King Divas (15 page)

I glance over to Dime.

“The shit is all over the fucking news. They say that the cops got video.”

Video? Fuck. I didn't even think of that shit. Hell, I haven't thought about any of that crap since the whole Profit and Lucifer shit. I glance over my shoulder and even the thought of going back in there gets my temples throbbing.

“Yo, do me a favor. Take me over to y'all's crib for a few. They got some family shit that they're dealing with.”

Mack looks at her girls and then shrugs. “Sure. C'mon.”

I
turn at the sound of footsteps behind me.

“Where's Ta'Shara?” Profit asks.

“She left.”

“What?” He opens the front door as Mack pulls out of the driveway. “Yo, T. Wait up!”

There's a brief pause but then Mack hits the accelerator and the car peels out with a cloud of smoke jetting out of the exhaust.

“What the fuck?” He turns toward me. “What got into her?”

I shrug.

He stares after Mack's vehicle as if he's unable to process what the fuck happened.

I toss a glance over my shoulder to make sure that Mason is still settled in the chair in the living room before stepping outside and closing the door behind me. “Look. You need to get your fucking girl in line.”

He frowns at my pointed finger. “I'm not a fuckin' child.”

“No? Okay. So what do you want to do? You wanna go in there and tell your brother how you came on to me?”

“I didn't—”

“What?” I step forward, ready to break his fucking neck. “Are you going to try to play crazy? You're going to say that I'm making this shit up? Is that what you're telling me?”

He finally clamps his mouth shut. “It was a mistake.”

“You damn right it was a fucking mistake. A
huge
mistake. Like the one you made when you started fucking the enemy.”

“What?”

Pissed, I pop him upside his damn head. “Do you
ever
fucking think? Look at all the bullshit that's happened since you hooked up with that girl. But, hey. It's not my business. But what is my fuckin' business is whether the bitch knows how to keep her mouth shut. She said that she saw your slick move yesterday morning at my crib. The bitch was crazy enough to step to me over the shit, and I swear to God she was seconds from blabbing that shit to Mason. And what the fuck do you think is going to happen if she does that shit, huh?”

Silence.

“See. That's why I can't stand being around bitches. They stay all up in their feelings waaay too goddamn much. I don't like that you put me in this fucking position where I gotta keep a secret from my fiancé. It's like I did something wrong. If I tell him, he'll probably try to fucking kill you—or me, thinking I did something to lead you on. And as bad as that shit is, it would be fucking
worse
if Ta'Shara said something to him first.”

“All right. All right. I get it. I'll handle it.”

“You better.”

“Ta'Shara won't say shit. I promise. I'll talk to her.”

I glare at him, wishing like hell that I could trust his ass to handle the situation—but I know how emotional bitches can get. As long as Ta'Shara stays all up in her feelings, she's a fucking threat to me and mines. “All right? Talk to her. Handle it—because you won't like it if
I
have to do it.”

“Y
o, T. Wait up,” Profit shouts.

Mack brakes.

“No. Don't stop,” I tell Mack, seeing Lucifer step out of the house and stand next to Profit. My gut loops into a giant knot. “I don't feel like dealing with his ass right now.”

“Ooookay,” Mack says, shifts into drive, and then floors it out of Ruby Cove.

I resist the urge to turn around. I don't have to. I feel Profit's heavy gaze on the back of my head.
Fuck him.
I can't get his betrayal out of my head. I doubt that I ever will.

“Trouble at home?” Romil asks.

None of your damn business.
I close my eyes and lean my head back. It's either that or start crying—and I'm not about to do that in front of a bunch of bitches that I hardly know.

Romil gets the hint and drops the damn subject.

“Damn, T. I didn't know that you were a stone-cold killer,” Mack says, puffing on a blunt as she corners out of Ruby Cove. “Dime told us how you took out that sand nigga at the liquor store.”

“Saved our fuckin' asses is what she did,” Dime says, nodding. “I ain't never seen no shit like it. The bitch was calm, cool, and collected as she capped that racist muthafucka. Shit went down so fast, my head is still spinning.” She laughs as she reaches for Mack's blunt.

