Street Divas (14 page)

Tears blur my vision, but when I rush outside, the late spring air does wonders against my clammy skin. That relief is short-lived because the heavy weight of Kookie's and Pit Bull's gazes lands back on me. This time, when our eyes connect, fear skips down my spine. Suddenly, I don't feel Python's blanket of protection at all. In fact, I feel like a crumbled up Flower who has wandered over onto the wrong side of town. Baby Thug's voice fills my head.
You're in over your head, and you don't even know it.

As I rush down Momma Peaches's porch steps and then hightail it back toward my SUV, police cars start rolling out. Shit. I want to be right behind them so they don't have to come right back and white-chalk my ass.

Tap. Tap.

I whip my head back around to my rolled-up window, and these two ugly, jacked-up bitches are sneering at me through the glass.

“TICKTOCK, TRICK,” Pit Bull shouts.

My hand trembles as I turn over the car. Still I got a little bit of pride left and I can't let them know that I'm seconds away from crapping in my panties. I flip them a bird and yell, “Sit and rotate, bitches!” I shift the car into drive and whip away from the curb.

Behind me, those evil hoes shout, “TICKTOCK!”

“T
hat bitch is over there right now?” I ask, and then curse under my breath. What I wouldn't give for five minutes alone with that retarded muthafucka who thinks she's going to take my spot. My taste for blood these last couple of days has only gotten stronger, and I know that Yo-Yo is just the bitch I can feast on to give me the little satisfaction I need.

“She's walking into Momma Peaches's place right now,” Kookie tattles.

My eyes cut over toward the bedroom door. Python is busy talking to McGriff in the living room. Hell, my ass is even doing a mental calculation on the odds of being able to sneak out of this West Memphis crib, float out to Shotgun Row, murk that pregnant monkey, and make it back here before Python suspects a muthafuckin' thing.

“Fuck. Watch her ass and let me know what happens.”

“Cool, girl. You know we got your back.”

I roll my eyes at that shit. Anybody who boasts that kind of shit usually is looking for a soft spot to plant a knife. “Don't talk about it—be about it” is my motto. “A'ight. Get back at me.” I disconnect the call when Kookie shouts. “What now?” I ask, irritated. I want to get in Python's face about all these loose jump-offs he still got floating around here. This foul shit has got to stop.

“Giiirrrl, I hope y'all plan to stay away from down here for a while because Supercop got the whole damn police force down here. They done busted down y'all's door and everything.”

My survival instincts kick in, and I sneak another look toward the door. “Who are they looking for—me or Python?”

“Python—from what I hear.”

I exhale a quick breath but know all that shit can change if Ta'Shara and her Vice Lord lover start snitching. I need to find out what the hell is going on with that situation, but no doubt if I pop up, Tracee and Reggie will be in my face bumping their gums and riding my nerves. “Yo, Kookie. See if you can find Ta'Shara's friend for me.”

“Who dat?”

“Um, Essence, I think it is. She stays around the block.” At Kookie's silence, I add, “Cleo's little sister.”

“Oh. A'ight.”

“Tell her I need her to peep that situation with Ta'Shara and her man, and then I need for her to get back at me.”

“You think she'll do that? I mean, if they friends and all.”

“Persuade her ass,” I snap. “If she has a problem fulfilling her obligation to the Queen G family, then put your foot in her ass.”

Christopher suddenly appears at the door, looking like an ashy and nappy-headed mess. “I'm hungry,” the bastard whines. Why didn't Python grab this nigga some clothes while he was kidnapping muthafuckas?

I cut my eyes over at this annoying lil fuck. I can literally feel my blood pressure jump. “Hold on, Kookie.” I drop my cell phone from my ear and yell, “Tell your damn daddy that you're hungry. I ain't y'all's damn cook and maid up in this bitch!”

He drops his head lower, and that shit gets me rolling my eyes harder. “I don't believe this shit.” I put the phone back up to my ear. “Kookie, girl, let me call you back. I gotta feed Python's whiny-ass son. Looks like the only name change I'm gonna get is
Mammie
around here.”

Kookie laughs. “A'ight, girl. You hang in there. That nigga is gonna do the right thing.”

“Humph. It better be soon. That's all I know. Handle that situation for me and call me back.” I disconnect the call and drag in a deep breath. “Seven years old and don't know how to feed himself,” I huff under my breath. “This is bullshit.”

