Boss Divas (2 page)

“R
ot in hell, bitch.” I jam on the accelerator. My clit thumps at the sight of the bright, orange flames engulfing the Douglases' house, which is still in my rearview. Watching Ta'Shara's hysterics almost felt as good as when I ordered June Bug and Kane to strap Tracee and Reggie down to the bed so I could douse their asses with gasoline. The only thing that could've made the night more perfect would be to have my precious lil sister roasting right next to them.

The bitch doesn't know how much I wish I could pump the brakes and finish what I drove out here to do. That's all right. I'm going to get my chance. The GD initials are still carved on Ta'Shara's ass, which means I still own it. I won't stop coming for her until she's being lowered into the ground. I know that shit is cold, but whatever love or loyalty I had for her is long gone.

While the tall flames stretch to the sky, laughter rumbles from my chest. The number of games I'm about to play with this dumb bitch multiplies in my head.

I corner onto Poplar Avenue, and June Bug and Kane's Expedition falls in line behind me. The sight of them takes the edge off my revenge high and plunges me into a pool of irritation. I hate having babysitters.

My cell phone rings from the car's charger.

Unknown caller.

Bullshit. It's Python calling me from a burner. No doubt June Bug's blabbing ass has already called in and tattled. Well, fuck him—and fuck Python, too. I'm so through with his ass I don't know what to do.

Instead of sitting on our throne on Shotgun Row, our asses are hiding out from the police because his dumbass got too hot and snuffed one of his chicken-heads-slash-baby-mommas. Too bad her ass was also a fucking a cop. And not just
any cop.
She was the police captain's daughter. I mean, you got to have a certain talent to fuck up that bad. Granted, some of the heat has cooled off because people believe that Python is dead—supposedly killed in a fiery car crash off the Old Memphis Bridge a few months back.

But Python has nine lives—that or the devil keeps spitting his ass back out.

The phone stops ringing and the call rolls to voice mail. I know I'm gonna hear about the shit. Python always has a shit fit when I don't answer his calls, but I'll deal with his ass later. Reaching for the blunt I left in the ashtray, I quickly put fire to the tip and fill my lungs to the max. I hold that shit in until my brain fogs and my eyelids droop.

Despite feeling copasetic, I review the other shit I gotta deal with—like that grimy flower Qiana. Bitch double-crossed me. The deal was that I murk a snitch within my own ranks and in exchange she dusts off Python's latest pregnant side bitch, Yolanda. Simple. How in the fuck did this bitch fuck that shit up? I gotta see on the news that Qiana snatched the baby out of the corpse? Of course I wanted the little fucker dead, too. That shit should have been obvious. If Python even suspects that his baby is out there somewhere, he'll comb every street looking for it.

Shit. He's already chasing after one ghost—his long-lost brother, Mason. Somehow, someway, he's convinced himself that Fat Ace, the ex-leader of the Vice Lords, is his brother. All because of some birthmark.

I'm not going to be sucked into the land of make-believe with Python's ass. It don't matter anyway. Fat Ace—Mason—whatever the fuck his name is—is dead. End of story.

Python needs to get his mind right—and that don't mean putting his shady-ass cousin, Diesel, on the throne. I met him earlier tonight. He may be fine as fuck, a six-four, green-eyed brotha with his name tatted around his neck, but I don't trust his ass worth a damn. He'll rule these damn streets over my dead body. Bet that shit.

I puff out a thick cloud of smoke while my mind floats higher.

Unknown caller.

I take another deep toke and let the call roll to voice mail again. The last few minutes, I coast the dark streets in silence. When I arrive at my and Python's temporary crib, I kill the engine and think about rolling another blunt. I ain't in the mood to deal with my husband's shit right now.

Husband. I'm still not used to the word.

I stare at the rock on my finger. I can't decide whether it's been worth it.
What's the point of being a queen if you don't have a throne?

June Bug and Kane pull up at the curb and shut off their engine.

Python peeks through the venetian blinds.

