Boss Divas (27 page)

I'm caught out here looking thirsty as that Gangster Disciple trash speeds off with Dime and her girls. What the fuck is going on? Did I wake up today in the Twilight Zone?

GG told me about the party a few hours ago, but I didn't believe—couldn't believe it. What the hell did Ta'Shara do to get her spot to blow up with the Flowers? Why is this bitch still a thorn in my side?

A pair of headlights jars me out of my revenge fantasy.

Diesel pulls up in a sweet silver Mercedes that has me forgiving his ass before he even gets out of the car.

“You look good,” he says, exiting his ride with a single yellow rose. As usual, he's
GQ
fine in all white and exuding a swagger that's out of control.

“I should tell you to go to hell.” I cross my arms. “You're more than an hour late.”

“You could,” he agrees, approaching. “But you won't.”

“Oh?”
Cocky son of a bitch.
“And why is that?”

He extends the rose so that its soft floral scent wafts under my nose. “Because you know that by the end of the night you'll be in my bed.”

Our eyes lock and my pussy thumps. “You're lucky I still like your pretty ass,” I sass, accepting the rose while still throwing him some shade.

A wide smile breaks across his face. “Shall we?” He offers me his arm.

I've never had a nigga treat me like a lady before. I return his big Kool-Aid smile with one of my own and loop my arm through his. Once I'm settled into my seat, Diesel closes the door and then rushes around. “I love your new ride,” I tell him, while melting into the leather.

“When you're with me—expect nothing but the best.” He winks and starts up the car. “I was hoping to see your brother again.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “We got off on the wrong foot.”

“Since you're not from around here, there's no other foot you're gonna start on.”

“Humph. Too bad. He seems like a good nigga to know given what you've told me about him—and the chick he works for.”

“Ha! Lucifer? I don't think so.”

“Why is that?”

“Charlie is tough, but Lucifer is on a whole 'nother level. That bitch don't trust nobody other than Fat Ace and her brother—but her brother is dead so . . .” I shrug.

“Well, I'm looking to make new friends and I can be pretty charming.”

I scoff. “You'd have better luck tryna charm a black mamba.

Diesel laughs. “She sounds intriguing. You gotta tell me more about her.”

I slice a look at him. “Why?”

“I don't know. I keep hearing her name floating around town. It ain't too often when you hear about a woman that scares most niggas.”

“And you're not?”

He meets my gaze. “I'm never scared.”

I have no problem believing that.

“Are you scared?” he asks.

“Damn straight. I'm not crazy.”

I
'm high as hell.

As I ride in the backseat of Dime's car with the windows down, the night's air feels incredible against my face and hair. I needed this night. I'm so tired of the bullshit that is my life.

“You look fucked up,” Dime says, staring at me through the rearview mirror.

“That's because I am.”

The girls laugh. A few minutes later, we arrive at Hemp's Liquor Store and we file out the car, giggling and laughing about some dumb shit that I barely understand. However, I am aware when we step into the store that the whole vibe changes. I don't know why, but when I glance around, an Arab man behind the counter is glaring at us like we just did something to his momma.

“Why the fuck are you staring so hard?” I ask, irritated.

My girls snicker.

The dude's inky-black eyes glare back.

“Whatever.” I walk off, but Dime is bothered by the man's silence.

“Yo, man. Didn't my girl just ask you a question?” She stalks toward him, face rude as hell.

“Hey. I don't want no trouble.” He inches to the left. “Either buy something or get out.”

Emerald and Nisha come away from the cooler with their hands filled to the max with cases of beer.

“What's going on?” Nisha asks.

Dime ignores them and goes in on the clerk. “Nah. Nah. You need to apologize to my girl. She didn't do shit to you, man.”

“Fuck you, black bitch.” He reaches for something.

Dime rush forward, but Muhammad jerks up a shotgun that puts a pause in all of our asses.

“You black, nigga bitches get the fuck out of my store.”

“Say what?” Emerald and Nisha dropped their cases and as they crash to the floor, dude cocks his shit and fires at Nisha and Emerald.

My gun is in my hand before my brain understands what I'm doing.

POW!
First bullet hits his right shoulder.

POW!
Second bullet blasts a hole in his throat.

POW!
Third bullet splatters his brains all over the cartons of cigarettes behind him seconds before his body crashes to the floor.

