Street Divas (15 page)

He rolls over onto his back—now half laughing and moaning.

I want to stay mad a little longer, but a smile tugs at my lips and I end up climbing on top of him and straddling him. “Aww. Did you hurt your hand?”

Python's black gaze shifts over to me. At the same time, I can feel his fat dick inching up against the back of my ass. “Let me see it.” With a pout, I reach for his hand. When I see his bleeding knuckles, I moan in sympathy. “Aww. Poor baby.” I bring it up to my mouth and then mop up the tangy blood with my tongue. “Mmmm.”

Python hikes up a brow, but then another smile tugs at his lips. “Your ass is fuckin' out of control.”

“Don't act like you don't like it.” I take his hand and then plant it underneath my shirt. Like a good boy, he squeezes my shit and gives me that little taste of pain that I've been dying for. Reaching behind me, I slide my hand beneath the elastic waist of his black sweatpants, and I grab that fat cock and start beating that shit to get him ready.

“Ah. That's why you've been mouthing off. Your ass wanna get fucked.”

“You know it, nigga.” I tighten my hold on his shit. “Why the fuck I always gotta beg for what supposed to belong to me?” Fast as a whip, I grab a pair of pliers from the floor and lock that shit on his fat meat before he has a chance to process it.

Python jerks up with a loud hiss. “Ow! What the fuck?”

“Oooh. Looks like I finally have your attention.”

“Fuck! Ease up!”

“Nah. Fuck that shit,” I yell, and give his shit a good yank. “I'm tired of this fuckin' bullshit. You're still messin' with that retarded yellow bitch?”

“W-what?” He tries to grab my hand, but my next yank has this muthafucka seeing stars.

“Stop playing me stupid, Python. You know I'm talking about your girl Lemonhead. Why is this bitch still in the picture? Ain't you learned your lesson about fucking with these fake-ass bitches?” I yank on his shit some more. “Every time I turn around, these bitches are crawling out of the woodwork like roaches. You like roaches, muthafucka? Is that it?”

“Shelle, baby, please.”

“Aww. I'm your baby now? What happened to all those bitches you were calling me a little while ago?”

“I-I'm sorry.”

“You sorry?” I cock my head. “Damn right you're sorry.”

He yelps and bangs his head back on the floor. As long as I got his ass like this, I'm definitely running shit. When I let go, I know we gonna go at it. That shit is okay. As long as I make my muthafuckin' point, it's all good. “You're in the trouble you are in now because you can't stop digging in these other bitches' asses. That cop told you she was carrying your baby and now this ho. What makes you think that bastard is yours?” While he writhes beneath me, I yank again. “Because she told you so? Didn't McGriff and Tyga stretch her shit out at the Pink Monkey, too? What makes you think that baby ain't their seed—or any other nigga who'll toss her ass fifty cents?”

Through his pain, our eyes connect again.

“Uh-huh. You didn't think I knew about that shit, did you? I ain't forgot how shit works down at the Pink Monkey. I used to toss your salad in the VIP, remember?” I take a chance and release his dick and then mush him in the head. “Get your head off her fat ass and start thinking for once.”

“Chronic,” Python's ringtone, starts blaring, and I look around until I see his phone vibrating in a pool of broken glass that used to be the coffee table. I reach for it and sure enough,
Lemonhead
is stretched across the screen. My eyes narrow as I toss the phone over and let it hit him in the center of his chest. “Handle that bitch . . . or I will. That's a muthafuckin' promise.”

N
iggas are talking.

In fact, for the last two days there's been more bullshit shoveled around than anyone knows what to do with. Topics jump around the Python and Fat Ace showdown, the captain of police's dead daughter and his missing grandson, the botched hit on Fat Ace's lil brother, and the fact that LeShelle sanctioned her own sister's rape into the Queen Gs, which landed the girl in a mental hospital. It all sounds like a soap opera on crack. The tension on the streets has never been thicker. Muthafuckas keep reminding each other to constantly watch they back. Retaliation is coming; we all know that much—it's the when and how that has us all staring at our own shadows sideways.

Even in FabDivas Hair Salon, bitches have their faces all twisted while they toss in their two cents.

“Shit. I think the fat bastard is dead,” my sister Cleo says as she lowers her head back over the sink.

Ms. Anna, the shop's owner, starts attacking her scalp like there's three years' worth of dirt caked on her head.

“Shit. That would be a blessing
and
a curse,” Pit Bull says, shaking her head. She is finally getting that tacky-ass silky-straight weave out of her head. “A blessing because the ruthless bastard has been put down and a curse because those Vice Lords will be coming at us with everything they got, especially that evil bitch Lucifer. Word on the street is she's worse than that one-eyed monster in charge now.”

