Street Divas (30 page)

“S
TOP THE FUCKING CAR!”

Profit slams on the brakes while I bolt out of the passenger car door and race into the night toward my foster parents' burning house.

“TRACEE! REGGIE!”
They're not in there. Please, God. Don't let them be in there.
“TRACEE! REGGIE!”

“Ta'Shara, wait up,” Profit yells. His long strides eat up the distance between us even as I shove my way through the city's emergency responders. I've never seen flames stretch so high or felt such intense heat. Still, none of that shit stopped me. In my delusional mind, there is still time to get them out of there.

“Hey, lady. You can't go in there,” someone shouts and makes a grab for me.

As I draw closer to the front porch, Profit is able to wrap one of his powerful arms around my waist and lift me off my feet. “Baby, stop. You can't go in there.”

“Let me go!” My legs pedal in the air as I stretch uselessly for the door. “TRACEE! REGGIE!” My screams rake my throat raw.

Profit drags me away from the growing flames.

Men in uniform rush over to us. I don't know who they are and I don't care. I just need to know one thing. “Where are my parents? Did they make it out?”

“Ma'am, calm down. Please tell me your name.”

“WHERE ARE THEY?”

“Ma'am—”

“ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!”

“C'mon, man,” Profit says. “Give my girl something.”

The fireman draws a deep breath and then drops a bomb that changes my life forever.

“The neighbors reported the fire. Right now, I'm not aware of anyone making it out of the house. I'm sorry.”

“NOOOOOOO!” I collapse in Profit's arm. He hauls me up against his six-three frame and I lie my head on his broad chest. Before, I found comfort in his strong embrace, but not tonight. I sob uncontrollably as pain overwhelms me, but then I make out a familiar car down the street.

“Oh. My. God.”

Profit tenses. “What?”

My eyes aren't deceiving me. Sitting behind the wheel of her burgundy Crown Victoria, is LeShelle with a slow smile creeping across her face. She forms a gun with her hand and pretends to fire at us.

We're next.

LeShelle tosses back her head and, despite the siren's wail, the roaring fire, and the chaos around me, that bitch's maniacal laugh rings in my ears.

How much more of this shit am I going to take? When will this fuckin' bullshit end?

BOOM!

The crowd gasps while windows explode from the top floor of the house, but my gaze never waivers from LeShelle. My tears dry up as anger grips me.

She did this shit. I don't need a jury to tell me that the bitch is guilty as hell. How long has she been threatening the Douglas's lives? Why in the hell didn't I believe that she would follow through?

LeShelle has proven her ruthlessness time after time. This fucking Gangster Disciples versus the Vice Lords shit ain't a game to her. It's a way of life. And she doesn't give a fuck who she hurts.

My blood boils and all at once everything burst out of me. I wrench away from Profit's protective arms and take off toward LeShelle in a rage.

“I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!”

“TA'SHARA, NO,” Profit shouts.

I ignore him as I race toward LeShelle's car. My hot tears burn tracks down my face.

LeShelle laughs in my face and then pulls off from the curb, but not before I'm able to pound my fist against the trunk.

Profit's arms wrap back around my waist, but I kick out and connect with LeShelle's taillight and shatter that muthafucka. The small wave of satisfaction I get is quickly erased when her piece of shit car burps out a black cloud of exhaust in my face.

“NO! Don't let her get away. No!”

“Ta'Shara, please. Not now. Let it go!”

Let it go?
I round on Profit. “How the fuck can you say that shit?”

BOOM!

More windows explode, drawing my attention back to the only place that I've ever called home. My heart claws its way out of my chest as orange flames and black smoke lick the sky.

My legs give out and my knees kiss the concrete, all the while Profit's arms remain locked around me. I can't hear what he's saying because my sobs drown him out.

“This is all my fault,” tumbles over my tongue. I conjure up an image of Tracee and Reggie: the last time I'd seen them. It's a horrible memory. Everyone was angry and everyone said things that . . . can never be taken back.

Grief consumes me. I squeeze my eyes tight and cling to the ghosts inside of my head. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Profit's arms tighten. I melt in his arms even though I want to lash out.
Isn't it his fault for my foster parents roasting in that house, too?
When the question crosses my mind I crumble from the weight of my shame.

I'm to blame. No one else.

