King Divas (28 page)

L
eShelle's bloodcurdling scream rips throughout the abandoned warehouse and seems to go on forever. I watch, fascinated, as the orange flames consume her.Within a few seconds, LeShelle rips out of her ropes and bolts to her feet. She waves her arms around and then takes a step toward me.

Fascinated yet determined, I hold my ground, not thinking what I'll do if she actually reaches me.

Profit rushes forward and plants himself between a flaming LeShelle and me. However, there is no need. LeShelle takes two steps and then crashes to the floor.

Black smoke curls above the orange flames. The putrid smell of burning flesh tickles my nose. Still, I can't take my eyes off of her. Her long hair is the first to burn away. Her clothes, second. However, her screams go on and on. It's the second body today that I've watched smoldering like this. Qiana was an accident, and therefore I didn't appreciate how the fire comes alive and consumes its victim—like it's doing with LeShelle now.

As the minutes tick by, you can see the glowing beast searching for something else to consume.When it's denied another victim, its energy wanes. Its flames shrink and its glow dulls.

It's sad.

Mack, Romil, and Dime have turned their backs to the scene. Even Profit tries to shield me from watching the horrific murder. I edge around him. I don't want to miss a thing. I don't know how much time has passed before I'm just staring at a smoldering stack of bones.

What a crock of shit. She killed the Douglases to hurt me. She probably even hoped that I would've been home that night.Whatever good had been in LeShelle had died when she chose the streets over me. She started hating me when she could no longer control me. Still staring at the charcoal bones, I wait for a flood of guilt and remorse to wash over me. But it doesn't. Neither does a wave of sadness or satisfaction. The sad truth of the matter is that I still feel absolutely nothing.

Soon, I'm aware that four sets of eyes are staring at me. Are they waiting for me to break down? Or are they wondering why I'm not?

Profit wraps his arm around me. “C'mon, baby. Let's go.”

I shrug off his touch but remain mindful not to say anything too revealing in front of the girls.

Profit steps back, confusion etched in his face.

I only asked Mack to bring him here because he deserved to see Ta'Shara die and to watch me put an end to the bitch. None of this shit means that we're cool again.

“We need to get rid of the body,” I tell him.

He nods. “I'll take care of it. You and the girls go on ahead.” He looks to Mack. “Take her to
my
place.”

I don't bother telling him about the two bodies we left at Hack's Crossing. As far as I'm concerned, he may as well make himself useful.

“C'mon, girl,” Mack says, swinging her arm around my shoulders. “I'll take you home.”

I allow her to lead me out of the warehouse.When we pile into Mack's car, once again I feel everyone's eyes on me. Each of them seems too scared to say something. We ride back to Ruby Cove in a tomb of silence. Yet, LeShelle's screams still echo inside my head. It doesn't scare or haunt me. In fact, I find it strangely comforting to know that she's eternally burning in hell.

I laugh. “Ding-dong. The witch is dead.”

The other girls muster up a couple of chuckles.

“Are you sure that you're all right?” Mack asks, her face a mask of concern.

I grin up at her through the rearview. “Never better.”

Minutes later, they drop me off in front of Profit's crib. Before I head inside, Mack leans across the driver seat to call out to me. “Call me if you need anything.”

I give her the thumbs-up and continue my trek to the house. “Ding-dong. The witch is dead.” I can't get that out of my head now.

Once inside, I waste no time heading to the bathroom for a much-needed hot shower. I scrub myself from head to toe at least five times before I'm squeaky clean.

After I shut off the water and towel off, I dig back through my clothes until I find the box of matches. As I stare at it, I can't help but marvel at the amount of destruction contained in such a small thing. I leave the bathroom, holding the box like it's the precious from
Lord of the Rings
. I scrounge around the house until I find an ashtray, and then hurry back into the bedroom.

I pull out one match. Strike it. And then watch a beautiful amber glow magically appear. It immediately starts to gobble up the small stick of wood in order to survive. When it burns my fingers, I drop it into the ashtray and then watch the flame slowly die out. Quickly, I strike another match and watch the process all over again.

Another match.

Then another.

Five matches.

Ten matches.

Each time, the flame is more fascinating than the last. How come I've never noticed this shit before?

At long last, the bedroom door opens and Profit steps inside.

“Is it done?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I stand from the bed, still intoxicated with bloodlust.

“I—”

I slap a hand over his mouth, shutting him up. He gets the hint and nods. I remove my hand and then start jerking his jacket off of him.

Profit pulls his shirt over his head while I yank at the button on his jeans. Once undressed, I shove him over toward the bed and damn near attack him like a wild animal. I can still smell that burning-flesh scent in his hair and skin. My pussy is wet. My clit and tits are hard. If I don't get him inside of me soon, I'll go crazy.

Profit tries to start with all that kissing bullshit, but I'm not having that shit. Kissing is too intimate—too personal. I'm not interested in that shit.

“I wanna fuck. That's it. You got it?”

Hurt ripples across his face, but he understands that it's either that or he can take his ass out to the couch. Once he nods, I rip the towel off my body, steady his fat cock, and then ram him inside me.

Closing my eyes, I listen as LeShelle's screams fill my head. Suddenly I'm no longer dead inside but very much alive. I throw everything I have into each thrust and grind.

“Oh. Shit. Slow down, baby,” Profit says, locking his large hands on my hips to try and control my flow.

I knock them off and then pin them high over his head. “I'm going to fuck this dick the way that I want to fuck it. You got it?”

He gives me a look that reads that he can easily overpower me, but knowing that he wants to stay off my shit list, he's going to let me work out whatever the fuck I got to work out. Shit. It's not like there's nothing in it for him. But now staring into his intense face starts pissing me the fuck off. While still fucking him, I rear back and punch the shit out of him.