Abandoning the idea of rolling another fat one, I climb out of the car and head into the house. The front door is snatched open before I lay a hand on the knob. One of Python's thick, muscular arms jerks me into the house. I open my mouth, but my head rocks back before I actually hear the
SLAP!

I crash into the wall behind me, and then slide down to the floor while blood fills my mouth.

“Where in the hell have you been? I've been calling you for hours.”

Python growls, towering over me. His bulky chest flexes while he pumps his fists at his sides. “I got June Bug and Kane blowing me up, but you can't seem to answer my calls?”

I spit the blood from my mouth. “I must've had it on vibrate,” I lie, peeling myself off the floor.

“You're a muthafuckin' lie.” Python's face twists up.

“Whatever. Believe what you want.” I press my fingers up to my lips to feel the damage. “What's the big deal? When I left here, you had your head so far up Diesel's ass, I didn't think you needed me.”

His black gaze rakes me up and down. I stare back. Python has a face only a mother could love: a black gargoyle right down to the snake-forked tongue. Physically, his shit is on point; but the side bitches who drop their panties for this nigga are drawn to the power he represents—my ass included. I'm not cold and heartless. I do feel some kind of way about his ass. Shit. It might even be called love—but I love his power more.

“I ain't no chump nigga,” Python says. “Unless you're dead or bleeding in the streets, you pick up the phone when I call.”

“What's the fuckin' problem? Your lil babysitters reported my every damn move anyway.” I test my luck by bumping his shoulder and marching around him.

“You're damn right they check-in—that's what your ass needs to be doing. These fuckin' streets are hot. I can't be up in this bitch tryna make moves
and
be worrying about you at the same damn time.”

I smile in the middle of his barking. “You were worried?”

Python paces like he's tryna wear a hole in the carpet. “Shelle, I ain't got time for fuckin' games. Brothas around me dropping and disappearing into thin air: Momma Peaches, Melanie, Mason, Yolanda—the baby.”

“Melanie hardly counts since you offed the bitch yourself,” I remind him and head into the living room.

“Don't start that shit.”

“Start what?” I ask, innocently. I plop down in front of the coffee table that's stacked with bricks of cocaine, cash, guns, pill baggies, and vials of shit I ain't never seen before. I ignore that hard shit and go straight for the blueberry Mary Jane.

“What happened after you left Passions?” he asks.

I grab the package of cigars. “You already know what happened. Your boys told you.”

“I want you to tell me.”

I ignore him and continue making my shit.

He continues to interrogate. “How in the hell you end up burning down your sister's crib and leaving Kookie as part of the barbecue?”

“Why are you asking me about my business when you keep me out of yours?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Diesel! Are you seriously going to give him the keys to the throne? You're just going to give up? I mean, I'm a boss bitch. I make sure all these punk-ass muthafuckas out here know it. Kookie and her nigga McGriff had been playin' our asses, and making deals on the side—the situation needed to be addressed—and I handled that shit.”

A doorknob rattles. I cock my head to the side to see Diesel's pretty ass exit the bathroom. I didn't know that his ass was still here.

“Damn, nigga. You dropping logs or eavesdroppin' back there?” I ask.

Diesel smirks, but his greenish-blue eyes signal that he's far from being amused. “I see you found your way back home. Cuz was worried.”

“Speaking of home, why don't you carry your shady ass back to Atlanta?” I challenge, matching his smirk. I want it crystal damn clear that I don't like his honey-colored ass—I don't give a damn what his reputation is down in the A. All I know is he ain't taking what's mine.

“Damn, Shelle. What the fuck is up with you?” Python scolds. “D is fam. You need to treat him as such.”

“Family, huh?” Diesel and I glare at each other. “Yeah. I can do that. I just
love
family.”

“
Annnd
on that note, I think it's time that I head out.” Diesel winks.

I toss him the middle finger.

Python hands over the joint and climbs back onto his feet. “A'ight, cuz. Sorry about that. She must be PMSing.”