“Shit. She can't be any worse than LeShelle's medieval ass.” Kookie laughs. “Hell, if y'all knew half the shit this bitch has sanctioned, y'all be running up in somebody's church tryna get saved.”

Ms. Anna surprises everyone and pipes in, “Both those bitches have bigger balls than most niggas I know.”

Pit Bull grabs her crotch. “Speak for yourself. My shit sags real low.”

Everyone chuckles uncomfortably because it's been rumored that the butch bitch is either a transvestite or one of those weird muthafuckas who have both man and woman private parts. But who the hell knows. As much as she talks about her balls, she flips the script and talks about her pussy just as much. I don't know what the hell she got going on down there, and I sure as fuck don't give a damn.

“Somebody gotta know something,” Kookie says.

I flip through the pages of one of these old-ass magazines, but then I get this weird sense that everyone is looking at me. I freeze and wait, but the hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck start rising, and I decide to sneak a quick peek over the magazine. Sure enough, Kookie and Pit Bull are looking dead in my face.

Oh, shit. They know.
A lump suddenly materializes in my throat, and all the swallowing in the world isn't getting that muthafucka to budge.

“Well?” Kookie asks.

“Well what?” My gaze shifts around.

Slowly, everyone else picks up on the growing tension.

“Surely you heard something. Isn't Ta'Shara like your main girl?”

I frown. “Whoa. We don't get down like that.”

“Ain't nobody saying that y'all bump uglies or nothing—just that you two hang and shit,” Pit Bull says.

The music is turned down, and heads start coming out from under the dryers. Ms. Anna needs to change the name of this salon to Nosy R Us.

I keep trying to swallow this huge lump, but I think this muthafucka is getting bigger not smaller. Same goes for my eyes.

“Damn, small fry. Whatchu looking all scared for? We asked your ass a simple question. Are you friends with LeShelle's sister or not?”

“Y-yeah.” I shrug. “We're cool.”

Kookie and Pit Bull share a look.

“Just cool?” Kookie asks. “You ain't been down to the hospital to check up on her or nothing? Her or that lil Vice nigga she was fucking around with? I mean, let all the lil Queen Gs tell it, you two are thick as thieves.”

“Yeah. That means that you knew those two were gettin' it in waaay before anyone else did. Right?”

I force myself to be calm—well, to
look
calm anyway. “Nah. I was surprised like everybody else.”

They call me a liar, though their lips don't move. It's all in their eyes and in the swivel of their necks. Instead of engaging in a staring contest that I know I'll lose, I lower my head and pretend that this is the most fascinating shit I've ever read, but these bitches' gazes remain locked on me. When I hear them get up from their chairs and walk over to me, I damn near have a heart attack.

Aw. Fuck. Am I about to get my ass beat?

Pit Bull sits to my right, while Kookie plops down on my left.

I look up and catch Cleo's worried gaze, and for a brief moment I wonder if she even has my back. The way other muthafuckas' families have been acting, I think I have good reason to be concerned.

“Whatchu reading?” Pit Bull asks, snatching the magazine out of my hands. She doesn't even bother to take a look at it before tossing it over her shoulder.

“What do you want?” I ask with attitude, which could get my head knocked off my shoulders.

“Why don't you come outside with us and let us holler at you for a minute?” Kookie says.

“For what?”

Her face twists. “I guess you'll find out once we get outside, won't you?” She stands.

Pit Bull stands up, too.

I look up at them, torn between telling them to kiss my ass and bawling like a fucking baby.
I knew this shit was going to fall back on me.

Cleo climbs out of her chair, her hair wet and dripping down her back as she walks over to where I'm sitting. “Is there a problem?”

“Nah. There ain't no problem. We just want to holler at Essence outside for a minute.”

Cleo plants her feet and folds her arms across her chest. “For what?”

The two Queen Gs flanking my sides turn their hard gazes toward her, but to Cleo's credit, she doesn't flinch and she doesn't budge.

“It's a personal matter,” Pit Bull says, rocking her head.

“You ain't got personal business with my lil sister. Anything that you want to talk to her about, you can say in front of me,” she tells them.

“No offense, Cleo. I respect what you're doing and all, but this shit doesn't have anything to do with you.”

Cleo's face gets harder by the second. It's her angry face, a look I know well since she'd been known to go off on me more than a fair amount of time growing up. “Like I said, anything you have to say to my baby sister, you can say in front of me. We're all Queen Gs. Family is family, but blood is blood. You feel me?”

I don't think I've ever been more proud to have Cleo as my sister than I am right now. This is how family is supposed to act. At least I know now that if there is some shit about to pop off, she'll most definitely have my back.

