Free Animal by K'wan Foye Page A

wearing his sunglasses inside, and he simply responded, “Because I’m The Don, bitch,” before having security remove her. No one questioned the king in his castle, and Don B. enforced this with an iron fist.
    Don B. shuffled across the room, pinching asses and hitting Ls in search of his latest conquest, and it wasn’t long before he found him, sitting on the sofa wedged between two big booty stallions that were thumb wrestling in his pants. He looked over at Don B. and smiled. Big Dawg took care of their own . . . at least according to Don B. when he started chasing Dance.
    Young Dance was a slick, young, light-skinned dude from Harlem that had a hustler’s swag and a Mark Zuckerberg mind. Everyone who came in contact with Young Dance recognized that he had a personality that was bigger than life and had stardom written all over him, which is why Don B. tried to sink his claws into him. Dance was talented, but he was also very smart, which made the task of snaring him a bit more complicated than Don B. had expected, but The Don always got what he wanted.
    “You good, my nigga?” Don B. gave Young Dance dap.
    “I’m better than good; I’m great,” Young Dance tugged at the brim of his Kansas City Royals fitted.
    “I told you we show our peoples nothing but love on this side,” Don B. said.
    “And so I see,” Dance smiled at something one of the girls had just whispered in his ear.
    “Well, if seeing is believing, then believe Big Dawg is where you need to be.”
    “Come on, Don, I thought we wasn’t gonna talk about business tonight,” Dance reminded him.
    “It’s always about business,” Don B. said and dismissed the two girls, then sat on the sofa next to Dance. “Check this out, my nigga; I see you working ya li’l thing on the streets, and I respect it. You are one hell of a hustler, Dance. Can’t nobody but the Lord take that from you, but the key to any successfulhustle is finding the right connect, and Big Dawg is the mainline to your wildest dreams.”
    “Yeah? What you know about my dreams, Don B.?” Dance challenged.
    Don B. removed his glasses and looked Dance square in the eye. “I know you’re tired of your grandmother living in them projects. I know you’re tired of hiding your car in garages at night because you owe the city money for tickets, and most important, I know you’re tired of being a local celebrity when the world could be your playground. Don’t test me, young boy. I made my fortune of knowing what people dream about.”
    “I hear you talking, Don, but I been doing okay on my independent grind, so who’s to say I won’t make it on my own?”
    “I’m to say. You know why? Because I’m like God in this game. He who holds the gold holds the crown, and right now, my company is smashing the competition. Dance, you ain’t new to this, so you know what’s popping, and I challenge you to name one Big Dawg artist that didn’t go platinum.”
    Dance couldn’t.
    “Exactly,” Don B. continued. “You know what we do over here.”
    Devil came over and whispered something into Don B.’s ear. Don B. peered around his bodyguard and spotted Ashanti standing across the room watching him like a hawk. He motioned to give him a second and turned his attention back to Young Dance.
    “Dance, I ain’t in the way of twisting nobody’s arm; I’m just trying to give you a little direction. Now, I’m about to go holla at my man right quick and give you a few ticks to ponder that.” Don B. got up and left Dance alone with his thoughts.

EIGHT
    A SHANTI WATCHED D ON B. AMBLE ACROSS THE room, greeting people and kissing the cheeks of women. The way he carried himself you’d have thought he was the prince of Harlem. It took all of Ashanti’s resolve not to throw up. He hated Hollywood types like Don B.; the ones who were nobodies until they came into a few dollars, then they started acting like they had status in the hood. On more than one occasion he had warned Animal about