T-Ray's offer was actually pretty damn generous, and Leon knew it.
In the real music business, Grammy winners and industry darlings could walk away with thirty percent of record sales — sometimes more.
But this was Brownsville. Ten percent for a total nobody was already showing mercy. After all, T-Ray had to drop real cash to scratch this lottery ticket called Leon.
Even so, Leon wasn't satisfied. He knew smart businessmen never showed their true floor on the first hand. T-Ray had been a fox in this game for over twenty years.
Leon killed the rest of the whiskey in one gulp. "The split isn't doing it for me. Yeah, I shit this song out on the toilet, but I know its potential."
T-Ray wasn't surprised by the haggling. He'd come ready for it. A small concession was no big deal.
What he needed right now was clout. He hadn't pulled a real breakout talent out of this broke-ass neighborhood in way too long, and that was killing his status.
If he couldn't deliver profits for the gang, in Blood boss George's eyes T-Ray was no different from the zombie-ass niggas nodding out on the sidewalk.
"So how much do you want? Everything's negotiable."
"Fifty percent. And I keep all the publishing on this song."
"What?"
T-Ray's cigar almost fell out of his mouth. The glowing tip dropped straight into his lap.
"Fuck!"
T-Ray yelped. The two girls froze, then started screaming and shaking their asses in panic.
If T-Ray's thick fat hadn't protected his junk so well, he might've said goodbye to his forty-year-old best friend right there.
"Fuck, kid — are you dreaming? Who the hell do you think you are? Eminem? Beyoncé?"
Exactly the artery shot Leon expected. He had to pour himself another drink fast to hide his grin.
"Take it easy. We can talk slow."
"Go back to the subway and keep begging, you idiot!"
"No need to get so heated, partner. I can compromise. Throw me a real number — one with actual balls behind it."
T-Ray's brows locked tight. If he hadn't smelled the massive potential in Take Me to Church, he would've thrown Leon out on his ass — with two slaps for free.
But his veteran ears were too sharp. This song was a lock for Billboard Top 100. No question.
He gritted his teeth. "Fifteen percent. That's my ceiling."
"Take it and you get everything — these two girls are yours to pick. Hell, take both if you can handle it."
"I'll make you live like a king in Brownsville!"
The second he said it, the two Black girls turned around and started twerking right at Leon, trying to cast their voodoo on him.
Leon stayed stone-faced. It wasn't that he didn't like women — these Manhattan-Beach $50-a-pop tanks just didn't do anything for him.
When Leon still didn't bite, T-Ray pushed harder. "If that's still not enough for your greedy ass, then get the fuck out of my office!"
"I'll think about it."
T-Ray finally smiled again. When someone says "I'll think about it," they're already halfway to yes in their head.
After a long pause, Leon spoke. "I can live with fifteen percent… but I have one condition."
"Bro, name it. You want to be the degenerate king of the biggest strip club in Brooklyn? I'll set that up tonight!"
"I refuse all exclusive contracts. Simple — I'm not signing your label deal or any management contract."
T-Ray's jaw dropped.
Normal artist deals always came with two contracts: one locking you to the label so you couldn't bounce, and one with the manager who did jack shit but still took ten percent of every live show.
That manager cut was supposed to be free money in T-Ray's plan.
Without those two contracts, he'd basically just be a guy who pressed the record button.
Studio time, video shoots, pressing, promo — all that shit cost real money.
"White boy, you're fucking with me." T-Ray was fully pissed now. He took a death-lung hit off the cigar, trying to intimidate Leon with the smoke.
"Look, partner — I have total faith in my song. You're gonna make a killing, and you'll get the clout you want."
"But risk and reward go together… Even if this one prints money, it doesn't mean I can do it again."
T-Ray narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. In the internet age, random bedroom singers popped off all the time.
The second their track blew up online, the big labels came running with checkbooks.
Most of the time it ended in disaster.
Ninety percent of those viral nobodies never delivered again after the fat contract.
Leon wasn't a viral internet kid, but he was still a real bottom-rung nobody.
"Keep talking."
Leon shrugged. "Nothing more to say. No contract is a win-win. You like fast money. So do I."
"If you can't see that, then we're just wasting time sitting here."
The air went dead silent. T-Ray stared at Leon, face full of conflict.
Maybe thinking. Maybe pretending.
After almost two full minutes, T-Ray finally lowered his head and growled, "You win, you slippery white-trash motherfucker. Just like your ancestors — silver tongue talking a honest nigga out of his shit."
"Help yourself to anything in here. There are more girls downstairs in the club. Maybe you like Latinas."
The two Black girls were way too thick for Leon's taste. He wasn't into heavy tanks tonight.
He leaned back on the couch, eyes scanning the room.
"Anything? Even your good whiskey and cigars?"
"Whatever you want, you greedy piece of shit!"
