped me,” Martaveous rushed. “Tell them to leave me alone.”

  “He peed in my backpack, Mama,” Zi screamed. He was actually telling the truth for once.

  “What?” she screeched. “Boy, put that damn knife down.”

  Martaveous wasn’t about to do that. He was panting like a rabid dog. He looked insane. He’d been crying, and he was bloody.

  “Mama, he peed in my backpack at school,” Zi screamed.

  She was holding him back the best that she could, but he lunged, and Martaveous swung the knife, causing her to stumble backward.

  “Uh-uh! Nah, you ain’t about to be tryin’a kill me up in here,” she heaved. “You need to get up out of my house.”

  “But I didn’t do nothing. He was messing with me,” Martaveous argued.

  “Bullshit,” she said, reaching for her phone and dialing a number. “You been starting shit since you got here. You not about to have me sleeping with one eye open. Uh-uh. Go pack your stuff. You can’t stay here no more.”

  Martaveous was utterly shocked by that. He knew that shit might get a little crazy, but he didn’t think that it would be to the extreme of them putting him out. He didn’t do anything wrong, really. Nothing that wasn’t done to him anyway. All he was trying to do was get something back that wasn’t even his. And once again, he was in trouble for somebody else. He didn’t understand why this kept happening to him. He wasn’t safe around Zi, yet he was considered the threat.

  He wasn’t going to another foster home. This was enough. If he was going to be seen as a threat, then he was going to be just that. Nobody was ever going to fuck with him again.

  Chapter Six

  June 2018

  “Nigga, that’s not what the fuck we agreed to. Don’t act stupid now. It’s supposed to be ten grand off the top, plus half the bar. Why the fuck would I have my artist come and perform for some measly-ass ten grand?”

  “That is what you said, Tank,” Martaveous heard.

  “No, it isn’t.” Tank disagreed. “I would never agree to that. That’s some, make-an-appearance-and-take-a-few-pics kind of shit. Now, I know that you pull in at least thirty grand at the bar on a weekend night. So, having J. Rock perform making less than that minimum, and you tryin’a keep the bar? Nah. You keep tryin’a play me for fucking stupid. Now, because you try to pull this shit, I want 15 off the top, and I want 60 percent of the bar.”

  “Sixty percent?” the owner yelled over the phone. “You tryin’a get everything. You tryin’a profit all of it.”

  “No, muthafucka. Yo’ ass is trying to act like you don’t know what the fuck is up. But you know what? Don’t you worry about it. J. Rock ain’t gon’ perform there,” Martaveous said. “I’ll take him to some clubs in the area. I guarantee you these muthafuckas will probably give 100 percent just to say he was there. Everybody know my artists bring folks to the club. See, you forgot who the fuck you dealing with.”

  “Come on now, Tank. I mean Martaveous. You know it ain’t even like that,” the owner argued. “But I gotta make a living too. I have business to handle, mouths to feed.”

  “That sound like a personal problem. You pay what we agreed to,” Martaveous dismissed. “You don’t, then I take my muthafuckin’ business elsewhere. Because if you try to fuck me now, that means you’ll do it to me again.”

  The phone got quiet, and he heard someone mumble something.

  “A’ight, man,” the owner said. “I got you on the 60.”

  “I changed my mind. I want 70,” Martaveous said suddenly.

  “Seventy? You just said 60.”

  “Keep talking, and it’ll be 80.”

  “All right,” Shooter agreed. “Seventy.”

  “Good. I’ll get at you in a minute with the new paperwork. I’m telling you now, don’t fuck with me, Shooter. Because those same mouths that you talking ’bout feeding gon’ be the same mouths praying your number when I plug your ass, and they looking in your casket.”

  He hung up the phone, watching his artist in the booth. He spent the last hour or so booking him at different shows around the state of Florida. He was going to introduce his artist with a bang.

  Leaning forward, he paused the music.

  “Ay, that last bar was cold, but it ain’t flowing. Don’t talk about your girl. Bitches need to think that you single. I know you been with your girl for a minute now, but express that shit another way. Bitches don’t wanna buy music from niggas that got a girl that they displaying and shit. Bitches want to buy music from niggas they think they can fuck or be a side bitch to.”

  “A’ight.”

  Tank nodded, noticing how things were going with his artist. The music kicked up again, and he watched as his artist went into the zone. He was smart because he knew that this young little nigga was about to make him a lot of money.

  His phone rang again, and he saw it was another venue. Martaveous stayed hustling. That was his motivation for everything. He had overcome a lot, and he was reaping the benefits of his hard work right now.

  Taking the call, he started talking to the coordinator when the door opened. He looked to see a tall, light-skinned woman. She looked like the typical Instagram model, with gorgeous eyes. What caught his attention was the fact that she had on hospital scrubs. That wasn’t something that he saw every day. At least not in the studio.

  “Ay, let me hit you back,” he said to the person on the other end.

  He hung up before they could respond. The woman looked around, confused.

  “What’s up?” Martaveous spoke.

  “I’m sorry. I was looking for Oucho. I thought this was the studio that he was in.”

  “No, he down the hall. He’s there. But you still at the right place.”

  She gave a small smile and shook her head. “Thanks, but I just need to find Oucho.”

  “For what? Oucho your man or something?” he questioned.

  “No,” she shook her head. “Oucho is my cousin.”

  “Oh, I was about to say,” Martaveous smirked, leaning back against the soundboard. “I was thinking that nigga couldn’t handle somebody like you.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, a frown instantly coming to her face on the defense.

  “I said he don’t know how to handle no broad like you,” repeated.

  “First of all, I’m not a broad,” the girl corrected him.

  “My bad,” he shrugged.

  “Anyway,” she said, dismissing him, “thanks for the info. Have a nice day.”

  She rolled her eyes and walked back out, and he couldn’t help but smile. He liked the fact that she was feisty. It was a turn-on to him. He turned back around, and, of course, his artist was still going heavy, not even paying attention to the bullshit. That was the kind of dedication he wanted in all his artists.

  He stopped him and let him know they were done for the day, and he stepped out of the booth.

  “Ay, man, you got a real big show next weekend. I’m talking about big money,” Martaveous told him. “So, I need you on your shit.”

  “C’mon, Tank, you know I got you,” he nodded.

  “Good,” Martaveous acknowledged.

  Martaveous was already thinking about the girl down the hall. He grabbed his shit and went down the hallway to Oucho’s studio. Oucho was a bus driver by day and a wannabe rapper at night. He sucked, but since he was paying money to use the studio, Tank let him do his thing. Oucho had asked him to manage him before, but Tank always dismissed him.

  When he walked into the studio, all eyes were on him.

  “Ay, wassup, my nigga? What up, Tank, my nigga? Yo, you hear this fire?”

  “I hear that bullshit,” he mumbled under his throat. His eyes were still on the girl, though. She saw him and tried to ignore him.

  “Say, let me get a minute real quick,” Tank said.

  He could see that Oucho was disappointed that he didn’t mention his lyrics, but he didn’t have time to deal with his emotions. He was a busy man.

  Martaveous watched Oucho leave the booth and step out before he cleared his throat. “So, what’s your name?”

  “Genese,” she told him.

  “A’ight,” he nodded. “So, you gonna give me your number, Genese?”

  “Why should I?” she asked.

  “Because you want to,” he stated.

  “People in hell want ice water, but that doesn’t mean that they’re going to get it,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know about all that. But I know that you over there acting all shy and stuff when you want to give me your number, and you wanna chill,” he mentioned. “I’m pretty much done for the rest of the day, so we can go kick it. But that’s on you.”