“Holy shit!” Dime finally comes up with her weapon, but the shit is over. “Goddamn, T! Fuck!” She turns around and. races over to her girls. “
Fuuuccck!
”

Emerald and Nisha's wide, dead eyes stare up into nothing. There's blood everywhere.

“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” she says, shaking her head and now backing away from them.

I'm too stunned to move.

“Did you hear me, bitch? C'mon.” Dime grabs me by the arm and jerks me toward the door.

My feet move, but my head is fucked up, replaying everything that just happened in slow motion. “I killed him. I'm a murderer.”

“No shit. Get in the fuckin' car!”

W
hen we pull up to Club Diesel, there's a line wrapped around the building. This isn't the run-of-the-mill hood joint with strippers sliding down poles. The spot is smack dab in the middle of Beale Street and it's clear that Diesel has struck gold.

“You fancy, huh?” I ask when he opens my door.

“Classy,” he corrects. “I told you. Nothing but the best with me.”

“I see that.” I'm glad I chose the snake-print Michael Kors dress instead of that gold Dereon that Li'l Bit almost talked me into. Inside, my jaw hits the floor at the multi-level club that's packed wall-to-wall with moneyed hustlers and glittering bougie bitches. Every two steps, some nigga calls out or latches onto Diesel for face time.

I'm out of place and struggling not to show it. I cling tightly to Diesel's arm and mean-mug every bitch who comes near him.

When we make it to VIP, there's a bottle service waiting and a small army of niggas hugged up in a booth.

“D, my nigga.” A man cheeses, standing to slap palms and bump shoulders. “We were just wondering when you were gonna show up, man.” His eyes shift to me.

“Yo, man. Let me introduce you to my lady, Qiana. Qiana, these here are my road dawgs, Madd, Beast, Bullet, and Matrix.”

“Hey.” I smile and then shift my attention to the gold diggers draped on their arms. They all look at me like I'm something caught on the bottom of their shoes. Then I recognize the Amazon bitch who showed up at Diesel's place the morning after our first hookup. Her ass was so hugged up on him that I chased her out of the house, shooting. There's no love lost between us.

Everybody nods one by one while assessing me. I put on a brave face.

“Have a seat,” Diesel instructs.

Once nestled into the leather booth, I glance around like a kid on Christmas morning. “You're a real muthafuckin' boss, aren't you?”

“I thought you knew that shit.” He laughs, reaching for two glasses. “What'll you have?”

“The XO.”

His brows jump before he reaches for the Henney. “My baby don't play, huh?”

I smile. “I thought
you
knew that shit.”

Someone taps Madd on the shoulder and then whispers in his ear. A few seconds later, Madd whispers into Beast's ear. The whispering game circles around the table until Matrix whispers to Diesel.

My nosey ass gets self-conscious, but then I follow the track of Diesel's gaze to the lower level to see who has captured his attention.

“Fuck.” I shrink into my seat.

Diesel looks at me. “You know her?”

“We've met.”
Did she follow me here? Is she on to me? Does she know where I stashed Jayson?
My heart pounds a mile a minute, but all I can do is watch her. She actually cleans up well. Her short black dress shows off curves and a long pair of legs that I hadn't previously noticed. Her iron-straight hair isn't snatched back into a ponytail either. Instead, it hangs comfortably past her shoulders. She's pretty—and the hot Italian nigga who's whispering in her ear is fine, too.
Husband?

“Keep an eye on them,” Diesel tells Bullet.

“You got it, boss.” Bullet leaves the table. However, his side bitch stays put and it makes me wonder who the women at the table are really here for.

“How are you liking everything?” Diesel asks, handing me my drink.

“I'm impressed.”

“So you think that you can roll with your man a little while longer?”

The plastic bougie bitches all give me the stink face.

I smile and take a sip of my drink. “I roll anywhere you want me to,” I say.
Fuck Profit. His ass ain't got Ta'Shara caked up like this.

The club lights flicker as the MC steps onto the main stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Club Diesel.”

A raucous cheer goes up.

“I want everyone to take a moment to give a hand to the big man himself opening the doors here tonight. Everybody put your hands together for DIESEL!”

Diesel stands and the club erupts into applause.

Beaming, I join in.
I wish my girls could see me now.

“We got a good show for you tonight. Coming to the stage is a beautiful songstress who hails from right here in Memphis. Please put your hands together for the lovely and talented, Miss Cleo Blackmon!”