A heap in the center of the street, I lay my head against Profit's chest again and take in the horrific sight through a steady sheen of tears. The Douglas's were good people. All they wanted was the best for me and for me to believe in myself. They would've done the same for LeShelle if she'd given them the chance.

LeShelle fell in love with the streets and the make-believe power of being the head bitch of the Queen Gs. I didn't want anything to do with any of that bullshit, but it didn't matter. I'm viewed as GD property by blood, and the shit hit the fan when I fell in love with Profit—a Vice Lord by blood. Back then Profit wasn't a soldier yet. But our being together was taken as a sign of disrespect. LeShelle couldn't let it slide.

However, the harder I fight the streets' politics, the more I'm dragged down into her bullshit world of gangs and violence.

“I should have killed her when I had the chance.” If I had, Tracee and Reggie would still be alive. “She won't get away with this,” I vow. “I'm going to kill her if it's the last thing I do.”

“O
h my God, Eduardo. What do you think they will do to us? I don't want to die . . . I can't leave my son,” I cried, barely able to get my words out between sobbing and the fact that my teeth were chattering together so badly.

The warehouse type of room we were being held captive in was freezing. I mean freezing like we were sitting inside of a meat locker type of freezing. I could even see puffs of frosty air with each breath that I took. I knew it was summertime outside, so the conditions inside where we were being held told me we were purposely being made to freeze. The smell of sawdust and industrial chemicals were also so strong that the combination was making my stomach churn. Eduardo flexed his back against mine and turned his head as much as the ropes that bound us together allowed. He was trembling from the subzero conditions as well.

“Gabby, just keep your mouth shut. If we gon' die right now, at least we are together. I know I ain't say it a lot, but I love you. I love you for everything you did and put up with from me. I am sorry I ever let you get into this bullshit from the jump. It wasn't no place for you from day one, baby girl,” Eduardo whispered calmly through his battered lips. With everything that had happened, I didn't know how he was staying so calm. It was like he had no emotion behind what was happening or like he had already resigned himself to the fact that we were dead. In my opinion, his ass should've been crying, fighting, and yelling for the scary men to let me go. Something. Eduardo was the drug dealer, not me, so maybe he had prepared himself to die many times. I hadn't ever prepared myself to die, or to be tied up like an animal, beaten, and waiting to possibly get my head blown off. This was not how I saw my life ending up. All I had ever wanted was a good man, a happy family, a nice place to live, and just a good life.

“I don't care about being together when we die, Eduardo! You forget I have a son? Who is going to take care of him if I'm dead over something I didn't do?” I replied sharply. A pain shot through my skull like someone had shot me in the head. I was ready to lose it. My shoulders began quaking as I broke down in another round of sobs. I couldn't even feel the pain that had previously permeated my body from the beating I had taken. I was numb in comparison to the pain I was feeling in my heart behind leaving my son. I kept thinking about my son and my mother, who were probably both sitting in a strange place wondering how I had let this happen to them. That was the hard part, knowing that they were going to be innocent casualties of my stupid fucking actions. I should've stuck to carrying mail instead of stepping into the shit that had me in this predicament. I was the dummy in this situation. I was so busy looking for love in all the wrong places. I had done all of this to myself.

“Shhh. Don't cry. We just have to pray that Luca will have mercy on us. I will try to make him believe that it wasn't us. I'll tell him we didn't do it. We weren't responsible for everything that happened,” Eduardo whispered to me.

“But he's the one who got us out so fast. I keep thinking that he only did that because he thought we might start talking. He got us out just so he could kill us, don't you see that? We are finished. Done. Dead,” I said harshly. The tears were still coming. It was like Eduardo couldn't get what I was saying. We were both facing death and I wasn't ready to die!

“You don't know everything. Maybe it was something else. Let me handle—” Eduardo started to tell me, but his words were clipped short when we both heard the sound of footsteps moving toward us. The footsteps sounded off like gunshots against the icy cold concrete floors. My heart felt like it would explode through the bones in my chest and suddenly it felt like my bladder was filled to capacity. The footsteps stopped. I think I stopped breathing too. Suddenly, I wasn't cold anymore. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing fiercely through my veins, but suddenly I was burning up hot.

“Eduardo Santos,” a man's voice boomed. “Look at you now. All caught up in your own web.” The man had a thick accent, the kind my older uncles from Puerto Rico had when they tried really hard to speak English.

