Authors: De'nesha Diamond

Gangsta Divas (19 page)

BOOK: Gangsta Divas

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LeShelle

N
ever let bitches see you sweat.

I learned that shit the hard wayâeven now when I'm surrounded by my family but they're all acting strange. These bitches haven't turned on me, have they? My mind races through a catalog of bad deeds and at the top of the list is my fear of Python finding out I struck a deal with a Flower to murk one of his baby mommas. I'm sure he didn't give a fuck about her, but he would care about killing the seed that was in her belly.

“Where the fuck is that bagâor are y'all gonna keep me with my ass hanging out in this muthafucka?”

Pit Bull cheeses up as she shoves the black, leather duffle bag my way. “Your nigga picked your shit out,” she tells me, envy lacing her voice. “Everything is set.”

Kookie shifts her attention to the window.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask.

She glances back at me to see who I was spitting to. “Whoâme?”

“Yeah, you.What's with the long face? I thought you were glad to see me out?”

“Of course.You know that you're my girl.” Kookie flashes me a big smile, but the shit doesn't reach her eyes. “We'll talk about it another time,” she adds before I can interrogate her further.

Whatever the fuck she gotta tell me everybody else must already know because they all go as silent as the grave.

Avonte ain't playing behind the wheel because she floats our ass out of Memphis in no time flat. In the meantime, I change out of the ugly hospital gown into the packed clothes in the bag: black lacy underwear, short white mini-skirt and a white, crop camiâaccompanied by a pair of breathtaking silver Louboutin pumps. If this is an apology for him not personally busting my ass out, apology accepted. I rush through the toiletries and then put my hair in some kind of order. No sense in looking like
Whodunit and what for
when I step out of this bitch.

“How do I look?” I ask, turning to Kookie.

“Like a muthafuckin' queen.”

Heads nod in agreement all around me, but that doesn't stop a few butterflies from tickling my belly when the car rolls to a stop. I can't help but twist up my mug shot at seeing where we are. “A church?” I take in the old, red-brick building with paint-chipped columns and wonder whether this shit is some kind of a joke.

“C'mon.We better hurry up,” Pit Bull says, hopping out of the car. “Our asses is already late.”

Everybody scrambles out like fuckin' roaches, but my ass is still stuck on stupid on why the fuck Python's ass is hanging out at a dilapidated church with a graveyard out back.

“Girl, are you comin'?” Kookie snaps.

Swallowing my list of questions, I climb out of the car. My ass was already wobbly before the fuckin' heels. Now I feel like a toddler tryna walk for the first time.

Kookie and Pit Bull flank my sides.

“It's all right, girl. We got you.”

Never let bitches see you sweat.

“That's all right. I got it.” I shake them off and they fall back a step. I start to head round back, thinking that's where we need to enter, but once again, Kookie grasps hold of my wrist and leads me toward the front door.

“This way.”

I give her a look.The last thing I need right now is for the man upstairs to strike my ass down for rolling up in his house. For most of my life the Lord and I had an understanding: I stay out of his business and he stays out of mine. When I glance at the girls again, my nerves knot in my gut.
These bitches are up to something.

“Are you going to go, girl, or what?” Pit Bull snaps impatiently. “Python's waiting on you.”

This bitch better not be lying.
I pat the Glock at my waist before turning and heading up the steep stairs. At the door, I pause, place my hand on the Glock, and then jerk the door open.

Immediately, an organ plays . . .
The Wedding March?

Shocked as hell, I glance around wide-eyed to see a rather large gathering of jeans-clad, but blue-and-black-flagged niggas in the pews. In the center of the aisle is a grave-looking preacher . . . and Python.

Python.

My nigga, ugly as sin, but physically sexy as hell, looks like he's packed on ten more pounds of muscles on his shoulders and arms. Black jeans hang off his trim waist while a gray-and-white plaid shirt covers his entire tatted body. Upon seeing me, he snatches off his shades and gives a lopsided grin that usually means that he's in the mood for some pussy.

Kookie shoulder-bumps me. “Better get your ass down there, gurl, before that nigga changes his mind.”

I blink out of my shock but still manage to bat back the river of tears flooding my eyes.
This shit is really happening.
My hand falls away from my Glock and I begin the slow march down the aisle. My gaze never leaves Python. He's smug because he's pulled off the surprise of the decade. He fidgets and then he rolls his forked tongue over his thick lips, giving them a nice, sexy gloss.

By the time I reach him and the preacher, my heart's pounding its way out of my chest.

“You all may be seated,” the preacher announces.

For a second, I think that he means my ass, too, because my knees dip. Python holds.
Shit. It's hot up in this bitch.

“Welcome back, baby,” Python says, winking and taking my hand.

I look down and I'm taken aback by ugly burns covering his hands.
He was in that car accident.

He smiles and I push all my questions to the back of my head for another time. We turn toward the preacher, who opens his Bible and begins his spiel.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. . . .”

I sneak a peek to my right and see Python heavily engrossed in what the preacher is saying. I, on the other hand, have a hard time concentrating on the words.
I'm about to be a married woman.
Every fiber in my body explodes with joy. I've wanted this for so long. I fought more bitches than I could name for this moment. No more playing house. No more wifey. No more “ride-or-die chick.” The official title will be
wife. Mrs. Terrell Jerome Carver.