Another round of applause ensues as the house lights dim and the spotlight tracks a tall, willowy, and graceful beauty as she steps onto the stage. Immediately, male catcalls go out with a few whistles and cheers.

Diesel turns away from my ear and stares at the beauty on the stage—hard.

The music starts.

Diesel's whole vibe changes. He's in a trance.

Jealousy uncoils in the pit of my gut as my gaze shifts to the soulful beauty crooning Sade. She's an exquisite black Barbie who could have any man she wanted in this whole joint and she's letting every trick in here know it.
Bitch.

My gaze zooms back to Diesel. He's wide open and doesn't even know it.

Waving Madd to his side, Diesel then turns and whispers something into his ear.

Madd nods and then disappears.

It doesn't take a genius to know what their brief convo was about. I inch closer in an attempt to draw
my man's
attention back to me, but the shit doesn't work. He pulls away—not far, but enough for me to notice.

Simmering, I shoot my gaze back to Miss Cleo.
This bitch has got to go.

A
t the end of my forty-five-minute set, I have the crowd in the palm of my hand. I'm coasting on an incredible high that only a good performance can give. I exit the stage still bowing and blowing kisses to the crowd.

“You did it, baby. You were wonderful,” Kalief shouts, sweeping me up into his arms and swinging me around.

“They loved you.”

Laughing, I wrap my arms around him and enjoy the moment. It's rare that a performance goes off without a hitch—at least for me. Microphone problems, lighting issues, band screw-ups, I have experienced it all. But not tonight.

“Ms. Blackmon?” A big brick building of a man approaches as Kalief sets me back down.

“Yes?”

“The boss man would like to see you.”

“The boss—Diesel?” I ask.

He nods.

Giddy, I clutch Kalief's hand. “This is it,” I squeal.

“I told you, baby, that he was going to love you. C'mon.”

The brick building throws up a hand and blocks Kalief. “He only wants the singer.”

“But I'm her manager, Madd. How is he
not
going to see me?”

“Orders are orders.”

“Orders?” I rock my neck to the side and park my hands on my hips. “Well, you can tell Mr. Boss man that I don't take orders. He got me confused.”

Madd's brows jump.

“Baby.” Kalief pulls me to the side.

“Nah. Don't ‘baby' me. Did you hear what he just said?”

“I know. I know. It's cool. Calm down.” He takes a breath and flashes a smile at Madd. “Just give us a second.”

Madd shrugs and turns his back.

“You need to go with him.”

“What? He just disrespected—”

“That shit don't matter right now. We came here to get Diesel's attention. You did that—now let's not go ego trippin' and ruin this shit for us. My man Diesel is a powerful cat and he can get the moves we need done. You hear me?”

“Your man? If y'all so damn tight then why can't you come with me to talk to him?”

“See? You're worried about the wrong muthafuckin' thing. We need this.”

“He ain't the only muthafucka with power. Fuck him.”

“Fuck him?” Kalief blinks and then snatches my arm so hard that it's a miracle my shit doesn't break off.

“Ow. You're hurting me.”

“Good. That means that I got your fuckin' attention. Now kill the damn attitude. I told you how important this shit is. We don't have a line of muthafuckas banging down our door right now. We got to make moves and this is the nigga that's gonna make it happen.”

“But—”

“Nah. There ain't no fuckin' ‘buts.' You need to do this. And you need to make a good impression with my man. Got it?” He twists my arm, and I bite back a second protest.

“Got it?” Kalief presses.

“What aren't you telling me,” I ask through clenched teeth.

He glares and drives us a few more inches toward World War III. At long last, he releases my arm. “Fuck, Cleo. Just do this shit for me. Why does it always got to be a fight with you?”

“Why can't you just be straight and tell me what's really up with you and this nigga?”

“I done told you. This is about getting you on. We're close. I know it. I can feel it.”

“Just do this—okay?”

I cross my arms.

“Please? For me.” He steps closer and gently brushes a kiss against my lips.

Sighing, I give in. “All right. I'll do it.”

“Good.” His smile explodes back across his lips. “I'll wait for you in your dressing room. I'm gonna need to know the blow-by-blow. All right?”

“Yeah. All right.” I suck in a deep breath and then glance over at Madd, who's pacing around.

“I'll go.”

