Gangsta Divas (14 page)

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Authors: De'nesha Diamond

BOOK: Gangsta Divas
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20
Lucifer
P
regnant.
After spending a full hour pissing on a dozen home-pregnancy tests, it's time for me to accept the truth—but I can't. In fact, I don't even want to leave this bathroom, let alone hop off this toilet until one of these sticks stops turning blue.
What am I gonna do?
I can't be that bitch that wobbles into combat, hoping my water doesn't break.
“Jeez.” I toss the stick over into the sink and then drop my head into my hands.
This can't be happening.
Mason flashes behind my closed eyes and I'm ashamed of the way that I'm reacting.
My mind has been spinning for the past month from all the information Dribbles unloaded on me. The moment she said the name Carver, pieces of the puzzle started snapping together. Memories of how Python wept when he clutched Mason in the rain.
How did he put two and two together?
I should have drilled Dribbles for more information, but I was too busy tryna reject what she was saying.
Brothers.
How the fuck could that be? And what the hell would happen if that shit ever got out? Would it change anything or would it change everything?
I wish that I could talk to Bishop about this shit, but things between us are getting worse with each passing day. At every meeting, Bishop feels way too comfortable challenging and confronting every decision I make. It's not clear that he's winning anyone over, but I can tell they are all waiting to see how I'm going to check my own brother.
The alarm on my watch sounds and I reach over to the bathroom sink and check the results of yet another test.
Still pregnant.
Who gives a fuck what niggas think? I'm having this baby.
The second the declaration thunders in my head my shoulders get lighter and a sad smile twitches at the corners of my lips. My cell phone rings and I have to reach down and retrieve it from my pants pooled around my feet.
“Yeah.”
“We need to meet,” Cousin Skeet says.
Just like that, the weight returns to my shoulders. “Whassup?”
“In person. Make it over to Hemp's for a one-on-one.”
“Time?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
I draw a deep breath. I don't feel like dealing with Cousin Skeet right now—especially since he's been throwing up roadblocks like a muthafucka, preventing me and Profit from getting at LeShelle's tube-sucking ass lying in the hospital. Skeet's taking a lot of heat from the city for the escalating wars on the street—says it's his ass if we turn the Baptist Memorial into another war zone tryna get that bitch.
“A'ight.” I end the call and roll my eyes.
The shit is on ice but I'll get that bitch, either in the hospital or a jail cell. I don't give a fuck which.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, my boy Tombstone rolls us up to Hemp's Liquor Store. I peek behind the bulletproof windows to see if anybody's mobbing too deep. There are two cars in this busted-ass parking lot and one crackhead couple stumbling down the sidewalk and beating on each other.
“Why the fuck am I out here?” I mumble before climbing out of the car. “Stay here,” I order Tombstone.
“You got it, boss.”
On full alert, I march through the front door. A loud cowbell announces me, getting the fat chick with a red Ronald McDonald-colored wig on to look up from her magazine.
“Go on back. He's expecting you,” she says, hitting a buzzer that unlocks a metal door off to her left.
I erase all emotions from my face and march through the second door.
Off the bat, Cousin Skeet stops pacing to look up.
“I'm here. Speak your mind,” I tell him.
“Have a seat,” Skeet says, gesturing to an unfolded iron chair.
“I'll stand.”
He gives me a look, and then must realize that he needs to change up the attitude. “All right, look. I know that we have never really gotten along in the past, but I'm hoping that we can try to let bygones be bygones—especially if we're going to continue being business partners.”
“Humph.
If
being the key word.”
The smile melts off Skeet's face. “So it's true. You have reached out to the Angels of Mercy to run guns for the Vice Lords.”
Shit. Bishop sold me out.
Skeet storms up to me.
“You really want to deal with those racist fucks?”
“Don't take it personal. It's just business. Supply and demand. I have a demand and they can get me my supply.You cut me off. Remember?” I hold my ground while he breathes fire into my face.
“Nah. Nah.You're tryna cut me.”
“You sound a little paranoid.”
“Don't fucking play me. Do you know who the fuck you're dealing with?”
I clamp my mouth shut and indulge him his temper tantrum.
“You think those white muthafuckas are going to do right by the VLs? All they give a fuck about is the money.They don't give a fuck about the cause.”
I remain silent.
Skeet's face purples. “Listen here, you bitch. You have another thing coming if you think you can just cut me out. I've been the backbone of this organization since before you were swimming around in your daddy's nut sack. You and half the damn set would be pumped with a bunch of lethal injections if it weren't for me. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Silence.
I don't know what color to call his face now, but I can tell he's itching to go for that gun on his hip.
“Mason and Bishop fucked up with you,” he says, waving a finger in my face. “I always said ‘let a bitch play with men's toys and suddenly she thinks her ass got balls.' Well, let me tell you something, little girl. You
do not
want to fuck with me. Our arrangement stands and for this latest insult an extra fifteen percent has been tacked onto my not-putting-your-ass-in-prison fee.”