A little boy trots up to us with a pillow and two gold bands.

Python picks up one and slides it next to my diamond ring before repeating after the preacher, “I,Terrell Carver, take you, LeShelle, to be my lawfully wedded wife. Knowing in my heart that you will be my constant friend, lover, and partner in life. I pledge my love and promise to stay by your side in sickness and in health, in good times and bad. I will protect you from harm, comfort you in times of distress, and cherish you for as long as we both shall live.”

There's no fighting back the tears after that. I've waited all my life for someone to say these words to meâfor someone to want me. With blurry eyes, I reach for the other gold ring and repeat the same vows.

The preacher turns toward me. “Do you, LeShelle, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward?”

Oh shit.
“I do.”

“Do you,Terrell, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Python's beastly face splits open with a smile. “I do.”

“Then, by the power vested in me, I pronounce you two man and wife.You may kiss the bride.”

Niggas erupt out of their seats as Python sweeps me into his arms and lays a fat-ass kiss on me. Shit. Nothing ever tasted so sweet. I throw my arms around my
husband's
neck and pour every ounce of love into him that I can. It isn't until my lungs beg for oxygen that I break the kiss, but I hold on to him for a long time after.

Later, muthafuckas bum-rush us with congratulations.

“Girl, you should've seen your face,” Kookie crows. “You would've thought your ass was about to walk into a shoot-out or some shit.”

“I know that's right,” Pit Bull cosigns, drawing me into a hug.

I stop trying to hold back these muthafuckin' tears. I'm happyâand I want the whole fucking world to know it. Swinging my big-ass grin around the room, I search for Momma Peaches . . . then for McGriff . . . and there are a few more missing soldiers. I turn my pinched-up face toward Python and I see for the first time just how hard he's struggling to hold up his plastic smile.

“Are you ready to roll,
Mrs. Carver?”
he asks before I can get my interrogation on. “There is a little matter of a honeymoon night.”

I hesitate for a beat and my joy is too great to let a few missing gray clouds ruin my wedding day. “I'm rolling with you until my last breath.”

A rare, genuine smile stretches across my
husband's
lips before he wraps a muscular arm around my waist, plants another kiss on me, and then directs me toward the church's front door.

Everyone cheers and waves as we make it down the aisle then burst through the doors. The celebration follows us outside. Python's beloved black Monte Carlo pulls to the bottom of the stairs. The word “Newlyweds” is written across it with silver cans tied to the bumper. We race forward beneath a shower of rice and confetti.

Halfway down the stairs, the unmistakable sound of tires squealing catches my attention.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

POW! POW! POW!

There's no time for me to react before something burns me and Python lunges his large body in front of me. The next thing I know I'm swept off my feet and then a second later, hitting the hard, concrete stairs with the wind knocked out of me.

“FIVE POPPIN', SIX DROPPIN', NIGGAS!”

Lucifer

R
AT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

POW! POW! POW!

I watch as Python pulls his bitch back and then throws himself in front of our spray of bullets. His big un-dead ass is lifted about three feet in the air before crashing back on the white concrete steps on top of his new bride.

“FIVE POPPIN', SIX DROPPIN', NIGGAS!”

For a few seconds it feels like shooting fish in a barrel.They fall one after another.
He's Mason's brother.
That shit loops around in my head. My finger eases off the trigger as Tombstone floats our asses off into the distance. I pay no attention to the bullets whizzing by my head as the Gangster Disciples' army spills out of the church to return fire.

Suddenly, I'm uncomfortable about the emotions whirling inside me. On the one hand, I'm thrilled see to his big, ugly ass go down and on the other, I'm attacked by the image of Python clutching his brother and weeping from his soul.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

POW! POW! POW!

Through the exchange of gunfire, I catch sight of Cleo, standing boldly at the church door. For a brief second our eyes connect, a transmission of an understanding passes between us and if I'm not mistaken, a ghost of a smile haunts the corners of her lips.

“Yes, goddamn it! Yes!” Profit punches his fist into the air. “We got that muthafucka. Did you see his face?”

“Guess his ass wasn't dead,”Tombstone says.

“He's dead now,” Profit declares.

My chest swells with pride. I'm happy to give him this moment. Calling him was the right thing to do. Who knowsâmaybe we can even begin to repair the bridge between us? At least I can hope.

“Pussy-ass punk niggas,” Profit spits, slapping in a second clip. “We ought to back up and shoot his ass again.The muthafucka got nine lives.”

The back window explodes and Novell spits out a stream of curses. “Fuck! Those roaches got me!”

I drop back in from the car's window, spin around, and hit the interior light. “Let me see.”

Novell moans and groans like a bitch about to drop a baby.

Stretching back over the seat, I snatch the sleeve on his T-shirt up and examine the damage. “Get the fuck out of here. It's nothing but a scratch. The way you're carrying on I thought your ass was really hurt.”

Profit and Tombstone laugh.