Madd turns and gives me a simple nod like that shit was already a forgone conclusion. “After you.”

May as well get this shit over with.
I huff.

“Go on.” Kalief pushes me forward.

I swallow my pride and march forward.

“Hey, girl. You tore it up,” a woman praises as I thread through the crowd.

“Thank you.”

More people agree and slow me up to take pics and shake my hand. By the time I make it to VIP, I feel like a full-fledged star and my anger at this Diesel character has evaporated—a little.

Madd makes the introductions. “Diesel, Miss Cleo. Miss Cleo, Diesel.”

I nod at a honey-colored devil with piercing green eyes. The way that he's smiling, he clearly thinks that he's making an impression on me. He's not. I don't like—or trust light-skinned pretty boys. Give me a dark brother like Idris Elba or a Morris Chestnut—and then we can talk.

He stands and towers above me by four inches. “Evening, Cleo. Won't you join us?”

Us?
I look around and notice the other people crowded around the table. The bitch next to Diesel with weird patches on the side of her face glares like she's ready to jump my ass. Bitch, please. Ain't nobody want your man.

“I don't want to interrupt—”

“Nonsense. Please.” He gestures to a vacant spot across from him. “Sit.”

I stiffen. “Is that another order?”

Diesel laughs and two dimples wink at me. “It's just a request.”

“In that case.” I sit. But his chick—or pit bull—is almost growling at me.

“Loved your set,” Diesel says reaching for a new glass. “How long have you been performing in the local circuit?”

“A few years.”

“What would you like?” he asks, referring to the open liquor bottles on the table.

“I'll pass.”

“It's on the house.”

“I don't drink.”

That causes snickering to ensue around the table while surprise colors Diesel's face.

“Is that right?”

I flash him a thin smile, hoping this will help him just get to the point of why he asked me up here. If there's a deal to be made, then let's do it.

“All right then.” He settles back in his chair. “Let's talk business. Have you had any labels come calling?”

I hesitate. I don't know what he knows or what lie Kalief has told. “A couple.”

“And what happened?”

Kalief happened.
“Let's just say that things didn't work out.”

“Maybe if you got yourself a
real
manager?”

I hit pause. “I thought you were just interested in producing?”

“You're a producer?” his young side chick asks.

Diesel appears annoyed. “Scar, why don't you go powder your nose while me and Cleo talk business?”

She flinches, but clearly she knows her position because she falls back. As
Scar
climbs out of her seat, she gives me another blast of her icy glare.

Diesel watches her, too, as if he's not sure whether she's going to try to whip my ass or not. Not too comforting.

“I'll be back,” she says.

Girl, bye.
I give her a look. She better not let this fucking dress fool her. I can scrap with the best of the hood rats.

Scar
moves away from the table, instantly changing the mood at the table.

Diesel glances at the rest of his crew. “Leave us.”

They spring up and scatter away like roaches.

“Good.
Now
we can talk.” He smiles.

“About what? I'm not looking for a manager.”

“You haven't heard what I can offer you.”

“I'm sure it's the world.”

“Maybe I'll even toss in the moon, too.”

“Funny.”

“I'm serious.” He sets his drink down and leans forward. “Tell me what you want and I'll make damn sure that it happens.”

“Is that right?” I want to call bullshit, but something tells me that this man is serious.

“I know a star when I see one. I want to be the one that makes all your dreams come true.”

“You look like you want to fuck me.”

“That, too.”

There's a heat
and
a coldness emanating from him that scares me. “I'm not interested.”

“Has your bootleg manager-slash-boyfriend ever told you that you're gorgeous when you lie—even more than when you're singing?”

“I should go.” I stand up.

Diesel does, too. “I'm not giving up.”

“Look, Mr. . . . ?”

“Just call me Diesel.”

“All right. Diesel, there's clearly been some type of misunderstanding. My manager told me that you were looking for new artists and he thought that my performing here would be the best way to get your attention.”

“Mission accomplished. And now that you got it, what do you want to do with it?”

“Look. I'm just looking to make a deal—a
professional
deal. Nothing else. I have a man—and I'm faithful.”

His cocksure grin grows. “Good to know.”

I shake my head. “Have a nice night, Mr. Carver.”

He blocks my path. “You know. I don't take no for an answer and I always get what I want. And right now”—his lustful gaze devours me—“you're at the top of my Christmas list.”