He eyed Tasim as he began huffing and puffing, and Tasim knew his statement was true. Without warning, Kasim rushed Tasim and they both went crashing into the ground. Tasim knew Kasim was trying to get on top of him, so he quickly slammed him into the ground. Unable to hold him down, Kasim broke free and they both jumped to their feet. They began throwing blow for blow with each one missing continuously.
"Kasim!"
Both Kasim and Tasim froze and looked over. Dallas stood there watching them like two jackasses.
.
Two dumb niggas, she thought shaking her head.
"Y’all childish as fuck." She shook her head and walked back into the other side of the room.
The brothers looked at each other as Tasim wiped blood from his mouth. He stormed toward the door.
"Bring me some green, bitch!" Kasim called out, referring to marijuana.
"Have my money when I get back, hoe," Tasim replied and walked out, shaking his head.
Their little scuffle was normal so Tasim didn't sweat it. What he did ponder on was this: his brother was on some hoe shit with Dallas. He liked her and it was evident. He knew damn well he wasn't supposed to fall for no one, and especially a winner. Things may have been different had it been a winner that already chose love. But no, he wasn't even giving her a chance to choose.
This wasn't part of the game, and it damn sure was Kasim's nature. He was stubborn and hated every bitch that walked through the door. Dallas was cute, but he had seen somebad ones. He wondered to himself what was it about her that made Kasim like her. If this was what he wanted, then he should just run off and fall in love. The Dynasty wasn't a place for love, and if his father caught wind, he'd lose the rest of his mind.
Nigga in love.
***
“Didn’t I just see you at the Kingly Dynasty?”
“No. Yes. Damn, yes.” Norah stumbled over her words. She released a sigh ready to take a toke of some good purple haze she had just gotten from her brother.
"Damn, ma, you good?"
"I don't know. I was looking for my friend and them baboons acting like some dumb fucks. I'm sorry, but she's been gone for a couple days now, and I'm just . . . I’m . . ." Norah was exhausted. "I'm just confused. This isn't like her."
"Trust me, I understand. Look, my family owns that place, so I'll have my folks run the cameras, and I'll hit you if we see something out of the ordinary." The gentlemen handed Norah his phone.
She put her number into it, and when she gave it back to him, she watched him briefly. He was very handsome. He wore a tapered cut with locks on the top. His honey golden skin was filled with freckles, but he looked cute with them. He had a set of dreamy eyes that melted Norah right on the spot. His gold grill stood out most, and if this was another time, Norah would have definitely macked in on him.
"Thank you. Norah," she introduced, hoping he could help her.
"I'm Tasim,” he, too, introduced, and Norah faintly smiled.
"Well, thank you again, Tasim. Please contact me if you find out anything."
"Will do, beautiful."
Oh my God, he called me beautiful.
Norah blushed.
Tasim watched her walk to her ride then made his way inside. He had never been ’round these parts of the hood, but he was familiar with the trenches. Tasim was what most considered a hood nigga. This was the reason his father hated his lifestyle that consisted of hanging on blocks, shooting dice, fucking countless women, and just being a thug. The low pants he wore irritated Mr. Kingly the most. He often wondered why his sons, both Tasim and Kasim, couldn't be like Rahim.
Rahim was no street punk. He was suave, a ladies’ man, and about his money. Although Kasim chose to stay buried inside of his cave, he was still a thug whose body was flooded with tattoos of street shit. A bunch of “bullshit” as Mr. Kingly called his fine art.
Tasim made his way to the door, and a man stepped up and began talking through a screen. Tasim decided to just grab the weed for Kasim from this very spot, but knowing how hood niggas got down, he wasn't sure they'd serve to him.
"He good." Tasim heard a voice on the other side of the door right before the lock popped.
The guy at the door stepped to the side and looked at a nigga sitting in a chair. His barely noticeable tattoos stood out because he was covered in art. His complexion was dark as night, his frame tall and slender but cut up in the wife-beater he wore. He flung his locks back and his chains dangled.
