Verse One
“Don’t move, don’t move!” one cop yelled, while the other one snatched Kaleela to the ground, forcing her on her stomach. Her wheelchair flipped as one wheel spent wildly in the air like the crowd, scattering about in a panic.
“What the fuck! She’s not resisting! Stop it! Just fucking stop it!” screamed Chaney, her girlfriend.
A few bystanders pulled out their cells, recording the officers’ moves as they went live. The days of being discreet were gone as live streams were being fed to social media. In no time, the streets would know that Kaleela Bradshaw had royally fucked up.
Love had somehow brought the worst out in her, changing the course for the rest of her life. In broad daylight, she not only attempted to commit murder, but street suicide as the life she used to live had finally caught up with her.
While Chaney lost control, asking herself why over and over, Dread Man hopped off stage, ready to finish what Kaleela had started. He gave no fucks about the laws, never hiding from a gun or a badge. His older cousin Scooter quickly snatched him up, reminding him they were right there. Right there in that point of their life, making their dreams come true. They’d spent hours and days on end, creating beats and rhymes and he’d be damned if they lost it all over a bitch.
The only ones standing still in the midst of chaos were two people—Shona, Kaleela’s sister, and her boyfriend, X. They didn’t know what had happened, but shit had just gotten real.
All it took was one shot. That one shot, followed by a few more that turned a perfect day into pandemonium.
Watching his girl unravel, with ease, X carefully lowered Shona’s gun as he did his own. Old habits died hard as she went straight into kill mode. She had no clue who was shooting until the one who did it, broke her fucking heart. That was her baby sister, Kaleela.
They were retired and had been for years. Shona was now a respectable business owner, running a high-end salon. Kaleela had her hands in a few things, too, but she couldn’t shake that life. She loved pussy and liquor too much, and now her girlfriend, Chaney.
They were like oil and water, yet just alike on many levels. Chaney was loud and wild, but a grinder, being the most sought out beautician in all of Miami who worked for Shona. She spent most of her teenage years, secretly being in love with Kaleela who paid her no mind.
Once when she did, she’d created a monster. They spent years fucking and fighting, cheating and lying. After rehab and a rude reality check that hoeing would soon leave her lonely, Kaleela tightened up and decided to settle down. Chaney finally had her girl, but then something happened.
A boy showed up, a boy she was feeling. His name was Donovan, but the world knew him as Dread Man. He was a local Miami rapper, slowly making waves in the music industry and Chaney was caught up in his hook. He’d somehow showed her that love wasn’t about who you loved, but who loved you back.
That was three months earlier.
The charges had since then been dropped and Kaleela hadn’t seen Chaney since that day in court. She prayed and asked God to give her another shot and if he did, that life she used to live was no more. The next day after she was released, she found a church home and started attending bible study a few times a month. She even found a NA/AA group she seemed to connect with and a sponsor.
His name was Shawn. Shawn Parks, a former Blood that ran a local residential program for people in recovery. He’d taken Kaleela under his wing as a favor to X, who was also her attorney. X had gotten him off a murder charge a few years earlier, so when the call came in, he’d gladly accepted the challenge.
Part of the Twelve Step Program was making amends. It was step eight, but Shawn knew recovery unfolded differently for different people. While Kaleela knew she was powerless over her addiction, which was step one, making amends sooner than later was a must for her. Therefore, she decided to meet up with Dread Man, who was dating her ex Chaney, face-to-face.
Easing in as she pulled up to the studio, Kaleela took a deep breath then exhaled, rubbing the top of her fitted cap. She was nervous, even though it was a planned meeting. Still, Dread Man was the first person in her life that made her feel vulnerable. Hell, even more vulnerable than being shot multiple times, which resulted in her spending the rest of her life in a wheelchair.
He had more power over her than she wanted him to have, so an apology was necessary to take that power back. This wasn’t about Chaney. This was about her. It was time she got herself back, opening the door as she waited for the wheelchair to rise from underneath her truck.
“You can do this shit, K,” she said to herself.
She looked up at the sky, feeling the sun beamed down on her face as she closed her eyes. It was harsh, but no harsher than life and she was tired of hurting.
Refusing to shield her face from the sun, Kaleela took a deep breath before settling into her wheelchair. She closed the door and hit the key fob, willing herself to move forward. As anxiety set in, she wished she had something to smoke, unconsciously patting her pockets.
“Fuck,” she groaned, knowing that would help. She hadn’t had a taste for liquor in months, but she hit that J every now and then to ease the edge off, wishing she’d smoked before she got there.
“You said you’ll never leave me, right?” she asked God, firmly holding the cross in her hand before she kissed it. “Well, I’ma need you in there for real. You know I’m a fuck up.” She laughed, hoping God didn’t discredit that prayer, but he knew very well. Her mouth was just as fucked up as her mind. She wasn’t in denial about that.