“Is that shit true?” Mack asks.

I peel open my eyes and meet Mack's gaze in the rearview mirror. She's looking at me with amusement mixed with admiration. “I did what I had to do,” I say simply.

Mack's smile stretches wider. “See. I knew that I liked your ass for some reason.”

Minutes later, we pull up to another brick home surrounded by dead grass and four cars with their hoods up. I'm the last one to climb out and as I trail Dime into Mack's place, I note the number of stray dogs and cats patrolling the area.

“T, you want to hit this?” Romil holds out the shrinking blunt.

“Sure.” I don't even bother asking what the fuck is in the shit before putting it to my lips. I hope that it's strong enough to stop all the questions racing around in my head and to numb the pain in my heart.

Inside Mack's crib, we maneuver around stacked boxes and a pile of shoes. The air is also infused with strong incense, probably to mask the underlying smell of mildew from the brown carpet. Instead of giving a damn, I take another pull from the blunt and enjoy the feeling of a few brain cells melting.

Romil hits the Bose stereo and an old Snoop Dogg joint blasts through the speakers.

Mack directs me to the black sofa.

I plop down, still all in my feelings. I don't know what to do or where to go. I don't want to be the kind of bitch who lets her man disrespect her and put her through all kinds of bullshit in the name of love. Profit was supposed to be different. Our love was supposed to be different.

“You know, petal, you should look into hanging with me and my girls. We could use a bitch with your skills. NawhatImean? I'm talking about making some real gold coins. None of these scraps that the big dogs let fall off of their table.”

I don't know what the fuck she expects me to say to that, so I tug another hit on the blunt before passing it to Dime.

Dime nods, grinning. “You should do it.”

“Check it. I know that with you being all booed up with Profit you probably ain't exactly hurting for paper.
But
take it from us, it don't hurt for a bitch to be stacking her own paper on the side. For emergency. You feel me?”

“Real talk,” Romil says, pulling out a small brown vial.

“Brothahs in the game are always hollering about having a ride-or-die bitch on their arm, but that don't necessarily mean that their asses will remain loyal—or free. You gotta remember that niggas get locked up in the regular out here. You have a backup plan if Profit ever gets locked down?”

I shake my head.

“Hmph. Neither do most of these wifey-bitches flossing on their man's dime. A bitch always gotta have her own shit stacking. You feel me? At any moment, a trick can be broke, busted, and disgusted.”

I nod. They are making a whole lot of sense right now. With Reggie and Tracee Douglas gone, LeShelle and I beefing to the death, what the fuck do I have to fall back on?
Nothing.

I avert my gaze so that she doesn't know how close to home she's hitting. At this point, my entire life depends on Profit: the roof over my head, the food I eat, and any money I need for personal shit, I have to ask him for it. “Yeah. Yeah. I feel you.”

“Good. So are you in?” Mack asks, dipping the blunt in the vial.

“What's that?” I ask.

“Oh, this?” She holds up the vial and shakes the brown liquid inside. “This is
wet
. You ain't ready for no shit like this, li'l petal.”

“Stop calling me that,” I snap, irritated. “That bitch calls me that and it gets on my nerves.”

“Stop calling you what? Petal?” Mack asks, laughing. “That's what we call all you new Flowers. At least until you've proven yourself.”

“What happened to all of that smoke that you blew up my ass a few minutes ago?”

The girls look at each other and come to some kind of silent agreement.

“When you're right, you're right.” Mack laughs, taking out a new blunt and dipping it into Romil's vial. A few seconds later, she puts a flame to the tip and inhales. I watch her and her girls pass the shit back and forth. A wave of curiosity and jealousy washes over me. I don't like being left out.

“I'll take a hit.”

They all snicker.

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Mack shrugs. “If you think you're woman enough to handle it then . . . be my guest.” She passes the blunt.

There's something about the look on her face that gives me pause. I stare at the wet blunt and then ask, “What did you dip this into?”

“A little PCP,” Romil says. “This shit will get you higher than you've ever been in your entire life. Are you sure that you want this?”

Is she fucking kidding me?
“I can handle anything you throw my way.”

