Street Divas (25 page)

August ...

 

“S
he's in a mental hospital?” Profit asks with his face twisting in pain. From the moment he was pulled off the respirator, he's been asking about Ta'Shara nonstop. When Lucifer and Fat Ace can't distract him or get his mind focused solely on getting better, they turn to me to give him the bad news.

“I'm sorry,” I tell him. “But she sort of checked out. The doctors say that she may snap out of it at any time or she . . .”

“Can remain that way for the rest of her life,” he finishes my sentence, and then turns his gaze back up to the hospital ceiling.

I get uncomfortable at the sight of tears rolling out of the corners of his eyes, but for the first time, I think I actually
get
it. After months of telling Ta'Shara that she was crazy for risking her life to be hooking up with this boy, I think I understand what she couldn't explain.

And I'm jealous.

“I want to see her,” Profit says after a long silence. “I called her parents, but Mr. Douglas screamed at me for not telling them that I was in a gang, and then he said something about polishing me off if I ever even think about seeing Ta'Shara again. Funny, huh? I'm lying in this hospital because of her sister and yet somehow
I
get blamed.”

He sucks in a deep breath and then swipes at his tears. “I couldn't do anything. There were just too many of them and . . . they made me watch. How? How could she do something like that to her own
sister
?”

“First you'd have to understand that LeShelle isn't exactly human. She'll do anything to stay on top, and you two together threatened that for her. I tried to warn Ta'Shara, but she clearly kept remembering a different sister than the one she has now.”

Profit shakes his head as more tears roll. “At one point, Ta'Shara stopped fighting. The look on her face . . . I'll never forget it as long as I live.”

Without thinking, I reach over and squeeze his hand. I want to say something, but what? I saw Ta'Shara that night—I saw what those muthafuckas did to her body. I can't begin to imagine having to go through anything like that, let alone live with the knowledge that my own flesh and blood ordered the deed done.

“Right now I wish that I could explain to her foster parents what really happened that night.”

“Please don't blame them. They're really hurt right now. I'm sure if they knew that I was a Queen G, they would ban me, too.”

Profit tilts his head. “Hey, maybe you can get me in to see her?”

“Me?” I blink stupidly at him. “I don't know about that.”

“What? Why not? You're on the guest list—you can get me in.”

I throw my hands up and shake my head. “No, no. I'm already in over my head in this shit. I don't like the fact that two of the meanest bitches on the street even know my fuckin' name, and now you want me to risk getting put on the Douglas's shit list, too?”

Profit levels his puppy-dogs eyes on me and then flashes me his cute dimples. “Please? I have to see her.”

I shake my head, but I'm already caving—and he knows it.

 

 

Two hours later, I get Profit situated in a hospital wheelchair. Since there is no way I'm going to get him past the two large Vice Lords posted outside the door, we included them in our scheme to take him over to the mental hospital to see Ta'Shara. Frankly, I didn't think either of them would go for it, but clearly the VL soldiers have developed a weak spot for Profit and actually help me get him past the nurses' station and drive us to the hospital.

The entire time, I'm calling myself every name in the book. I know that continuing to be involved in all this is dangerous, but here my dumb ass is, hanging with the Vice Lords more now than with my own set. That shit is not good.

“Stop beating yourself up,” Profit says, snickering. “No woman can say no to this face.”

“I see all those bullets didn't do shit to your fucking ego,” I say.

He laughs and I have to admit that I like its rich sound. During the short drive, I can't stop sneaking looks over at him. His six-foot-three frame is leaner than usual, and he looks white instead of his usual honey color, but none of that takes away from him being fine as hell. While I'm staring, he glances over at me and smiles.

“What?” he asks.

“Huh? Oh. Nothing.” Feeling the heat in my face, I jerk my gaze back around so I can pay attention to the road.

There's a weird silence between us for a couple of miles before Profit says, “If I haven't said it already, I really want to thank you for being here these last few months. I know this shit has put you in an awkward position between the sets.”

“You have no idea.”

“Are you kidding me? I've met LeShelle. I have more than a
damn
good idea, but I'll tell you what—her ass needs to be checking for me, 'cause I'm coming after that ass. I done told my brother and Lucifer to step back off that bitch. I personally want to handle this shit.”

I draw in a deep breath and shake my head.

“What?”

“This is how this shit keeps going. A nigga shoots one nigga and then his family come hard at the shooter to take him out. But then that family gets pissed and wants revenge, so they come in hard after that family, and on and on and on it goes. The shit never stops. We stay at war.