“That's not going to happen,” I tell him.
“Excuuuuuse me?” Cousin Skeet moves in so close that our noses touch.
“You heard me. The arrangement stays as it is—until I decide to change it,” I say evenly. “If you think that you want to go to war with
me
, then that's your choice; but I guaran-damn-tee you that the shit ain't going to end the way that you think it is. And as far as trying to replace me on the throne with Bishop, that shit ain't going to happen, either. Now, I'm going to walk out of here and pretend that this conversation never happened. For your sake, it's best.”
We fall into a glaring contest and, about thirty seconds later, Skeet backs the hell out of it.
“All right. We'll play this shit your way—for now.”
“For now.” I give him my back and head toward the door. “Oh, by the way, how is that bitch holding up in the hospital?”
Skeet pauses. “Still out of commission.”
“You can't protect her forever.”
“The last damn thing I'm doing is protecting that bitch. Don't forget that I have a score to settle with her myself for the trauma she and her nigga put my grandson through. He's seriously fucked up, trembling and pissing on himself all the time. I'm going to be stuck with therapy bills for the rest of my damn life.”
I struggle to hold my tongue. After all, Cousin Skeet's family issues aren't my problem or business—not anymore.
“She's in the system. I gotta give the city something, my neck is still on the line.”
A smile twitches at the corners of my lips.
Cousin Skeet's eyes narrow. “I wouldn't be too happy about it if I were you. If I go down, so does VL.”
“You threatening me again?” I square around on him. “You really believe that shit, don't you?” I laugh. “Nigga, you ain't nobody. You ain't putting in no serious work or moving no fuckin' cause.You want to know why I don't like you? It's because I can't stand muthafuckas who wear two faces. I'm straight up about who I am and what the fuck I do.And in case you done forgot, I'm your worst muthafuckin' nightmare.” I jab my finger against his chest. “I won't think twice about slicing your ass like the fucking pig you are and bathe in your goddamn blood. I dream about that shit. So remember that the next time you're throwing threats around. I. AM. KING. And
nobody
has bigger balls than I do.”
Cousin Skeet steps back with stunned disbelief.
Now that I've gotten that shit off my chest, I relax and flash him a fake smile. “You have a nice night.” I turn and stroll out of the door. Once I'm out of Hemp's, I stop and suck in the night's cool air to lower my blood pressure.
Bishop. Bishop. Bishop.
I don't know why I don't immediately hop into the car. Maybe I just need a few more minutes to think—but as I do, I get the distinct feeling that someone else is watching me. I glance around, see a few niggas scattered about, but no one that's paying me any particular attention . . . and yet, the feeling doesn't go away.
Tombstone rolls his window down and sticks his head out. “Everything all right, boss?”
I doubt anything will ever be all right again.
“Yeah. I'm cool.” I take one last look around and then hop into the SUV. “Swing by the grocery store. I'm craving some ice cream . . . and pickles.”
Chaos
21
Qiana
December…
 
P
rofit's fine ass is a god. His name stays on the lips of every Flower in a thirty-mile radius. We all have caught glimpses of his ass working out in Fat Ace's old gym. Sweat pours down and glistens all over his body, getting every bitch hot. I have the perfect view from my bedroom window and more than a few times I've laid across my bed and stroked my clit while he did his thing. It's been some of the most powerful orgasms I've ever had. I wish there was some way that I could make him mine, but with my fucked-up mug that shit ain't in the cards for my ass right now.
My dream boo's dedication has been so strong that other soldiers are now tryna step up their game. Some of them doin' all right, but all eyes fall on Profit—and it's causing ripples with the power players. At the moment, Lucifer still has the most juice. Bishop is a close second but is growing bolder every day by openly politicking to dethrone his own sister. There's no doubt that Bishop has a reputation of being a strong soldier and leader, but the truth of the matter is that niggas ain't scared of him like they are of his sister. In war mode, Lucifer is just that: the devil with breasts. The few times that we exchanged words, I've damn near pissed in my panties. The bitch is that intense. I only question how much more rope she is going to give Bishop before he hangs himself. Some don't think that she has the balls to smoke her own brother over the shit. I say Bishop is the one who don't have the balls.
For my money, the real threat to her throne is Profit. Though my boo ain't been a soldier long or put in a catalog of work like a lot of niggas, there's just something about his swagger that has our people thinking his ass is a natural-born leader. Fuck. I recognized that shit a while back. While there's a potential war within our ranks, GG kept it 100 on her prediction with the Crips. Those niggas are all the way foul. Plus, they're hittin' the streets with a new product that got the crackheads and drug fiends buzzing. I've tasted the product and I ain't gonna lie, the shit is tight enough to change the game.