Caught up in her thoughts, she was slipping as she missed his bumble yellow Grand Cherokee Jeep pull up. It was Scooter. She hated him, probably more than she did Dread Man, but she didn’t know why. He’d never done anything to her, but his presence alone made her uncomfortable.
Moreover, from what she gathered on social media, he was a straight clown, having the prettiest teeth God had ever made. His smile was infectious and his lips were kissable, licking them once as his smile broadened.
“Well if it ain’t bad ass Kaleela Bradshaw?” he said, putting his truck in park before he hopped out. Being his cousin’s producer meant every time the studio opened, he was there. He had an ear for music, being the first one to put his younger cousin in a booth.
He dragged his hand down his tapered waves, watching her infamous scowl that gradually appeared. He met that scowl with a smile, wondering why she was always so fucking mad, especially being as pretty as she was.
Her lightly tanned skin was smooth, no blemish in sight, complementing her high cheekbones, slender nose and thin lips that were poked out, twitching.
Scooter stood tall, towering over her. With that grin he wore, he knew he had her number. It irritated the hell out of her, but she didn’t scare him. He knew underneath that rough exterior was a heart, a heart and a woman that came with a story. Her presence was like a beat, unconsciously bobbing his head.
Feeling him examine her like a puzzle, she wanted to tell him to fuck off, but didn’t as he slowly chewed on a toothpick that rested in his mouth. She concluded he was a pussy magnet, used to getting attention. Not the kind she had to give though and she wouldn’t since that was bitch slapping him with her pistol. You’d had to have one to do that, so he got a pass.
She took note of his henna complexion, dreamy, coffee-colored eyes, and long eyelashes. He had that pretty boy look that bordered him being categorized as mesmerizing. She might have been gay, but she knew what bitches liked and he was likable. His full lips slowly moved, his tongue swiping his bottom lip this time as he looked up at the sun, then back down at her.
“Mean ass,” he released with a menacing stare himself.
She laughed, shaking her head. She knew this was a test, so she had to pull out her study guide, a page from Shawn, her AA sponsor’s, many speeches.
“You talking to me?” she asked coyly, shocking the shit out of him.
“You see anyone else out here?” he clapped back, issuing a devilish grin that unnerved her although she'd never admit it.
“Actually I do. An asshole. Want a hug?” she managed to shoot back, watching him flex the muscles in his arms with his hands in his pockets.
“Funny. You’re real funny,” he said, closing in the space between them. She wasn’t used to a man, any man being that close to her, feeling herself lose it.
“No, what’s funny is me minding my own business while you’re mind mine, too. Now, fuck off. I got shit to do.”
Just that fast, that coyness was gone as the bitch he knew she'd perfected herself to be had shown up, making his dick hard. He wanted to pick her little ass up and toss her over his shoulder, giving her the kind of dick he knew she’d never had. Scooter loved a challenge, and she was indeed that as he watched her little fists ball up.
Instead, he smirked, remaining unmovable as he gazed over her. She was iced up with diamond earrings and a chain, wearing a fresh pair of blue Christian Louboutin spiked kicks, jeans, and a baby blue, fitted tee that showed off her small frame, yet surprisingly, perky breasts.
In spite of her fitted cap, he noticed her bone straight hair that hung over one shoulder. That shit was hot. He knew real hair when he saw, too. Especially after buying bundles after bundles for his sisters every other month.
“Say please, cause this right here is my sanctuary.” His smile fell when he did, cocking up his right brow.
Kaleela eyeing him with steel-like eyes, chewed on the inside of her jaw. She could fuck him up, easily catching him in the balls or she could do as she was told, knowing Shawn would be hitting her up soon. She was leading a meeting today and needed to be on time.
Clearing her throat as she felt bile rise up her throat, she forced out, “Please?“
Slowly walking backwards, he allowed her to pass until they both reached the entry to the studio. With a quiet turn, he pulled the door open. It was dark, smoky and loud, people laughing and music going already ready and it wasn’t even midday.
They’d been up all night, trying to meet a deadline. Scooter had to run an errand for their grandmother, then grabbed a six pack of Red Bull to keep it going. Dread Man was disciplined, but not disciplined enough. He still loved an audience, keeping a room full of the hood around that Scooter could do without.
“Go ahead.” He nudged her on with a wave of his hand. “I know you ain’t come this far, to bitch up.”
“Never that,” she hissed, sucking her teeth as beads of sweat peppered her face.
He saw it, watching her rub the sweat off the palm of her hands on her jeans. That soft girl inside of her spoke to him although she said no words, so he decided to help her out.
Bending down next to her, he said, “Hey, we all fuck up sometimes. We just can’t keep fucking up. Handle your business in here and let it go. Life’s more than about regrets. It’s about making shit happen. So, make it happen.”
He then stood up and yelled, “Yo, Dread! Clear this shit out. We got company!”
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