“And you want to talk about scary? How about that bitch Lucifer? What the hell is up with her? I toss her a few names and she goes after muthafuckas by cutting off their dicks and shoving them down their throats? That's sick.”

Profit shrugs. “She likes doing wet work. Other than that, she's a sweetheart.”

“Right. These bitches out here are as crazy as the niggas, if not more so. It's like they got something to prove. Like you don't need balls to have balls.”

He laughs, but this time it annoys me.

“What's so fucking funny?”

“You. If you feel that way about it, why the hell are you a Queen G?”

“Because I was born into this shit,” I snap. “That's why and I'm sick of it. And after seeing what happened to my girl Ta'Shara . . .” I shake my head. “I got to get the hell up out of here.” I glance back over Profit. “That used to be Ta'Shara's goal until she met you.”

Profit's large caramel-colored eyes look wet. “So you think this shit is all my fault, too?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Actually you did. If Ta'Shara never hooked up with me, then she wouldn't be sitting in a crazy hospital right now.”

What the hell am I supposed to say to that shit? No, I didn't intend to say it, but the truth is the truth, right?

We squash the conversation and ride the rest of the way to the hospital in silence. Once we park, Profit's guardians climb out of their SUV and help me get Profit back into the wheelchair so I can roll him into the hospital.

The receptionist pulls her nose out of a book as we stroll in. Her eyes widen at the sight of the two big niggas strolling in behind me. “Uh, hello, Ms. Blackmon. You're here late.”

“Yeah. Busy day,” I say, signing my name on the guest list.

“Are all them with you?” the woman asks.

“No. Just my brother here,” I say, and then flash the bodyguards a sweet smile. “You two don't mind waiting out here, do you?”

They glance at each other.

“It's cool,” Profit says, and gives them a look that tells them to chill.

They still look like they want to argue, but the biggest muthafucka bucks his head at me and says, “Thirty minutes.” He pulls back his jacket so I can see his gat in his waistband. “After that, we come in to get you.”

I roll my eyes and then resume pushing Profit toward Ta'Shara's room. Halfway down the hallway, I can tell that Profit is getting anxious by the way he keeps shifting around in his chair.

When we reach Ta'Shara's room, I peek inside first and see that she's still sitting in the dark in a chair next to the window and staring out at the city. It's like time is standing still for her.

“Is she in there?” Profit asks.

“Yeah. C'mon.” I hip bump the door and then roll Profit in backward. I go to hit the light switch.

“No,” Profit barks, and then softens his voice by saying, “Leave it off.” He cocks his head and then proceeds to roll himself over to the window.

I glance at Ta'Shara to see if Profit's voice pulled her out of whatever shocked state that she's in, but she doesn't even move. Standing silently by the wall, I watch as Profit rolls to a stop beside her chair.

“Shara?” he whispers softly. “Can you hear me, baby?” He takes one of her hands and presses a kiss against the back of it. “Oh, baby. Please snap out of it. I don't know what I'll do if you don't come back to me.”

Tears roll down my face at a clip that is fucking embarrassing. At the same time, I can't get myself to look away.

“I'm so sorry, baby.” Profit's voice is choked with emotion. “This shit is all my fault. I should've protected you better. I should've . . . fought harder . . . I should've . . .” He presses her hand back against his lips, kisses it, and then drenches her hand with his tears. “Come to me, baby. I promise I'm going to set all this shit right. I'm going to prove that I can protect and love you the way you deserve to be loved. Come back to me.”

Profit brushes Ta'Shara's hair back over her shoulder so that he can stare at her in the moonlight. “I love you,” he whispers over and over again. “Please come back to me.”

I
t's time.

I've been putting this shit off for far too long. I can't believe my ass is nervous, too. However, this morning, I wake up knowing in my heart that today is the day I need to see Isaac. For weeks now, I've let that last argument with Terrell fuck with me. Yeah, I'm sorry that I blew up at him, but shit. He hurt my fuckin' feelings, and that shit doesn't happen often. I'm wrong for jumping on him when all he did was spit the truth.

Cedric senses my change in mood, and even after a good dicking down, I'm not even in the mood for flapjacks. “Are you ever going to tell me what's up?” he asks, sipping on his coffee and staring at me from across the table.

“Nothing's up. I got a lot of shit I got to do today.”

“What kind of shit?”

I stab him with a sharp look.

“Look. I ain't trying to get in your business or nothing. It's just that you've been walking around with your bottom lip mopping the floor. C'mon, talk to me.”