“What the fuck?” Angry, he flips me over and takes the top position. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

Tingling everywhere from his own stroke game, I still manage to snatch my hand free and slap him again. How dare this muthafucka cheat on me. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Tired of my ass beating on him, Profit flips me onto my back, mushes my head down into the pillow, and pounds me from the back until we're both screaming in ecstasy.

I
can't sleep. LeShelle's dying screams still have me smiling up at the ceiling.
I'm free. I'm finally free of that bitch.
It seems too good to be true.
But now what?
I bounce the question around in my head for a while and I slowly begin to panic when an answer doesn't come back to me. Who I once wanted to be seems so far away. A doctor.

A sad laugh tumbles from me in the darkness. I haven't even been to high school in the last year. Hell. I can't imagine even going back to Morris High School. I can't imagine doing anything I used to do.

I glance back over my shoulder to where Profit is sleeping like a baby. Can I even go back to this relationship? Sure. My body still craves his touch, but could it ever be more than that? Will I ever be able to trust him again?

The alarm clock sounds off, startling me.

Profit bolts up and looks around. He smiles when he sees me. “Hey.” He reaches over and shuts the clock off.

“Are you going somewhere?”

He peels out of the sheets. “Yeah. Mason and I got a run to do—but I'll be back.” He leans over the bed to kiss me. At the last second, I turn my head and his lips land against my cheek.

The smile melts off his face. “Are you going to be here when I get back?”

I hate to do it, but I look him in the eye and answer him. “No.”

Hurt, he pulls up from the bed. “So nothing's changed?”
Silence.

Turning, he huffs and snatches his clothes up from the floor. “Whatever. You do what you got to do,” he says.

I sit up and peel out of the sheets too.

“I don't understand you,” he says, hopping into his pants. “I love you and I've apologized for that mistake.
One
mistake.”

Silent, I start dressing too.

“Oh. So now you're not going to say shit?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“What the fuck do you think? I just told you that I love you.” Silence.

“Fuck this shit.” He slams on his black T-shirt, snatches up his Timbs, and storms out of the bedroom. A few seconds later, I hear, “Lock up when you leave!” The front door slams.

A few tears skip down my face while I finish dressing. After that, I take another look around our bedroom with my heart squeezing out of my chest.
Get the fuck out of here before you fuck up and change your mind.
I tuck my gun in the back of my black jeans and then grab the box of matches from the nightstand.

Outside, I scoop out my cell phone and call Mack.

“Yeah?”

“Wake your ass up,” I joke. “Come and get me.”

“Where you at?”

“Where you think?”

There's a long pause. “You sure?”

“I called you, didn't I?” Something moves from the corner of my eyes. “What the fuck?”

“What?”

“Not you.” I squint over at Mason and Lucifer's crib. “Hey, Mack. Let me call you back.”

I
make it through half a bottle of Jack Daniel's before I decide to risk a DUI for a pop-up visit on Shotgun Row. The look on Isaac's face is priceless when he answers the door.

“Hydeya?”

“The one and only,” I sing, crossing into the house without waiting for an invitation.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, shutting the door and following me in.

“What does it look like? I'm cashing in that rain check.” I reach the living room and am startled to see a room full of some rough-looking men. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just having some friends over,” Isaac says. “Maybe we can do the rain check thing another time?”

My gaze falls on what looks to be a cache of firearms. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't those weapons a violation of your probation?”

The men all share conspiring looks.

Isaac pulls in a deep breath. “Go home.”

I don't want to go home. The house seems so empty without Drake scurrying around, making me coffee, giving me unsolicited shoulder rubs and whispering how beautiful our future children will be. My sorrow must show because Isaac's face softens. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I am officially attempting to grieve
properly
,” I tell him, smiling like a fool. “Apparently, it's a condition to getting my job back.”

“You lost your job?”

“I'm on
forced
administrative leave.” I laugh. “So you can relax. I can't arrest and haul you and your
friends
into jail.”

“You're drunk.”

My laughter deepens. “You are correct. I think I must've gotten my brains from your side of the family.”

His friends share another look. “Yep. That's right, guys.
This
asshole is my father.”

“All right, enough.” Isaac walks over and grabs me by the arm. “You're going to sleep off whatever the hell you've been drinking.”

“Oww. You're hurting me,” I whine as he drags me to a bedroom down the hall as if I weigh nothing. “And I'm not sleepy!”

“Close your eyes and count sheep,” he snaps, giving me a final shove and then shutting the door.

“Hey!” I hear a click. Frowning, I reach for the doorknob and find the sucker locked. “Hey! You can't lock me in here. I'm a police officer!”

“You're on leave,” he shouts back through the door.

“Isaac! Come back here and open this damn thing!” I pound on the door. “Isaac!”

He isn't coming back.

“Grrrr!” I kick the door a couple of times before giving up and slinking over to the bed. Maybe I am just a
little
tired. It won't hurt if I take a brief nap.

Walking a straight line proves to be a challenge because I walk right into the nightstand instead, knocking over everything on it. “Damn.” I attempt to bend over and pick up everything, but end up falling over. My butt bone lands solidly on the corner of a book. “Ow.” I reach under and pull it out. It's Maybelline's Bible. “Sorry about that, Lord.” I move to set it back on the nightstand when it slips out of its book cover and an envelope falls out. I pick it up and turn it over. There's a name scrawled across it.
Mason.
Curious, I rip it open and begin to read. By the time I finish rustling through the pages, I've sobered up. “I have a brother?”