With Fat Ace murked and Python M.I.A., those slob niggas are hustlin' corner boys off their spot and upping the number of drive-bys. Purple flags are flying everywhere. The shit forced Lucifer to pull some soldiers from the hunt for Python to deal with the new threat, but the next thing we knew we were engaged in
two
wars. The dead bodies stacking on the news is like reading the roll call of who's who of the gang royalty.
You'd think that niggas would wall up and stay the fuck out of the streets with so many bullets flying, but danger has a way of drawing people out.Vice Lords mob deep in the streets and we all have itchy fingers—my ass included.
Almost everywhere I go I keep Jayson—that's what I named that high yellow bitch's baby boy—strapped to my chest. I gotta say that despite having an ugly-ass daddy, Jayson is turning out to be a pretty cute kid. I ain't claiming to be domesticated or no shit like that, but I'm getting better at taking care of him. At least he's stopped hollering all the time and sleeps though the night. I'm just wondering if there's something wrong with him since his head is bigger than the rest of him.
Today, I catch word that a few soldiers have talked Profit's ass into hanging out at Da Club. I hit GG up and talk her into watching the kid for a few hours so me and my girls can be in the spot. I'm lucky that GG has also taken a liking to the kid and agrees.
Me, Lil Bit, and Adaryl ain't old enough to be at the spot, but being Tombstone's sister does have it privileges.
Adaryl discovered some flesh-colored bandages and lined three on each side of my face. The shit isn't perfect, but it stops me from looking like Frankenstein and sort of like my former self—especially when the hem of my black-and-gold dress barely covers the bottom curve of my round ass and the V in the front dips two inches above my belly button, but I keep my titties protected by using that special dress tape so I can avoid wardrobe malfunctions. It don't matter because without a bra, my nipples are saying hello to every nigga when I step into the club.
My wing girls look equally fly. Adaryl's young, Coke-bottle curves are encased in a black catsuit while Lil Bit's short ass is flossing a gold Gucci dress she snatched off the rack in one of the malls. We're three teenagers tryna look grown and doing a damn good job.
“You two be on your best behavior tonight,” Cutty warns from the door. “The last thing I want is for Tombstone to be putting his foot on my neck if something happens to his kid sister.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes at all that noise Cutty is bumping and strut my ass inside. Even though I put on a hard front, inside my nerves are twisted into knots.
“Damn.Your brother be cock-blockin' even when he ain't here,” Lil Bit complains.
“Fuck that.” I wave her and Cutty off and then cut my way through the crowd. A few slick niggas call themselves being funny and grab my ass. When I turn to cuss them out, everyone puts on they innocent face. “Uh, huh. Scary-ass muthafuckas.” I turn and switch my hips through the crowd. Bodies are bumping and grinding to Juicy J's latest track. Hell, I don't even have to pull out my own shit to get the party started, there's a thick weed cloud hovering over everybody. There's everything from Kush, AK-47, and White Widow rolling up in here.
“Goddamn. This shit is strong.” Adaryl waves her hand in front of her face. I sneak a peek over my shoulder to see her eyes droop. She's about as fucked up as I am.
Lil Bit already has some nigga in her face, flashing his platinum grillz and rubbing his chest on her titties for a cheap thrill. Jealousy ain't an easy monster to try and control. There was a time not too long ago when I was the first bitch in my clique to pull niggas.
“What can I get you ladies?” the bartender asks once we make it to the counter.
“Two Blue Muthafuckas,” I order and then glance around the club.
“What time you think Profit and them showing up?” Lil Bit asks, peeping at her cell phone for the time.
“I don't know. They'll get here when they get here.” Irritated, I eyeball the door.
The bartender sets down our drinks. “Here you go, ladies. Compliments of the house.”
“Well, all right now!” Lil Bit shrieks, slapping high-fives and reaching for her glass at the same time. My girl may be small, but the bitch drinks like a fish. I already know that I'm going to have to keep one eye on her while checking for my boo to arrive.
Off the bat, I see chicken heads grinding on a whole lotta bustas who ain't gonna do nuthin' but pour liquor down they throats, bust 'em out, and then call it a night. “These niggas are whack as hell,” I complain.
“You want to go somewhere else?” Lil Bit asks, bouncing in her chair to the beat.
I shrug and try not to sulk that ain't no nigga approached me to dance yet. An hour later, Lil Bit and Adaryl return from burning up the dance floor while I'm sucking on my third drink and holding up the bar counter.
Where the fuck is Profit's ass at?
I'm feeling like a real busta right now.
“Hey.You don't think Profit is already here and is hugged up with some tricks back there?” I ask.
My girls bob their shoulders.
“Anything is possible,” Adaryl says, signaling the bartender for another drink. “I hear they have private parties back there.”
“Shiiit.” I'm out here for a party that I can't get at?
