Boss Divas (17 page)

“W
hat the fuck do you mean that she's still alive?” I hiss, clutching this cheap-ass, pre-paid phone while pacing in the bathroom. “How hard is it to shank a bitch in hold-up?”

“You didn't tell me about her friends,” Avonte says. “Our girl in the inside said that there was about a dozen Flowers in the tank with her that rose up like an army to defend her. Your sister is well-connected.”

“Aaagh!” I throw the damn phone against the mirror. It breaks instead of the damn glass. “FUUUCCCK!”

“What the hell is going on in there, Shelle?” Python barks.

Go away!
“I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute.”

There's a long silence before I hear him turn and walk away from the bathroom's door. Huffing out an angry breath, I brace myself against the sink and then count to ten. I should've known better than to trust somebody else with this shit. After all, look what happened with that scarred-up Flower Qiana. What the fuck did that shit get me? That dirty-dealing trick is still on my shit list.

I look up into the mirror and glare back at my own reflection. “This shit ain't over. Not by a long shot.”

Ta'Shara and those damn knitting needles flash inside my head and my grip on the sink tightens. Still hot, I turn on the sink and splash cold water over my face.When I exit the bathroom, I'm blotting my face dry with a towel while Python is opening the front door.

“Everything is a go,” Diesel announces, breezing in with five big-shouldered men behind him.

I stop in my tracks and take a moment to appreciate the sheer size and power these men exude by their very presence.
Now these are some real soldiers.

“Python, cuz. Let me introduce you to a few of my homies,” Diesel says. “This is Madd, Beast, Bullet, Matrix, and last but not least Chrome.”

Python shakes each man's hand as he's introduced to him. “Yo, man. Y'all c'mon in and have a seat so we can talk some business.” Python turns to me. “Shelle, grab us some beers.”

I turn with a roll of my eyes. I resent it when I'm reduced to waiting on him. I should be a part of this business meeting. I'm a boss, not a maid. But I march into the kitchen and return with their beers as fast as I can.

“Before we get started, I wanna thank you, cuz, for running interception with Momma Peaches like you did.”

“Aww, man. We're family. I was happy to do it.”

“Any word on when she's going to be released?” Python asks.

“Don't know. She looks like she's been through hell, man. I ain't gonna lie. Your momma worked her over good.”

Pain twists Python's face. “I don't know what the fuck that shit was about. Then again, maybe if we'd reached out to her more while she was locked up. Hell, she sent me a birthday card every fucking year . . . and I pitched that shit in the garbage. Whatever demons she was dealing with can't touch her no more.” His thoughts drift for a moment before he realizes his guests are growing uncomfortable. “I guess we all just gonna have to be thankful that it's over.” He downs the rest of his Henney and then pours himself another glass.

Diesel studies Python with open calculation. “Don't worry about it, cuz. Aunt Peaches is as tough as they come. I'm sure that she'll open up when y'all get a chance to talk one-on-one.”

“For sure. For sure.” Python nods, but it's clear to everyone in the room that the shit is fucking with him.

“We're all set for tonight,” Diesel says, changing the subject. “Thor called with the time and place for the delivery. With my men here, we now have the organization and the firepower. The way I see it, this should be a quick hit-and-run. You feel me?”

“Humph.”

Everyone's eyes shift to me. “What?”

“Shelle, ain't you got something else to do?”

“No.” I roll my neck back to Diesel. “If you're going up against Lucifer, there's no such thing as a ‘quick hit-and-run.' Trust and believe.”

Diesel laughs, but anger flashes in his eyes.

“Chuckle it up, pretty boy. I'm for real. I'm don't know what kind of bitches you're used to fucking with, but Lucifer is on a whole 'nother level.”

Slowly, his smile melts. “Yeah. I've heard plenty of stories about how this she-devil got most of these niggas out here shook. I'm not worried. That bitch ain't never ran across a nigga like me and I haven't ran across a bitch yet that I can't put down.”

Our eyes lock, causing my body to wilt beneath an intense heat wave.

“Humph. Then you won't mind if I play tag—so that I can see these skills for myself?”

Python twitches with irritation. “Shelle, you're gonna keep your ass right here.”

“Nah. Nah.” Diesel leans back in his chair while he finally pops open his beer. “Let her come. Hell, she might learn a few things.”

This nigga is really feeling himself.
I don't know how this is really going to go down, but I do know that his shit better be on point if he's planning to fuck with Lucifer.