“Then let's get you wet, baby.” Romil passes the wet blunt to me.

They're all laughing when I take my first puff. The second I hold that shit in my lungs, I can feel the room breathe. Literally the walls grow spores and I can see it expand and contract. “Oh shit,” I moan, already unable to feel half of my face. In the next second, I can hear the hair growing out of my scalp. “Oh shit.”

“That's right. Don't fight it. Ride the wave.”

Ride the wave. Ride the wave.
Parts of my body start tingling. Shortly after,
every
part of my body tingles. After a full minute, I can't describe how good I feel. I brush my hand across my arm and then become fascinated by how smooth my skin feels. Is it that new cocoa butter I've been using, or the bath oil? I keep caressing myself and wondering how come I've never noticed this shit before.

Dime laughs. “Somebody is feeling good.”

“Huh?” I glance up and laugh.

“What's so funny?” Dime asks.

I slap my hand over my mouth but still manage to laugh even louder.

“What?” Dime insists.

“Your head,” I blurt out.

“What about it?”

“It's so fucking big.”

Mack and Romil join in laughing while Dime flips us the bird.

“Whatever, bitch,” Mack says. “You know your ass got a big head. Don't play.”

Dime finally smiles. The music is turned up, and we go through a case of beer before we decide to have a twerk-off. Since I've never done the dance before, I come off looking corny as shit. However, Dime and Romil put the game on lock. Their round booties bounce so good that I end up making it rain with the fifty bucks I have on me.

Determined to win the contest, Mack jumps up on her coffee table and makes her shit clap so hard that it sounds like her ass is applauding itself.

“WINNER! WINNER!” Romil and Dime shout, throwing their money all over Mack.

The Bose changes CDs and then Trey Songz croons at us.

“Aw. That's my joint,” I announce, throwing my hands up and joining Mack on the table. We dance . . . and then we grind. It's harmless fun so I don't take offense to Mack's hands being on my hips and then on my titties. Somewhere along the way, the temperature jumps thirty degrees. “Fuck. It's hot in here.”

My new friends giggle.

“What? Aren't you guys hot?”

“We can stand to crack a few windows,” Mack finally agrees.

Dime gets up to do that, but she moves way too slow and I start removing my shirt.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Mack laughs.

“Don't mind if I do.”

Dime and Romil laugh.

But I don't give a fuck about these hoes. I'm still mad about . . . about . . . about some shit. For a few minutes I struggle to remember what I'm supposed to be upset about, but instead break down, giggling.

“Awww. Somebody is feeling good.”

“Fuuuck. Yeah.” I roll my head back and ride the wave like a fuckin' surfer.

“So are you down or what?” Mack asks.

“Down with what?” I ask. “Y'all ain't saying shit about how we're supposed to be making this gold coin.”

“Don't worry. We'll tell you about it later. We got to make sure that you're a down-ass bitch first.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that you know how to keep your damn mouth shut. If we cut your ass in, it's some serious shit. We can't risk having a weak link in the chain.”

The girls fall silent as they cast their eyes in my direction.

I look around because I know that they can't be talking to me. When I realize they're serious, I crack the hell up.

Mack frowns. “Bitch, we ain't fucking around.”

“Whatever. I ain't begging you bitches for a fuckin' job—and I ain't cosigning onto no stupid shit either.”

“It's not stupid. It's foolproof,” Mack insists. “When the time is right and you've proven yourself to us, then we'll cut your ass in on it.”

If she thinks my ass should be grateful for what scraps her crew is talking about, she's mistaken.

“So what's up with you and Profit?” Romil asks. “Y'all already hitting a rough patch?”

I open my mouth to blab how much Profit ain't about shit and we may break up when I remember the number one rule when it comes to new girlfriends: Keep them out of you and your man's business. “Nah, girl. We good. I just wanted to get out of the house for a few. NawhatImean?”

“I feel you on that,” Dime says. “Niggas nowadays can stress a sistah out—always wanting to be up under them and shit. Can't a bitch breathe? Damn.”

We laugh and it feels good to finally be surrounded by friends.