My girls laugh as I stretch my neck as far as possible to see if I can catch a glimpse of Profit in VIP. “C'mon.” I hop off my stool and adjust my skirt.
“Where are we going?” Lil Bit asks, frowning up as another nigga eases up on her.
“To VIP.” I grab her by the wrist and drag her ass with me.
“Oooh. You finally gonna make a move?” she asks, grabbing Adaryl's wrist so that we form a train.
I don't answer because I ain't sure of what I'm going to do. All I know is that I want to see Profit. When we approach the all-important gateway to VIP, Hennessey, with his big bulky ass, blocks our entrance.
“Where do you think you girls are going?”
“Where does it look like?” I cop as much attitude as he dishes out—but he ain't having it. “Naw, shawty.You're not on the list.”
“I'm on
all
the lists,” I correct him.
“Not until you have a couple of more birthdays,” he says, crossing his arms.
“C'mon, Qiana.” Adaryl grabs my elbow. “Let's go.”
Annoyed, I jerk free with embarrassment scorching my face. “Do you know who my brother is?”
“Of course I do. That's why I ain't letting your ass up in here. This here section is for grown niggas 'bout to do grown-ass thangs.You and your girls can go back and hold up the bar or shake your ass on the floor, but what goes on in here ain't for you.”
“What the fuck? Are you serious?”
“Don't I look serious?” he asks, tilting down his shades so I can see his ink-black eyes.
“I'm the same age as Profit and you let his ass in.”
“Shawty, you're seventeen and who said he was here yet?”
“Ain't he?”
Hennessey shrugs. “Maybe—maybe not.Who's to say?” He stretches his big baboon lips into a smile.
“Why, you big, greasy—”
“Qiana, let's just go.” Lil Bit snatches my arm back.
“Listen to your little girlfriend there cause you ain't gettin' up here tonight, Qiana.”
Me and this Godzilla muthafucka engage in a stare-off, while I fight the urge to fuck him up. In the end, I have to walk away with my tail tucked between my legs. To make shit worse, the niggas let the giggling bitches that was standing behind us switch they asses on through. I give Hennessey a
What the fuck?
look only for him to smirk at me. I toss him my middle finger and make a mental promise that the next time I see his big ass, I'm fuckin' him up on sight.
Bottom lip sagging, I let Lil Bit drag me back toward the bar. Halfway through, one bold muthafucka steps in my path and causes me to slam into his chest and break the hand connection with my girl.
“Whoa, sexy,” his deep baritone rumbles above me. “Where's the fire?”
Twisting a frown before I glance up, I'm ready to take my anger out on this dude, but my venom evaporates the minute my eyes fall on this sexy muthafucka. He's six four, green eyes, honey-baked, and built like a heavyweight champion. My ass blinks a couple of times to make sure that those four drinks I had ain't fucking with me. But this nigga gets finer with every blink I make. Dressed head-to-toe in white, the brothah stands out like a diamond in a pile of coal—with the name DIESEL tatted around his neck. That shit alone causes an extra gallon of honey to drip out of my honeypot.
When I don't answer, his sexy, plump lips spread out into a smile. “What? Cat got your tongue, Scar?”
My anger blazes back. “Fuck you!”
That shit tickles his balls because the next thing I know his muscular arm wraps around my waist and pulls me up to his frame. Any other complaint I have dies when I feel this nigga's anaconda rub against my wet panties.
“If fuckin' is what you got in mind we can make that shit happen right here.”
Watching his green eyes twinkle, I realize this muthafucka is serious. Despite the desire rolling through me, I push at his chest, but the nigga's hold doesn't allow an inch to separate us.
“What? Don't tell me you're scared.”
As much as my horny ass wants to jump him, my spidey sense is going haywire. “Ha. Ha, muthafucka.Who the fuck put you up to this?”
With his other hand, he puts a fat blunt up to his lips. His light green gaze turns pale blue while he studies me. Once he pulls the blunt away, he leans forward and tells me, “Open your mouth.”
Under a trance, I obey and cum instantly when he blows that sweet skunk into my mouth. That shit takes my ass to another level.
“You feeling that, baby?” His lips hitch up to one side because he already knows the answer.
“Who the fuck is you?”
“The man of your dreams, thought you knew.” This time he puts the blunt to my lips and tells me to “suck.”
Again, my ass follows his orders. In no time at all I'm so high I can't feel my feet. Something in my belly starts fluttering when I watch him lower his head and open his mouth. Puckering my lips, I blow a steady stream of smoke back into his mouth. Before I'm done, he catches me off-guard and closes his mouth over mine. I've never tasted anything so sweet. Everything around me disappears.
When our lips part, I open my eyes and I am horrified to see that I got my arms wrapped around his thick neck and I'm grinding on him like I'm tryna to get
his
ass pregnant. Embarrassed, I spring back, but his hold remains firm.

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