“We gonna hook up tomorrow, right?” The men slap palms, and bump shoulders.

“Two o'clock sharp,” Diesel confirms and then turns.

Python follows him, pounding Diesel's broad back while he escorts him to the door.

I put fire to the tip of my blunt, though my lips are still throbbing like a muthafucka. My gaze tracks the cousins across the small house. All kinds of alarms sound off inside my head. This muthafucka is too pretty, too smooth, and too fuckin' powerful to be trusted. What the hell is my man doing, handing over the keys to the throne without firing a single bullet?

At the door, Diesel turns one last time and smiles. “It was nice meeting you, LeShelle,” he says.

“Uh-huh.”

He laughs and then slips out.

Python closes and locks the door behind his cousin before strutting his ass back into the living room.

I shake my head. “Damn shame.”

He huffs out a long breath. “What?”

“You're making a big mistake.”

“I got this.”

“Do you?” I challenge.

“Yeah.” He reaches over and takes the blunt right out of my mouth so he can toke on it for a few puffs. “Shit on our end is sloppy as fuck—has been for a little while. My soldiers are wide open and protection is close to nonexistent. That bitch Lucifer and the Vice Lords are feasting on my fuckin' streets and tagging so many niggas hell can't keep up.” He takes another hit, but it doesn't settle his nerves. “Nah. If I'm going to settle this shit, I'm gonna need a solid nigga I can trust.”

I laugh. “And you think that you can trust a muthafucka from
Atlanta?
Since when? Those niggas ain't got no fuckin' home trainin'. We don't need him.”

“
I
trust Diesel. That's all that matters. We're going to settle some scores and then he's going to hold shit down while we go to Mexico and chill out for a while—there's too much heat around here.”

“Mexico?” My eyes bug. “You don't know a goddamn thing about Mexico—other than they chop off muthafuckas' heads when they step out of line. What the fuck are we going to do in Mexico?”

“Diesel has a connect with the Sinaloa Cartel. We'll work that shit and establish some new ties. Within two to three years we can have something jump off that's bigger than what Memphis has ever seen.”

“The
Sinaloa Cartel?
Wait. There's like a billion people in that country. They don't need some confused, country nigga doin' shit for them—other than slinging their shit up here. No. We keep our asses right here and fight for what's ours.”

“Squash it,” Python warns, backing away. “Your mouth is reckless right now.”

“Me?” I explode out of my seat. “This whole situation is reckless? You want to know why? Because of
you! You
are the reason that we are in this piece-of-shit house in the middle of no-goddamn-where.
You
couldn't keep your dick in your pants and so you let some fuckin' pig bitch play you. Then
you
got hot and murked her ass—not thinking her damn daddy was gonna chase us off our throne. Now we're stuck playing
Where's Waldo?
with the muthafuckin' police and FBI. And you wanna give me shit about my mouth being reckless. Get the fuck out of here with that.” I stomp away, my high blown. Fuck. At this point it would take a horse tranquilizer to chill me out.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Python marches behind me.

“I'm going to take a shower to wash off all this shit you're shoveling around this bitch.”

He snatches my arm and spins me around. “Damn it, Shelle, I'm not done talking. Don't fuckin' turn your back on me.” His fist flies toward my head.

I brace myself.

He punches a hole into the wall inches from my face.

I stare dead in his eyes. “Are you done with your temper tantrum?”

“Goddamn it, Shelle. Is it too much for you to hold a nigga down? You wanna be queen and rule shit, but the crown has a price. We ain't always gonna be on top. You gotta be willing to get into the gutter and ride shit out some times.”

“Don't talk to me like I'm brand new,” I snap. “Just be fucking real with me. If you don't know what to do next, then say that shit. If you feel the walls are closing in on you, admit it. If you're feeling all kinds of ways because you lost so many people, then let's sit down and deal with it. But whatever the fuck you do, don't tell me you traded your dick in for a pussy and that you think the best thing for us to do is to run like slob bitches out of this muthafucka. Cuz I ain't down with that shit.”