Gangsta Divas (31 page)

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Authors: De'nesha Diamond

BOOK: Gangsta Divas
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49
Shariffa
L
ynch is on that blue diamond shit tonight and beating my G-spot like it fucking owes his ass some money. Sweat glazes our bodies until we look like a pair of chocolate doughnuts in the center of our king bed. He looks so good that I can't stop running my tongue over his chest. He's both salty and bitter at the same time and I can't get enough.
“Say that shit again, baby,” he growls, grabbing my wrists and pinning them over my head. “Tell me I'm the king.”
The corners of my lips curl upward as I throw my pussy back down on the dick. “You're the king, baby. All those muthafuckas are going to fall dead at your feet and you're gonna rule it all.”
“Fuck, yeah!” Lynch's hips shift into overdrive.
“Ahhhhh, shit.” My nut grows in the center of my clit, so I lock my legs around his waist and prepare for another blastoff. My baby doesn't disappoint. In the next second, the power of his thrust sends my ass flying to the moon. Even as I'm drifting among the stars, Lynch's insatiable ass is still drilling. At times like this, a bitch is glad to have backup.
Trigger slides up from behind Lynch and nibbles on his neck. “My turn, your highness.”
Lynch chuckles, releasing my hands and pulling out of my wet drenches. “Bring your fine ass over here.” He grabs her by the hair and jerks her in between us.
Trigger plays her role to the hilt, giggling like a teenager and going with the flow when he plants her face in between my legs.
“Clean my baby up for me,” Lynch orders while repositioning himself behind her onion ass.
Our threesome party is nothing new and we keep the shit to ourselves. I can't have too many bitches knowing that I allow this shit to go down. Bitches would take it as permission to toss all kinds of miscellaneous pussy at him whenever they came around him. That ain't what this is. We do what we do, but we do it together. Those are the damn rules and I choose which bitch joins the party. I chose Trigger's ass because she ain't sloppy with her shit.We've been doing this for a couple of years and not one time has she opened her mouth about this. She even pinch-hitted when I was big as hell with the twins.
Lynch would wear her ass out and then roll over with me. For us, the arrangement is perfect.
“Oh.” I fist the sheets as Trigger's small tongue dips down for a rim shot.
“Is she hookin' you up, baby?” Lynch asks, spreading Trigger open and sliding through her back door.
“Oh, yes,” I praise my girl while squeezing my breasts together. While she does her thing, I lock gazes with Lynch.
He grips Trigger's waist and starts drilling again. Our party goes on for hours.We stop only a couple of times to rehydrate. That's the problem with those damn blue pills. A bitch got to be ready to put in work.
Sometime after three, we all pass out in several wet pools in the sheets with our limbs entwined. A cell phone rings.
And then another.
And another.
What the fuck?
Exhausted, I pry one eye open and try to find the source of all that ringing only to discover that I'm buried beneath one of Lynch's musky armpits.
One by one, the ringing stops—only to start up again.
I shove Lynch off of me, waking him up.
“Who in the hell?” Lynch lifts his head and starts looking around.
Trigger is the last to stir.
We scuffle around and I answer the first phone I come across. “Hello?”
“Lynch, man. There's some disturbing shit down here at Crunk's Ink. I think you need to get down here, man.”
“Wait. Hold on.” I shove the phone toward Lynch while he's shoving my phone at me. “Hello,” I try again.
“Girl, Shariffa. Our asses are in fucking trouble,” Shaqorya hisses. “You need to get down here to Crunk's Ink.”
“Whaaat?” the three of us say at the same time and then glance at each other.
“I mean it, girl. Get your ass down here.”
What the fuck is going on?
“All right. I'll be there in a few minutes,” I tell her while I hear Lynch tell his caller the same thing.
Clearly, something is up. Our scramble to get up and get dressed is like a bad, three-ring circus. We leave the kids with Lynch's momma and then pile into the chromed-out Range Rover, armed to the teeth. Any shit could be up, so best to be prepared. When we arrive at Crunk's Ink, there is an army of Grape Street Crips piled outside the door.
Shaqorya and Brika break away from the crowd and rush me and Trigger.
“What the fuck is up?”
Brika shakes her head, looking pale as shit.
