𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭 ✪ YBN Nahmir

𝐂𝐇. 35 / 𝐭𝐚𝐩𝒐𝒖𝒕 ⍟

MATURE CONTENT IS
CONTAINED WITHIN
THIS CHAPTER.
*

         It was the next day as Nahmir walks into the transferring plant. His expression was morose as his emotions were everywhere; he felt like the most unluckiest man at the moment. He was vexed, sad, angry, and nerveless, though he was beyond intolerant.

      "What number you stopped at?" he asks a white girl, no older than nineteen. She sheepishly looks at her clipboard not making eye contact with him.

     "Uhm, uhm, twenty-five," she answers in anxiousness.

   "When did you start?" he asks before grabbing the clipboard from her hand.

    She swallows, "An hour ago."

   He looks at her with disappointment, "You work too damn slow. You should at least have eighty done within an hour. All you doin' is writing numbers next to its barcode. Move."

   She scurries some place else as Nahmir took over her spot going to the next package and writing its number down in the next blank. It was tranquility, the only things that was heard was the machines and tape being attached to air tight the boxes of narcotics.

      Out of the corner of his right eye, he seen Jay walking up to him with a box in his arms wearing black rubber latex gloves, "Hey, bro."

  "Wassup?" Nahmir greets back, still switching to the next box on the fourth row.

     "Dad got me in here moving shit around. I wasted Fuega on me, but don't tell nobody—"

    Nahmir looks up in distraught, "Nigga, you what?!" the clipboard and pen went separate ways in his hands, "The whole bricks?!"

      "Be quiet!" Jay hissed, "Yeah, man. The box wasn't secured enough and the bricks inside were soft as fuck, so the plastic unwrapped and the shit wasted."

    Nahmir looks at Jay's attire. The purple powder was still barely evident, along with the hints of crushed pink indigo on his jeans. Nahmir kisses his teeth before a rage came over him, "Why you so fuckin' stupid? There was limited supply of that shit and yo' dumbass go droppin' shit! Now the fuckin' calculations and weight measures are messed up! Move, damnit!"

     "Aye, yo!" Jay moved in front of his pathway, "What the hell is up with you, bro? You been uptight lately and that shit ain't flyin' wit me, 'ight? You ain't been actin' like this."

     Nahmir mugs him, "Don't worry 'bout it! You always being clumsy and shit, fuckin' shit up! It's 'bout time you be serious about this shit! Move the fuck out my way!"

     "You actin' like you run this shit, Nahmir! You need to humble yo'self the fuck down!"

     Nahmir snarls, "Who's last name is on this shit, then? Sholl ain't yours! Yeah, nigga, I run it! I ain't got no choice!" it was so hard to be humble when you're of high status.

      "You right, you right," Jay chuckles as he nods, "you get everything you want and like. You ain't never had to struggle, nigga. You never been on the streets without shelter or had to go house to house. You grew up with a silver spoon in yo' mouth. You had everything I ever wanted, the fye cars, the mansion, the women, the popularity... hell, you even got Yéri, the stripper from Nightingale. If only I gotten to fuck her just one time. Damn, she fine," he pretends to daydream, knowing he chose the wrong words today.

     Nahmir felt his temperature rise as he stares at Jay with a snarl, the fury was dangerously building up inside him as everything in the room became quiet and thick with tension. He did not just say that about Yéri. That's where he fucked up. 'This nigga was jealous,' thought Nahmir. This just shows you even your best friend can be a snake in the grass.