“Fine. Whatever,” Python snaps, eyeballing me like I've done something wrong.

“What?”

Instead of answering, Python grinds his jaw and then cuts his eyes back to his cousin. I better do a better job at hiding my
small
attraction to Diesel. The last thing I want or need is to fuck up and become another Shariffa.

T
ombstone and I roll up to the precinct as Profit and his girl, Ta'Shara, are bolting out of the door. I power the window down and order them to get in.

The color in Ta'Shara's face drains. For a girl who is always neck-deep in some real shit you'd think her ass wouldn't be so damn scared.

“NOW! ” That puts a fire under their asses as both rush toward the back door and climb inside.

“A triple murder charge?” I ask, removing my shades and sizing them up. “Impressive.”

“Not funny,” Profit huffs, slamming the door behind him.

Tombstone immediately peels off from the curb.

No surprise that Profit is in one of his moods again. Irritated, I push my shades back up and try to hold on to my temper. “You're needed for a job tonight.”

Profit eyeballs me. “What sort of job?”

“Gun run. Are you're ready to earn your stripes?”

“Are you asking or is Mason?” he challenges.

My eyes narrow. “Answer the fucking question.” I may not be able to kill him, but I can do anything just short of that for the disrespect.

“I was born ready,” he says, pumping out his chest, probably to show off in front of his little girlfriend. Until he gets a few more hairs on that muthafucka, he ain't doing a damn thing for me. I make sure that shit is reflected in my face. “We'll see.”

My gaze shifts to Ta'Shara. She's looking at me like she can't decide whether to smile or jump out of the vehicle screaming. Frankly, I'm not sure how to take her ass either. Her crazy sister has put her through the fire more than a few times and her ass is still standing. I can respect that shit—but she's going to have to do something about that wide-eyed innocent look she has about her.

After a twenty-second staring contest, I've had enough. “Look, petal. Either punch me or kiss me, but stop staring.”

Ta'Shara turns five shades of red before jerking her gaze out the back window.

I roll my eyes and then catch Profit glaring. “What?”

He clamps his mouth shut until his jaw becomes a hard, straight line. I have to clamp my mouth shut in order for this shit not to escalate into a full-blown situation. I hoped with Mason being back that whatever issue Profit has with me would be squashed. Guess I was wrong.

What the fuck ever.
“Pickup is at nine so we're going to roll out no later than eight-fifteen. Be ready.”

“Where is this pickup?” Profit asks.

“See. You're worried about the wrong damn thing,” I say. “You just make sure that you're ready. Got it?”

“Yeah. A'ight. Whatever.”

When we arrive at the Forest Hill Funeral Home, Profit springs out the door but then is very gentle when he turns to offer Ta'Shara a hand in exiting the vehicle. Once he slams the door, I'm left sitting in the backseat, wondering what the fuck is his problem. The young couple returns to the car that they left at the funeral and then we follow them to Ruby Cove.

We're halfway home when it occurs to me that Tombstone is being awfully quiet today. In fact, he looks troubled about something. “Is everything all right?”

He doesn't answer.

“Tombstone?”

“Huh?” His gaze shoots up to meet mine in the rearview mirror. “I'm sorry. What did you say?”

“I was asking if everything is cool with you. Your mind seems to be elsewhere.”

“Ah. It's nothing.” He shrugs. “Family shit.”

I nod, waiting to see if he'll say more, but when he doesn't, I let it go. I'm not trying to be in everybody's business.When I return to the house, Mason is coming down the stairs. His head and face are freshly shaven and he looks like his old self—except for his skin. The red and purple burns make him appear like he's in constant pain. I push up a smile. It feels so good and natural for him to be back.

“Hey, baby. Is everything set?”

“He's in.”

“Good.” Mason wraps his arms around me, but when I feel my growing belly brush against him, I step back.

“Whoa. Where are you going?” He tightens his arms and cocks his head.

“Nowhere I . . . just want to go upstairs take a shower and maybe lay down. I'm tired.”

The worry lines in his forehead deepen. “You take naps in the middle of the day now?”

It's an innocent question, but it feels like an interrogation. “Is that a problem?”

His arms fall from my waist and I pretend that I don't notice the hurt that flashes across his face. “Nah, ma. Do you.”