Shaqorya grabs my hand like I'm going to need the support. “Girl, you gonna need to prepare yourself for this one. Crunk's sister came out here when he was a no-show for a family dinner.You ain't gonna believe what the fuck she found.”
“What? Spit it out.”
“No. This is some shit that you gotta see.”
These silly bitches got the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. “Fine. Damn.” I push past my girls in time to follow Lynch to the door. I'm already suspecting Crunk has been put down, but that can't be all. These muthafuckas have seen dead bodies before.
The moment I walk through the door, my world is flipped upside down. I take in the scene, but there's so much blood that I can hardly process it all. Hanging and spinning around from the ceiling fan is Crunk's head with his dick shoved in his mouth. On the walls, my and each of my girls' names are written in blood. “Oh, shit.” My gaze then bounces around to see body parts lying everywhere. In the right corner, a pair of legs are propped against the wall, while the feet are sitting in a chair. Arms, torsos, hands—all tossed around like garbage.
“What the fuck?” It's the sickest shit I've ever seen.
While I'm standing there with my mouth hanging open, Trigger taps me on the shoulder and then points up at the ceiling.
I glance up and see the Vice Lords' five-pointed star and the letter L. There's no mistaking who left this calling card. “Lucifer.”
50
Momma Peaches
I
'm not going to die in this room, goddamn it.
I keep saying this shit, but my doubt is growing stronger every day. There have been times that I was on the brink of begging Alice to put a bullet through my brain. I've lost count of how many nights I've suffered beatings at her hand, but even that hasn't defeated me. I've tried to think of some MacGyver shit to get me out of here, but I keep falling flat.
I always knew that my sister never forgave me for what happened to her, but I never thought the girl would do no shit like this. I've been locked down many times in my life, but this beats all I've ever seen.
Currently, I'm on the third day of my hunger strike and my mind is getting a little clearer, but the pain in my belly remains strong. I am drifting to sleep when I hear the sound of an engine. A few seconds later, tires crunch over gravel.
Where is she going?
Peeling my swollen eyes open, I'm able to make out that it's nighttime.The moonlight has managed to filter through the dirty, barred window. I grab my splintered prosthetic leg. It doesn't fit like it's supposed to, but it still does the job in getting me over to the window so I can look out. I make out the red taillights as the van pulls away from the house.
Alice rarely leaves the house, and this is the first time she ever left at night.
Frustrated, I grip two of the bars and shake them. To my surprise, one of them snaps off into my hand. I'm so stunned, that I'm stuck staring at it like it's a foreign object. Finally I look at the ends and see the tips rusted through.
Once the shock is over, I'm filled with a sudden hope and excitement. I pull and tug on the other bars and manage to get two more to snap off. But all that shit dies when I then try to open the window. It's painted shut and refuses to budge.
“Please, Lord. Please.” I shove my entire weight up on the wooden pane and then howl in pain when my hand slips. I pull back and see three large splinters in the palm of my hand. “Fuck!” I snatch them out of my hand and then glance down at my shackled foot. What the hell am I thinking? I'm not going to be able to get out through the window anyway.
Hit by another wave of hopelessness, I drop to the floor and rest my head against my knee.
I'm not going to die in this room. I can't.
I cringe when another painful cramp hits me. I hold my breath until it passes. When it does, I'm dizzy as hell and wonder whether I have the strength to climb back into bed.
Lifting my head, I stare at the twin-size bed. The longer I do, the more it looks like a coffin. “God, if you're up there, I swear I'll change my ways if you could do some kind of miracle. I'll go to church. I'll stop smoking weed. I'll even leave all them hot boys alone. Please, just . . . help an old woman out.”
I wait, hoping for some kind of sign to let me know that the Big Man is listening. I hold fast for about twenty minutes.
Give up. Alice is never going to let you out of here alive.
That shit floats around my head for a bit while I keep staring at the bed—then it dawns on me that I'm actually staring at the wire bedsprings.
Wire.
“Shit.” I struggle to get off the floor. When I do, I rush to the bed and flip the mattress up to stare at all the coil springs. “God is good.” I get busy pulling and untwisting one of the springs. It's hard and it takes some time, but I'm finally able to break off a piece to use on the metal bracelet around my good leg. I haven't seen a lock yet that I can't pick and less than a minute later, this one is no different.
