I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t know why you always hated Rylo. He ain’t never did shit to you Yatta.”
“‘I hate that nigga because I can spot a weak ass nigga a mile away,” he said flatly. “He ain’t built like a real mufucka plus he moves too fucking sloppy.”
“Yatta,”
“And you letting that nigga treat you any kind of way, and I don’t like it.” I leaned back eyeing him.
“Rylo is not that bad.”
Yatta ’s jaw tightened. “He ain’t shit, Yah-Yah. And you know it.”
“Yatta,”
“He don’t protect you. He don’t provide like he should,” he snapped. “You out here doing shit while he benefiting. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” I opened my mouth, then closed it.
“And don’t think I don’t know what you out here doing,” he added, “I don’t want you tricking off with these old ass niggas,” My chest tightened.
“You too damn beautiful for that shit,” he said firmly. “Too smart and too fucking valuable. I didn’t raise you to sell yourself short.”
The words stung more than I expected. Shame crept up my spine and I dropped my eyes to the table, suddenly real aware of everything I didn’t want my big brother knowing.
“I’m handling my business,” I said softly.
“I know you are,” he replied. “But you shouldn’t have to handle it like that.” I shrugged, playing it cool even though my stomach was doing flips.
"Rylo is a good nigga. You don't like him for no reason at all." I said flipping the conversation back to that, I didn’t wanna talk about what I did for money with Yatta.
"You mufuckin right I don't like his ass," Yatta shot back. "Never have. Nigga thinks he slick with them scams and that fake-ass entrepreneur shit he always talking about. Flexing all over IG, like he don't know CPD got social media too."
I couldn't even front, Yatta wasn’t entirely wrong about Rylo loving to stunt. That was one of our biggest arguments. I believed in moving in silence; Rylo believed in moving with an audience.
"You don't even know the real him,” I said, knowing how weak that shit sounded.
"I know enough." Yatta 's voice boomed. "I know he got you thinking he the prize when you the trophy. I know he quick to spend your money but slow to risk his own neck. And I know ifshit ever really pop off, that nigga leaving you and not looking back.”
I rolled my eyes, but something in my chest tightened because part of me wondered if Yatta was right.
. "Listen, lil’ sis. I'ma keep shit a buck with you. I'm starting to feel like that nigga pimping you out." My head snapped up, eyes blazing.
"The fuck you just say to me?"
"You heard me." He didn’t back down, his gaze was locked on mine,
"You out here laying up with these old-ass rich niggas, doing whatever you do for the bag, and then running straight to hand that shit over to Rylo for his so-called business ventures. What that sound like to you?"
"He ain't pimping shit over here," I snapped, my voice rising. "I make my own decisions about who I fuck with and why. Rylo don't tell me shit, and I don’t do nothing that I don't wanna do."
"So why you giving him half your money then? That nigga got his own hustle, right? So why he need yours too?"
I opened my mouth to argue but then realized I didn't have a good answer. Why was I giving Rylo so much of what I earned? He never demanded it outright, but there was always some new scheme, some new investment opportunity that needed funding, and more importantly how in the fuck did Yatta know that?
"It ain't like that,” My voice quieter. "We building something together." I added and he laughed.
"Building what? A bigger bank account for that nigga for when he bounce on yo’ ass? Yah-Yah when you gonna start loving yourself enough to see your worth?"
That stung more than I wanted to admit.
"The fuck that supposed to mean?" I quickly got on the defense.