Apologize.
“Got it.” I move past him and stomp my way upstairs. I don't know why I can't bring myself to just ask him about the whole Melanie situation. The shit is probably all in my head anyway. Besides, it's not like he's mentioned her or anything since he's been back. And he loves me. I know he does.

I feel like shit. My damn hormones are all over the place. I'm cool one minute and then pissed off the next. Is it going to be like this for the next five months?

True to my word, after a hot shower, I dive into bed, exhausted. But sleep teases me. I have a bad feeling about tonight's delivery. I don't know why, but I can't shake it.

Hours later, we're locked and loaded and ready to mob twelve deep. Despite my doing business with Thor for months, I'm still feeling some kind of way about tonight's job. But what will I look like if I say something to Mason? I'm the one who arranged this shit.

I shift around in my seat, uncomfortable in the bulletproof vest strapped over my sensitive breasts and my expanding belly. Soon I'm going to have to tell Mason what time it is.The moment I do, he's going to shut my ass down before I deal with those other evil, purple bitches on my shit list to gut and slice up. I'm not going to outsource my revenge for Bishop's murder.

“Are you all right?” Mason asks, cutting looks at me from behind the wheel. “You seem . . . off lately.”

Tell him.
“I'm cool,” I lie. “Keeping my mind on the job at hand.”

Mason nods, but knows I'm bullshitting. “A'ight. I'm gonna let you have that. When you're ready to talk, I'm here.”

We're silent during the rest of the ride out to Rivergate Industrial Park, and that bad feeling grows as our SUVs gets waved through the gate.

I don't recognize the guards. Automatically, I slap a thirty-bullet magazine into tonight's weapon of choice: a Bushmaster AR-15.

“Talk to me,” Mason says, taking my cue and going for his AK-47.

“The guards were black.” My gaze skitters around the rooftops and into dark corners.

He parks and the other two SUVs flank our sides. “What do you want to do?”

I don't know.
My gaze does another sweep of the area.

Tombstone and Profit climb out of their vehicle and toss us questioning looks.

“Willow?”

Maybe my ass is bugging.
Exhaling slowly, I reach for my door handle. “I'm cool. Let's go.” As I exit the vehicle, I keep my finger poised above the trigger.

When Mason climbs out, our cluster of six creeps toward the warehouse's metal doors. My gaze swings from left to right, looking for something solid to validate my paranoia.

A shadow passes by a light source above us and I shout, “IT'S A TRAP!”

Our gats come up as men with blue flags draped around their mouths open fire.
The Gangster Disciples?

Bullets rain down like a firestorm. We spray back as much heat as we take in. Wrestling with the Bushmaster's kickback has the muscles in my arm feeling like they're on fire. In the distance, tires squeal as our backup team plows into the iron gate, bringing their own assault on the guards.

“AAAAAGGGHHH,” Mason's Rambo-esque roar rises above the gunfire.

I move to flank his side as we inch back, one step at time toward our vehicles. Luckily, we were closer to them than the building. We would've all been dead if the opposite was true.
You're losing your edge.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Profit take a hit and fly back a few feet.

“Shit!”

“BRO, YOU A'IGHT?” Mason shouts.

Profit grunts.

I ease off the trigger and rush over to him. Bullets whiz by my head as I grab the back of his collar and drag him behind an SUV.

Bullets slam into the vehicle and even take out one of the headlights.

“Where are you hit?” I shout.

“I'm good. I'm good,” Profit pants, sitting up. “Took the hit to the vest.”

“GRIMY MUTHAFUCKAS. COME SUCK ON DADDY'S DICK,” Mason shouts. He's a fucking live wire, mowing muthafuckas down.

“HOLD YOUR FIRE,” a voice yells from somewhere above.

“PEEL OUT.” I race to Mason and pull him to the vehicle. He's enjoying this shit too much.

The gunfire is now coming more from our end as the Gangster Disciples heed whoever is hollering for a cease-fire. “Let's go!” I smack Mason on the shoulder to get his attention.

He eases off the trigger and hops back into our ride.

“MASON!”

I jerk a look over my shoulder and make out Python's unmistakable outline on the roof. Now I know why he called a cease-fire. He's reaching out to his brother.

“Get in the car,” Mason barks.

“MASON!”

“GET IN!”

Removing the molasses out of my ass, I hop in as the engine roars back to life and Mason floors the accelerator. Even through the thunder of the SUV's horsepower, I can still hear Python roaring, “MASON!”