“Luca . . . I . . . I . . . can . . .” Eduardo stuttered, his body trembling so hard it was making mine move. Now I could sense fear and anguish in Eduardo's voice. That was the first time Eduardo had sounded like he understood the seriousness of our situation.

“Shut up!” the man screamed. “You are a rat and in Mexico rats are killed and burned so that the dirty spirit does not corrupt anything around it,” the man called Luca screamed. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I couldn't keep the tears from bursting from the sides.

I was too afraid to even look at him. I kept my head down, but I had seen there were at least four more pairs of feet standing around. Eduardo and I had been working for this man and had never met him. I knew he was some big drug kingpin inside the Calixte Mexican drug cartel that operated out of Miami, but when I was making the money, I never thought of meeting him, especially not under these circumstances. I was helping this bastard get rich and couldn't even pick him out of a police lineup if my life depended on it.

“Please, Luca. I'm telling you I wasn't the rat. Maybe it was Lance . . . I mean, I just worked for him. He was the one responsible to you. He was the one that kept increasing everything. I did everything I could to keep this from happening,” Eduardo pleaded his case, his words rushing out of his mouth.

“Oh, now you blame another man? Another cowardly move. Eduardo, I have people inside of the DEA who work for me. I know everything. If I didn't pay off the judge to set bail so I could get you and your little girlfriend out of there, you were prepared to sign a deal. You were prepared to tell everything. Like the fucking cock-sucking rat that you are. You know nothing about death before dishonor. You would've sold out your own mother to get out of there. You failed the fucking test, you piece of shit,” Luca spat, sucking his teeth. “Get him up,” Luca said calmly, apparently unmoved by Eduardo's pleas.

“Luca! Luca! Give me another chance, please!” Eduardo begged, his voice coming out as a shrill scream. His words exploded like bombs in my ears. Another chance? Did that mean that Eduardo had snitched? Did that mean he put me in danger when I was only doing everything he ever told me to do? Did Eduardo sign my death sentence without even telling me what the fuck he was going to do? I immediately thought about my family again. These people obviously knew where I lived and where they could find my mother and my son. A wave of cramps trampled through my guts. Before I could control it, vomit spewed from my lips like lava from a volcano.

“What did you do to me, Eduardo?” I coughed and screamed through tears and vomit. I couldn't help it. I didn't care anymore. They were going to kill me anyway, right? “You fucking snitch! What did you do?” I gurgled. I had exercised more loyalty than Eduardo had. The men that were there to kill us said nothing and neither did Eduardo. I felt like someone had kicked me in the chest and the head right then. My heart was broken.

Two of Luca's goons cut the ropes that had kept Eduardo and I bound together. It was like they had cut the strings to my heart too. Eduardo didn't even look at me as they dragged him away screaming. I fell over onto my side, too weak to sit up on my own. Eduardo had betrayed me in the worst way. I was just a pawn in a much, much bigger game. And all for what? A few extra dollars a week that I didn't have anything to show for now except maybe some expensive pocketbooks, a few watches, some shoes and an apartment I was surely going to never see again. Yes, I had been living ghetto fabulous, shopping for expensive things that I could've never imagined in my wildest dreams, but I had lost every dollar that I had ever stashed away for my son as “just in case” money. I had done all of this for him and in the end I had left him nothing.

“Please. Please don't kill me,” I begged through a waterfall of tears as I curled my body into a fetal position. With renewed spirit to see my son, I begged and pleaded for my life. I told them I wasn't a snitch and that I had no idea what Eduardo had done. I got nothing in response. There was a lot of Spanish being spoken, but I could only understand a fraction of it; so much for listening to my mother when she tried speaking Spanish to me all of my life.

“I promise I didn't speak to any DEA agents or the police. Please tell Luca that it wasn't me,” I cried some more, pleading with the men that were left there to guard me. None of the remaining men acted like they could hear me. In my assessment, this was it. I was staring down a true death sentence. I immediately began praying. If my mother, a devout Catholic, had taught me nothing else, she had definitely taught me how to pray.

“Hail Mary full of Grace . . .” I mumbled, closing my eyes and preparing for my impending death. As soon as I closed my eyes, I was thrust backwards in my mind, reviewing how I'd ever let the gorgeous, smooth-talking Eduardo Santos get my gullible ass into this mess.