◍ ⊱ 90's Imagines. [ ON HOLD. ]

❝002. ─ Watchdog.

1994.

"Daddy, I don't need a baby sitter. I'm nineteen, shit." I groaned, folding my arms over my chest before plopping down on the edge of my bed. "Nate doesn't have to have nobody clockin' his every move, what's the difference?" I placed my index finger to my chin and I pretended to think. "Oh yeah, he has a dick between his legs."

The smart comment made my father stop in his tracks and turn around to glare at me over my shoulder, though I knew I should cower from the man standing 6'5 and weighing well over 250 pounds, I stood firmly by my comments, which he always taught me to do.

"It's that mouth, that fuckin' mouth right now. That's why I'm so hard on you, Tai. You don't know when to shut the fuck up!" My father growled as he pointed to the door. "Don't bring your brother into this, he didn't take a joyride in my Mercedes, to fucking Compton at that. You know what? I don't have to explain myself to you, little ass girl, you don't run shit. Don't leave this house, that's all I gotta say."

Being the daughter of one of the most notorious kingpins in California was more like being one of those bitches in the fairy tales, stuck in a castle until her prince charming came to save her. I just hoped my prince charming was a hood nigga, cause ain't no way I'm getting out this house without him bossing up on Nathaniel Davis.

"Ugh! I hate this house." I mumbled as I threw a pillow at the closed door, looking up at the posters plastered on my ceiling as my mind raced to come up with a plan to leave the house while my father was on his so-called business trip. My ideas ranged from faking a seizure and going to the hospital to busting out this bitch stealth like. All black and everything. The sound of my phone ringing brought my head back from the clouds, I sat up, picking the phone up and placing in my lap before putting the receiver up to my ear.

"Hello?" I spoke as a chewed obnoxiously on my gum, turning around on my stomach as the sound of my best friend's boisterous voice came through the speaker. "Damn, bitch! All that smackin' in my ear. Anyways, you wanna go hang with Snoop 'nem? They can come pick you up. They said they got some business in the valley anyway."

I chuckled and looked at the phone, if robbing the houses of old ass white folks was business, Webster needed to get with the times and change that definition. "I'm on lock down boo, sorry." I heard her smack her cheap ass lip gloss before she sighed deeply. "I thought your pops was gone this weekend, what the fuck?! Tai stop playin', they on they way."

"Yeah, bitch. Send a car full of crips to my house. This shit might as well be painted red. My pops got a fuckin' red bandana draped across our lawn...hold up, Bianca." I took the phone from my ear, I could hear my dad and two other voices, who I expected to be the two "house sitters" he hired. He might as well have called them what they were, flunkies. "B, lemme call you back. Do not send them niggas to my house...yet." I spoke, hanging up before she could respond.

Quietly making my way out of my room, I walked to the top of the stairs I sat down on the first one. As I listened intently to their conversation, I noticed they weren't even discussing me. The topic had gone from basketball to women, and I was beginning to get disgusted with the visuals my old man was painting.