Staring into those beautiful green eyes, I want to crack my chest open and confess everything, but now ain't the time. “Later,” I tell him, getting up. “Right now I got to get over to the Big House.”

Cedric's thick brows jump up, but he doesn't say shit when I finally turn to get my purse and car keys.

An hour later, my ass is sitting in a metal chair, waiting for my husband to be led into the visiting room. For the hundredth time, I'm thinking my ass should've smoked something to relax my nerves before I rolled up in here.

At last the doors open, and a stream of niggas are directed into the room. My eyes zoom to the nigga who still holds the biggest part of my heart: Isaac. Six-five with shoulders the size of mountains and there isn't an ounce of fat to be seen nowhere. His muscled thighs and arms have me itching to stand up and rip my muthafuckin' clothes off right here and now—fuck the consequences.

Ain't that the damn reason I've put up with his bullshit for so damn long? Yeah, he did a lot of good shit, too, but his ass was careless when it came to handling my heart. I ain't mad because his ass used to slang or gangbang with the best the streets had to offer. Neither one of us wrote the rules on how to survive out here. But I do fault his ass for whispering those sweet lies into my ears night after night. I'm equally mad at myself for believing them.

“Well, well, well. If it ain't my baby girl. You've come out to see me, huh?” Isaac's eyes twinkle like black diamonds as he settles down into his chair behind the Plexiglas. “You're looking good, Peaches. Then again, you always did take good care of yourself.”

“Thanks. You look good, too,” I say, raking my gaze over his shaved head and remembering what it used to feel like when I gripped the back of that muthafucka when he was fuckin' the shit out of me. I look around and complain, “Goddamn. It's hot in this bitch.”

Isaac chuckles. “Yeah. I miss you, too. Believe I'm counting the days until I get some of that homemade peach pie.”

I roll my eyes, but my damn smile remains in place. He has that effect on me.

“I've been hearing some disturbing things from the street. How's Terrell holding up?”

“Like a soldier,” I tell him, not wanting to get too into that shit in case muthafuckas are listening.

Isaac bobs his head, while a half smile slopes one side of his mouth. “Good. Glad to hear that shit. The war behind these damn bars is as heated as it is out there on the streets. These fuckin' hooks in here are strutting with they chests all out because I hear some bitch has been taking out a lot of Terrell's crew.”

I shake my head. “Look, I didn't come up here to rehash all that gang bullshit. I've come to talk to you about some other shit—our bullshit, as a matter of fact.” If my getting heated bothers him, it doesn't show on his face.

“A'ight. Say what's on your mind.”

I shut down. My throat closes the fuck up.

Isaac cocks his head. “What? Am I supposed to be a fuckin' mind reader now?”

“Fuck you, Isaac.”

“Hell. I wish you could. Maybe it would work out some of that stress in your face.”

“The stress I feel right now, baby boy, is all on you.”

“What the hell have I done from behind bars that's supposedly causing you stress now?”

“Don't be an ass. It's what you did
before
you got in here. It's what you did the entire time we were together.”

“Aw, shit. Not this again.”

“Yes, this shit again. It's about all those fuckin' bitches you fucked in all those other area codes that I let slide.”

“Look, Peaches. I've apologized for all that shit. What else do you want me to say? Shit. I'm a man, and a man has fuckin' urges and needs that you and all those man-hating bitches out there will never understand. So if you ain't got shit else to do but be sitting up in the house and getting mad about shit that happened
years
ago, then you do you, boo. Personally, I don't want to fuckin' hear about it no goddamn more.” He jumps up out of his seat and starts to head to the door.

“Get your ass back over here, nigga. I ain't finished talking to you.”

Isaac, as well as every nigga up in here, whips his head around.

“Y'all mind y'all's fuckin' business,” Isaac barks. Everybody turns away, but we both know they're watching to see what the fuck he's gonna do.

“A'ight,” he says, though I know if he could reach through this damn fake-ass glass right now, he would slap the taste out of my mouth for disrespecting him like this in front of so many people. “Speak your piece, Ma. Clearly you got a lot on your chest.” Isaac plops down into his chair.

I take another moment to try and calm down, but at this point, it's impossible. “I need a simple yes or no.”

A muscle twitches along Isaac's jaw as he folds his arms. “A'ight.”

Heart hammering, I lock gazes with my love, my husband, and pray like hell that I'm wrong in my suspicion. “Are you Mason's father?”