Stomping across the large bedroom in a pair of booty shorts and a tight tee, it takes everything I have not to shove the boy out of my way. When I storm into the huge open space that's currently serving as our living room, Python is running on a treadmill, with his top lieutenants, overseers, and enforcers huddled around talking business as well as strategy.

At the sight of Python's chiseled hard-body covered with tats and sweat, my clit starts jumping. Sure he looks like a massive pit bull running on that muthafucka, but he has my ass trained well to respond when he's pumping that much testosterone around. If none of these niggas was up in here, I'd be trying to relieve some of my own stress.

“C'mon in here,” I tell Christopher, and lead him into the kitchen. But when I open the fridge and then the cabinets, there ain't shit up in this muthafucka. “Ain't this about a bitch?!”

Storming back out of the kitchen, I make a beeline straight toward Python, who's stepping off the treadmill and toweling the sweat from around his neck. “That nigga is some fuckin' where,” he growls. “Big muthafucka like that ain't just disappeared into thin air.”

“Yo. We're trying. We got a couple of plants at the hospital, but there's as many Vice Lords crawling around that muthafucka as police officers. This shit ain't easy. Not by a long shot. Unless we're rolling up in there like we did last time, we're going to have to be patient with this one,” McGriff says.

Python's face damn near twists off. “Fuck that. We're in a him-or-me situation now. I can't rest until I know that nigga is six feet under. This ain't about money, drugs, territory, or even bitches right now. You feel me?” he barks at McGriff. “As many plugs as I put in that muthafucka, he should be down. But I'm starting to think he and his brother eat bullets like muthafuckin' vitamins.”

McGriff nods. “I feel you. That young nigga took a whole damn clip. Them niggas must've made a deal with the devil or something.”

Python flings his towel, and the shit snaps against the right side of McGriff 's face. The nigga jumps, his eyes bug in shock.

“You finished admiring those niggas?” Python barks, thrusting out his chest and looking like he's two seconds from jumping his own right-hand man. The whole room goes quiet. If a fly floated between these two niggas right now, bullets or fists would start flying.

McGriff swallows and finds his voice. “Nah, man. It ain't nothing like that. I'm thinking we need to come at them with something harder, is all. I got no love for none of those hooks. You know that.”

Python remains in a fighting stance. It's clear in his face that he'd rather fight this shit instead of hug it out.

“C'mon, Python,” McGriff says, flashing a nervous smile. “You know how I feel about those fuckin' slobs.”

Python grunts and then turns his back on his nigga. Despite his two-hour workout, we can all still see the tension coiled in every inch of his body. “I want that muthafucka found—
today.
”

Normally, I would try to stay away from him when he's in a black mood, but not today. I'm pissed at his ass. Folding my arms, I huff an impatient breath to get his attention.

Python glances over and gives me the shut-the-fuck-up look and then turns back toward his nigga.

McGriff clears his throat. “We also need to see about bringing Momma Peaches out here. It ain't safe with her alone on Shotgun Row right now. I'm concerned about a blackout being ordered.”

“Blackout on me?” Python's chest swells up while outrage twists his face. “Those muthafuckas want to murk my whole family? Fuck that. We're going at this nigga hard. I want that nigga's family tree wiped clean. Feel me? I want the streets red with blood.”

McGriff tosses up his hands. “We've tried that shit before, remember? Ain't a whole lot known about that nigga. Hell, we were all surprised to learn that the muthafucka even had a brother last year.”

“Well the bastard didn't crawl out from up under a rock.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Those fuckin' hooks did a good-ass job hiding his peoples. Our best bet is to go at his soldiers hard, take out as many of those muthafuckas as we can. We do that, we're liable to smoke that big nigga out.”

I can tell by reading my nigga's face that shit ain't good enough. He wants to go medieval—put that nigga's head on a pike and roll through every hood in the city to let those niggas know that the nasty fuck was murked and who the hell did the shit.

“If you want to get a king's attention, you don't go after pawns,” I tell McGriff. “You go after the nigga's queen.”

Python smirked. “I already did that, remember?”

Melanie wasn't his queen. She was yours.
“Shit. That crooked pig could've just been his jump-off . . . or a way to keep tabs on you.”

Python's jaw tightened. I struck a nerve.

“What about that other bitch I've heard so much about? That right-hand evil bitch they call Lucifer. Maybe she's really his queen.” I fold my arms. “Most ride-or-die chicks are.” My gaze raked Python up and down. “Even when the man they're banging for don't realize it.”