“Fine,” Kookie spits. “Let's take this shit outside.”

“A'ight,” Cleo agrees, and then shifts her hard stare at me. “C'mon, let's go, E.”

I climb up onto my wobbly legs, and these muthafuckas feel like they're filled with Jell-O as we walk across the shop toward the front door, with every eye following us. One person who looks relieved is Ms. Anna. I know she's tired of bitches fighting up in her shop.

Cleo and I follow Kookie and Pit Bull to the side of the building. When we stop, I make sure that I'm standing close to my sister, with my hand stretched into my jacket and locked around my gat. After my run-in with Lucifer, I vowed that it was going to be the last time a bitch caught me slipping.

Pit Bull snickers like she knows what's going on in my pocket. “Slow your roll, lil momma. Ain't no reason for bullets to start flying . . . yet.”

Cleo glances over at me. If she's surprised that my ass is strapped, it doesn't show on her face.

“Like I said, we just came out here to talk,” Kookie says.

“About what?” Cleo asks, folding her arms again.

“About Ta'Shara and Profit,” Kookie tells her. “Le Shelle wants to know if your lil sister has any new information. That's all. She's concerned.”

“Humph!” I roll my eyes.

“What?” Pit Bull says, shrugging. “Ain't she got a right to be concerned about her own blood?”

Not if she's the one who landed her in the hospital in the first place.
Everyone's eyes land on me again. “I ain't got nothing to tell you.”

“You haven't been to see her or nothing?” Kookie presses.

I shake my head but then wonder if I'm about to walk into a trap.
What if someone had seen me there—seen me talking to Lucifer?
My stomach twists into knots. If that shit got out, would Cleo switch sides then? “I didn't talk to her,” I hedge, trying to buy time.

“But you
can
go see her, right?” Pit Bull says. “Her foster parents will let you talk to her, right?”

Kookie adds, “Yeah . . . and maybe you can get in to see what's going on with her boyfriend. Find out if that nigga gonna pull through. Is he gonna wake up, or is he gonna be a vegetable or some shit.”

“Wait,” Cleo jumps in. “That place gotta be crawling with Vice.”

LeShelle's girls bounce their shoulders. “So? Her rolling up to the hospital is legit. She can see Ta'Shara—maybe she can tell what's going on. If not, she can always claim that she's friends with that nigga as well. It's worth a shot.”

“So you want her to play snitch?” Cleo says, trying to make sure she understands what they're saying.

I'm already a snitch. My gaze drops for a second, but I pick it back up in case they read guilt on my face.

“So? She ain't snitching to no cop or nothing. She's tryna get some information for LeShelle—our
queen.
Damn. Muthafuckas do covert operational shit all the time in the GD family. Why are you sweating this lil bullshit?” Pit Bull barks.

“She a kid,” Cleo says. “And you're talking about sending her ass into the lion's den with those Vice niggas. With all that's gone down these past few days, these niggas gotta be jumpy as fuck. They'll probably shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Bitch, please. We got niggas much younger than her neck-deep in dirt and wallowing in that muthafucka without complaint. Fam is fam. We're all sisters in these streets. If the head queen asks for a favor, what's with all this negotiating shit?”

Cleo rolls her eyes. “Please. This ain't street shit. This is family shit. Ain't nothing more dangerous than niggas getting in the middle of family shit. Ask Tyga. He tried to help Datwon and Python bridge some family bullshit, and the muthafucka took a bullet to the skull while Datwon got fed to Python's pet snake Damien. If LeShelle wants to see about her sister, why can't she roll over there and see her for herself?”

Kookie and Pit Bull look at each other while amused grins stretch across their faces.

“Uh-huh.” Cleo bobs her head. “So it's true, then. She's the damn reason her sister's up in that bitch in the first place, ain't she?”

Kookie shakes her head, but her grin refuses to falter. “Look, Cleo, we ain't out here to discuss all that. We're asking nicely for Essence to go in and try to get the four-one-one. Surely you'll want to deal with us than LeShelle. Muthafuckas tend not to like how her ass asks for a favor. You feel me?”

“Yeah. She's a rude bitch,” Pit Bull cosigns.

For the first time, Cleo hesitates. And it's not like I can blame her. Shit. LeShelle's name might make Freddy Krueger pause.

“Okay,” I say.

Everyone's head swivels back in my direction.

“I'll go to the hospital and see what I can find out.” Of course, I have no intention of telling LeShelle anything remotely resembling the truth. But with LeShelle and Lucifer allowing me to float in and out of the hospital, I can stop sneaking and keep tabs on my girl. LeShelle has another thing coming if she thinks I'm going to help her do a damn thing. If anything, I'm going to do all I can to help bring that bitch down.