Leon hung out in T-Ray's office until two in the morning. He didn't hold back — on the way out he pocketed a few of T-Ray's prized Cohibas and two bottles of whiskey.
If he'd had a pickup truck, he would've cleaned the place out.
They set the date: three days from now, demo recording at the Chester Street studio, and they'd sign the actual papers then.
When Leon got back to the shared house he was already buzzed. He walked right into Bonnie coming home from her shift.
Bonnie — still in her tiny thong and cutoff top — lit him up immediately, full daily rant mode.
This time Leon didn't dodge. He stepped right up and slapped her ass.
"Ah! You asshole, not this shit again! Your dick isn't bribing me tonight!"
"Bribe? Nah. I've got a surprise for you real soon."
"I'm not just paying you back — I'm gonna make you the most famous stripper in all of Brooklyn~"
Bonnie froze, then her eyes softened with a little smile and a sigh. "Liar… you always are."
Leon grinned that wicked, post-deal grin, the one that always got him out of trouble. He reached into the deep pockets of his jacket and pulled out two fat Cohiba cigars and a half-full bottle of T-Ray's top-shelf whiskey like a magician pulling rabbits.
"See this, baby?" He unscrewed the cap and took a swig, then held the bottle out to her. "Straight from the fat nigga's private stash. I didn't just talk shit tonight—I closed the deal. Three days from now my song drops in the studio. Real money coming. Real fame. And you're riding shotgun the whole way."
Bonnie stared at the bottle, then at the cigars, then back at his face. The anger in her eyes flickered, fighting hard. "You… you really did something?"
Instead of answering with words, Leon stepped in close, slid one hand around her waist and the other straight down the front of her tiny thong. His fingers found her already warming up, slick and ready like her body had already forgiven him.
"Fuck the talking," he murmured against her ear, voice low and dirty. "Let me show you how serious I am."
Bonnie tried one last protest—"Leon, I'm exhausted, my feet are killing me—" but it died in a moan the second he sank two thick fingers into her tight, wet pussy. He curled them just right, thumb circling her clit slow and firm, while his mouth latched onto her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
"Shit… you asshole…" she gasped, hips rolling against his hand on instinct. Her cutoff top was already half-off; Leon yanked it the rest of the way down, freeing those big fake tits. He bent and sucked one pink nipple into his mouth, biting just enough to make her yelp and clench around his fingers.
He spun her around, pressed her front against the kitchen counter, and dropped to his knees behind her. In one move he ripped the thong down her thighs and buried his face in her ass, tongue sliding straight into her dripping cunt from behind.
Bonnie's knees buckled. "Oh my fucking God—Leon!"
He ate her like a starving man—long, sloppy licks from clit to asshole, sucking her swollen lips, tongue-fucking her hole while his hands spread her cheeks wide. She was dripping down his chin in seconds, moaning loud enough for the whole block to hear.
When she started shaking, close already, Leon stood up, unzipped, and slammed his thick cock into her in one brutal thrust. Bonnie screamed, nails scraping the counter, pussy clamping down so hard he groaned.
"That's it, baby—take every inch of this dick that's gonna make us rich," he growled, pounding her deep and relentless. Skin slapped skin, her ass rippling with every thrust. He fisted her blonde hair, yanked her head back, and bit her earlobe. "You're gonna be the most famous stripper in Brooklyn, riding in Escalades, dripping in diamonds, while these niggas pay to watch you shake that ass on stage next to me."
Bonnie was gone—eyes rolled back, mouth open, drooling. "Yes—fuck—harder! Don't stop, baby, please—"
He reached around and rubbed her clit in fast circles while he railed her. She came hard, squirting down his balls and thighs, legs trembling so bad he had to hold her up. Leon didn't slow down. He flipped her around, lifted one of her legs over his hip, and drilled up into her even deeper, staring straight into her fucked-out eyes.
"Look at me, Bonnie. I'm not lying this time. Song's fire. Deal's done. You're mine, and I take care of what's mine."
She came again just from his words and the relentless pounding, walls fluttering around his cock. Leon buried himself to the hilt and exploded—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding her spasming pussy, so much it leaked out around his shaft and ran down her thighs.
They stayed locked together, panting, foreheads pressed. Leon kissed her slow and deep, still buried inside her, softening but not pulling out.
Bonnie's voice came out small, happy, almost shy. "You really mean it? I'm… I'm really gonna make it with you?"
He stroked her cheek, thumb wiping a tear she didn't even know she'd cried. "Every word, baby. Tomorrow I'll even take you shopping with the advance I'm squeezing out of that fat fuck. New heels, new lingerie, whatever my queen wants. Now come on—bed. I'm not done spoiling you tonight."
Bonnie smiled—real, bright, the kind she hadn't given him in weeks—and let him carry her to the bedroom, cum still dripping down her legs, arms wrapped tight around his neck like she never wanted to let go.
For the first time in a long time, she actually believed the deadbeat might just be her golden ticket after all.