“Ain’t nobody run up on you.”
“Yeah. A’ight. You heard what the fuck I said.” I watched him climb to his feet. “The fuck you want?”
He dusted himself off.
“You shelved my album?” he asked.
“Nah. I just locked down those instrumentals and demanded my writing credits for them bullshit ass raps you tried to write that I offered critique and suggestions on. Tell yo’ label come with that bread and I’ll release the verses, but those beats I produced are dead for you.”
“You got my fucking album release pushed back.”
“Bitch, after playing with my marriage you lucky I ain’t get yo’ fucking skull pushed back.”
“That’s what this is about?” His voice rose. “This is about this stupid shit between you and Niecy? Man, I don’t have nothing to do with that.”
“You knew I wasn’t fucking with your sister when you brought her into the studio. Now deal with the fallout.”
“Come on, man. You know we can’t afford what you’re requesting to release my shit.”
“Then get contracts signed in advance next time.”
“Look, can we negotiate?”
“Get your sister to make a public announcement that she was being a bird ass bitch and playing with Myome. I’ll have Chandler draft something. All she got to do is post the statement and I’ll drop the writing credit shit and sign off on them, but you’re going to have to rerecord that bullshit on somebody else’s beats because I’m not coming up off them.”
“You serious?”
“You need to be glad I’m doing that. So take it or leave it?”
“Man, you don’t have to negotiate this kind of?—”
I punched Trapp’s friend in the mouth and sent him into the table behind him.
“Bitch, shut up,” I warned. “What do you want to do, Tyler?” I looked back at Trapp.
He clenched his jaw but nodded.
“I’ll get it done.”
“And reel yo’ sister in while you’re at it.”
His friend stood, and when his mouth opened, Rome punched him in his shit, successfully slumping him before he could even speak again.
Dashawn looked from Rome to the friend to Trapp then shrugged and punched his second friend. Trapp tensed in place. I thought about punching his ass too just so he didn’t feel left out but decided to let him make it.
“I’ll get you the statement. You get me the post. I’ll sign off on that writing credit. Then, we done. Don’t ask me to listen to shit. Don’t ask me to produce shit. Don’t ask me to attend shit. You and Niecy stay away from me and mine.”
“Drix—”
I cut him off. “All you should be saying is a’ight.”
“Alright, man.”
“Good.” I looked at his knocked out friends. “Have a good one, man.” I threw cash on our vacated table then nudged my head toward the exit, letting Rome file out in front of me and Dashawn followed me.
We all slid into Dashawn’s whip and I called Chandler before we’d even left the parking lot.
She answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”