All the niggas start exchanging looks, like this shit never occurred to them.

For the first time in days, Python smiles. “Beauty and brains.” He glanced over to his boys. “McGriff—”

“I'm on it,” he says, hopping up from the edge of the sofa.

“And about Momma Peaches,” Python barks. “Beef up security. The only way she leaving Shotgun Row is by body bag—she already told me that much.”

McGriff sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head like his boss. “Done. But I gotta tell you that between them hooks and the po-po rolling through, they're gonna take a serious hunk out of our cheese. Niggas are gonna gripe about tryna eat.”

Python looks unmoved as he sits down on a weight bench and starts on his arm curls. “Tell them niggas to squash that bullshit. We are at war. We lose and ain't nobody gonna eat.” He does a few more curls and shakes his head. “What's with these young, pussy-fucks? Niggas need to man up, show that they're down with the cause. This shit is not a drill. The first soldier who steps up with that bullshit you put your foot in that ass. I mean that shit. Get them niggas to fall in line.”

“Done,” McGriff says, looking eager to leave.

Python's gaze cuts back over to me and what I got on. “Speaking of which, what up, Shelle?” He slaps me on the ass and then watches it jiggle. “What have I told you about parading around in shit like this when my niggas are over here?”

Nigga, is you for real?
“Your
son
is hungry,” I say, clucking my tongue.

Python's face twists up. “And?”

I roll my neck. “
And
what do you think?”

“Ain't this about a bitch?” he swears under his breath, and then looks at McGriff. “Niggas ain't shit. Bitches ain't shit.”

“Excuuuuse me?”

A vein twitches along his jaw as his black gaze returns to mine.

“Who the fuck you callin' a bitch? That bastard is yours not mine. Dig his damn momma back up and tell her ass to breastfeed him.”

Python drops his barbell and comes up swinging. I hear the
slap
probably a good three seconds before I feel the pain explode on the left side of my face. By that time, I'm on the floor and blinking stars from my eyes.

Quick as a black panther, Python's massive frame crouches over me. “Look around down there and see if you can find your damn mind, bitch. Who the fuck are you talking to?”

I touch my bottom lip and see that it's bleeding. “Fuck you!”

Chairs screech all around us, and suddenly niggas start making excuses to leave.

“Yo. We catch up with you later, man,” McGriff says, holding his fist up for a quick bump before rushing toward the door.

“Ayo, G.” Python calls McGriff back while I pull myself off the floor.

“Whassup?”

“Take Lil Man with you. Get him a Happy Meal or something while Shelle and I discuss a few things for a minute.”

“A'ight, cool.” McGriff turns toward Christopher. “C'mon, Chris. You heard your old man.”

Christopher hesitates, but when he sees Python reach for his weight-lifting belt, a fire lights under his ass and he scrambles out the door with the other GD niggas.

I have an idea of what Python thinks he's about to get started, and I turn back toward the bedroom.

“Now where in the fuck do you think you're going?”

“Fuck you, Python. I ain't in the mood for your bullshit.”

WHAP!

I jump at the feel of the silver spikes on his leather belt biting into my skin. “OW! Stop it, Python! I don't feel like fuckin' with you right now!”

His other hand whips across my right side, and another explosion of stars flashes behind my eyes, but this time I come back around with my claws out. My clit starts thumping the moment my nails sink into his lower left cheek and then rake upward.

“FUCK!” he roars.

The sight of blood pouring from the four large jagged lines before my claws are extracted from his face gives me this crazy-ass high that has me laughing like a maniac. In the next second, Python backhands me so hard that it actually lifts me off the floor and sends me crashing into the glass coffee table. Glasses, dishes, and even a toolbox and some other shit crash down around my head, but I still can't stop laughing.

“Oh. You like that shit, do you?” He touches his face and sees the blood, but then a sinister smile carves its way onto his ugly face. “You want to play rough, baby? I got something for your ass. I'm tired of you always talking shit.” He lunges with his fist soaring toward my face like a locomotive.

A rush of adrenaline surges through me, and I shift my head out of the way and hear Python's fist hit the hard floor littered with glass. His painful roar has me convinced that there's nothing but concrete beneath this thin, cheap-ass carpet. If he hadn't just been trying to knock my ass out, I might feel sorry for him. As it is, I push him over to the side while he tries to shake the pain out of his bruised hand.

“Serves your ass right,” I tell him, getting up.