Novell's face twists up. “Yeah. Whatever. That nigga, Python, got more than a scratch.We cut his ass in half.That shit was for our man Fat Ace. May he rest in peace.”

I shut off the light and flop around in my seat.

“Fuck yeah,” Tombstone cosigns, nodding and checking the rearview mirror to make sure that the coast was still clear.

Wedding.
I can't fucking believe it. When Cleo dropped dime about that shit I thought I was going to pop a blood vessel. Like how dare that freak of nature go on about his shit while my man is rotting at the bottom of the Mississippi River.
Maybe we should go back and shoot his ass again.

I close my eyes and savor the taste of revenge, but it's already bitter on my tongue. My elation fades into the black hole where my heart used to be.

“After taking out that muthafucka, our name is going to ring out in the streets,” Novell boasts. “The throne is yours, Lucifer. Ain't nobody gonna doubt that shit after tonight.”

“The throne is already mine,” I say, irritated.

Profit's smile vanishes like a poof of smoke.

What is he thinking?
Is he still thinking about forming an alliance with Bishop? That shit pricks my pride more than I care to admit.

Novell doesn't know when to shut the fuck up and continues blabbering, “I know. I know. I'm just saying that all that side noise Bishop has beenâ”

“Squash that shit,” I bark. “I don't want to speak on that bullshit.” Tombstone glances at me sideways. I grind my teeth together, determined not to get into any discussion about Bishop. Novell is right. This shit tonight squashes any planned mutiny.

Tombstone changes the subject. “Why didn't Cousin Skeet tell us that bitch, LeShelle, woke up?”

A
good question.
“No clue.”

“Think Bishop knew?” he asks.

Another damn good question.
“No clue.”

Tombstone's gaze sneaks back over to me. He's probably wondering what the hell
do
I know.

“Watch the road,” I tell him, my emotions safely tucked behind a stone mask. In the backseat, Novell rehashes the night's events, tryna convince himself and Profit how much their street fame is about to put them on.

None of it interests Profit. He's lost inside his own head, probably realizing the same thing I am. Revenge can't bring Mason back. I know this, but in the back of my head, I still hoped.

“We need to muthafuckin' celebrate,” Novell says. He's the only one in the car still high off our hit. “Let's hit Da Club. That shit should be bumping right about now.”

It will be just the place for him to blow his shit up.

When none of us say shit, Novell glances around and notices our long faces for the first time. “What the fuck is wrong with y'all?”

Silence.

“I don't believe this,” Novell thunders. “This shit is the end of an era. We're the new kings on the street. Now that we settled this shit with those paper gangsters we can focus on stomping those cripple-walking Crips back down into the ground and rule the whole muthafuckin' city. All is well, my people.” He slaps me on the back and gets a sharp look from me.

His smile wobbles at the corners until he removes his hands and holds them high into the air. “My bad.”

I cut my eyes away from him, knowing in the back of my head that I overreacted. “A'ight,” I say, nodding.
Either we're going to sulk or we're going to celebrateâand I'm tired of sulking.
“Let's head out to Da Club.”
I'll deal with Cousin Skeet's ass later.

Forever the faithful soldier,Tombstone bobs his head. “You got it, boss.”

A half hour later, we roll up toward a sea of flashing blue lights surrounding Da Club. Dread creeps up my spine. “What the fuck is it now?”

Novell pulls up the backseat floorboards and starts gathering up everyone's gats and cramming them down into the secret compartment. “All clear,” he announces before climbing back up into his seat.

Tombstone turns into the parking lot, but is immediately barked at by a cop.

“Sorry but you're going to have to pull out, sir. This is a crime scene.”

I ignore his ass and hop out of the car. “What's going on?”

Profit and Novell follow suit.

“Ma'am, sirs, I'm gonna need you all to get back into the vehicle.You can't be here right now.”

“The fuck we can't,” I snap.“This is my shit.What the fuck happened?”

“Are you the owner?” the young cops asks.

At the front door of the club, I see them break out the yellow tape. “I asked you what the fuck happened?”

The cop looks like he's 'bout ready to check my ass when Hennessey and Cutty shout across the lot. I know the shit is serious when I see my two big boys break away from the crowd and jog to get at me.

Tombstone shuts off the engine and climbs out of the car, too.

“Ma'am!” the cop shouts again. When he lunges for my hand,Tombstone steps up and shakes his head at the rookie.

“You don't want to do that, son.”

The police officer looks confused, but then decides fuckin' with us ain't worth the headache.

Meanwhile that flush of dread feels like a tsunami crashing around inside my soul as Henessey and Cutty draw near.

“Lucifer, thank God you're here,” Hennessy says, already sweating from the short run.

“Whassup?” My gaze swings between him and Cutty. If I'm not mistaken, Cutty looks like he's been crying. Now that they have my attention, they act as if they've forgotten how to speak. “Whatever it is just spit it out.”

“It's . . . Bishop,” Hennessy says.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Tombstone and Profit step up behind me. “What about him?”

Hennessey and Cutty shoot another look at each other before Cutty tosses a hand grenade into my world. “I'm sorry . . . but Bishop is dead.”

BOOK: Gangsta Divas

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