Pyramids [Frank Ocean]

Sweet Life (2).

He flung the black duffel bag onto the table, in front of him were a group of powerful crime syndicate he'd learn to warm up to these past years. With his mother and father both dead along with his brother—Rashad currently lives in a small apartment out in Inglewood. Not that he complains, this drug dealing gig got him enough to get by without worrying about the scarcity of his own home or bills. On the contrary, he has a roommate with him that attends college in Downy, but insists on driving back every other day.

His old boss that goes by the name of "Pops" kept his karat-filled hands folded as he stared at the kilos of cocaine stored safely within the compartments of the duffel. He looked up at his soon-to-be ex protege as he mustered a smile—his glare leaving Rashad's and making contact with the woman behind him.

"Oh? You brought company?" He asked with an avid smile, masking his mischief and demise. Hana, of course, not saying anything, as it was her place NOT to; and something about his setting made her nervous. Just her, Rashad, and his boss alongside him were his henchmen—all conjugated in the recreational area of the Mirage. These glass walls weren't necessarily soundproof. The conversation about drug exchange could easily had caught the ears of whomever walking in, then could notify police—and then there goes her chances of moving away. Rashad grits his jaw, his knuckles begin to unclench as he open his chestnut eyes.

"I plan on giving you all your shit back, in the bag is your money and fucking dope. Just leave me and my girl alone." He states with no fear, unaware of the amount of power this man potentially has. Pop's eyes widened, his mouth twitching to an amused smirk as he chuckled creepily, "This the Rashad I knew right? The Rashad that came to me, half DEAD, crying that I take him in?"

Dead silence filled the recreation room, no sound was evident except for the sounds of water from the fountain. Hana gulped, she knew this wasn't her place, so she kept quiet; however, no quiet was enough to hide the fear masked behind her stoic features.

"I fucking made you Rashad, everything you fucking needed—Pops was here for you. What the fuck happen-"

"Don't feed me that bullshit like I'm still some muthafuckin' child! Y'all ain't made me become nothin but a street rat. To sell YOUR dope right? Had I been caught, it woulda been MY ass in jail right? Ain't shit can stop me from saying how much I spite you!" Rashad's voice projected as his fists balled, though Hana could applaud him right now for his brave efforts had she been miles away from him—up close, his voice shook, eyes watered, and his fist clenched. It's as if he were venting to Pops.

"My momma died—DIED, doin' crack. Boss I-I can't anymore. Please—" that split second Pop's expression had shown some sort of empathy, however his gaze hadn't fooled Hana. He was up to something...

Pop's placed a cigar to his lip, his henchmen lighting a light for him as he placed the flame to the back of the cig, inhaling the fumes before exhaling, "Oh Rashad...what are we going to do to you? After all these years of taking ya under my wing, you still don't have the resolve to do this kind of job. I mean, you're still young. I got a son just like you, and I'll tell ya this—growing up with a tough past ain't easy."

"You ain't ask to be in this situation. I got a lot of love for ya kid." Pops says, "I'll give you a deal."

"What is it?" Rashad asked with a gleam of hope in his eyes.

"To your south, by the front of the lobby. You'll see a man in a plain, white t-shirt. The kilos of cocaine in the bag and money belongs to him. Deliver it safely and I'll see to it that you are left alone from gang activity completely—and that the lovely lady behind you doesn't get hurt."