I smile for the first time in months as I wobble toward to the door. Once I hear the lock disengage, I still hold my breath while I pull it open. Despite my hearing Alice leave, I still creep through the dark basement worried that she'll jump out of a corner at any second. I feel my way around until I trip over the bottom staircase.
“Keep it together, old girl.You're going to get out of here.” It's the first time I believe it. My eyes wet up as I reach out and brace myself against the shaky rail. Hell, it feels like the muthafucka is about to break off in my hands, but I can't help but rely on it to help pull myself up the stairs.
By the time I reach the top stair, I'm a sweating and cramping mess. I go for the doorknob and then stop before opening it. What if Alice has an accomplice and that muthafucka shoots first and asks question later? I ain't scared of no fight, but I would prefer to be strapped to have a fighting chance.
Fuck it.
I open the door and cringe when the hinges squeak like it's hooked up to a sound system.When no bullets start flying, I go ahead and creep into the main house that is just as dark as the basement. I'm hit with a foul odor that has me gagging. Hell, I didn't think anything could smell worse than I do. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I waste no time getting my creep on tryna find the front door.When I locate it, I hear the sound of tires crunching gravel again.
Shit. She's back.
I back away from the door as headlights flood the side windows.
I'm not going back down that hole. I can't. I won't.
Jerking away, I scramble to find a place to hide, but there's very little furniture in the living room so I rush into the next room, hit something hard and crash onto a wet linoleum floor, snapping my prosthetic leg and busting the other side of my lip.
Pain explodes in every part of my body.
The car engine shuts off.
That awful stench is all over me. My stomach seizes up and I gag over my own tongue.
What the fuck is that?
I cover my nose with the back of my hand and try to just breathe out of my mouth. I turn to see what I stumbled over, but my eyes must be playing tricks me because it's a body and . . . is that a knife sticking out of it?
What the fuck?
Two doors slam shut.
How many crazy people are in on this shit?
Panicked, I reach over and snatch the knife out of the body and then scoot and wiggle my way back out of the kitchen. I find a nook behind some kind of table and grandfather clock. I have no idea how this shit is about to go down, but I'm feeling my confidence trickle back into my veins with this knife in my hands.
Despite all the crazy-ass bullshit, I still love my sister, but I'll gut her like a fish in order to end this nightmare. The wait stretches for an eternity and fear mixes in with my confidence.
“C'mon. C'mon. C'mon.” I'm impatient to get this shit over with. If I'm going to die, then I'm going to die, but at least now I ain't going down without a fight.
“Move, bitch!” Alice yells from outside.
“Please, Alice,” a woman begs. “You don't want to do this.”
What the hell is going on?
“Oh, I definitely want to do this,” Alice seethes. “You stole my baby and then let my ass rot in jail while you played momma. Where the fuck do you get off?”
What?
I lower the knife while I try to wrap my head around what I'm hearing.
“Alice, I'm so sorry. At the time we thought that it was the right thing to do—what was best for Mason. For God's sake, you put that child in the oven.”
“Liar!”
POW!
I jump and then wait to hear what happened.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” the woman sobs. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.You were high out of your mind.”
“Said the crackhead to the other crackhead.”
“It was Smokestack's idea!”
“And you always did do what that high, yellow nigga told you to do, didn't you, Dribbles?”
Dribbles? There was really someone named Dribbles?
“What about me?” Alice rants. “Do you know what that shit did to me? We were friends. You had to know that they locked my ass up. That rat bastard police captain is your nigga's brother!”
Captain Melvin Johnson flashes in my head.
He was involved with Mason's disappearance? Alice had been telling the truth the whole time
. All kinds of feelings trip up in my chest. I climb out from my hiding place and scoot over to the window and peek out the venetian blinds. I make out a thin, blond woman visibly trembling with her hands up.
“And now my baby is dead. I'll never get the chance to see his face, never get the chance to tell him that I'm his
real
mother.”
Mason is dead?
That small ball of hope drops like a stone.
“You're wrong,” Dribbles says. “Mason did know.”
“What?”
Clearly both me and Alice are thrown for a loop.
“I told him on his eighteenth birthday. I thought he deserved to know the truth. I told him everything. About you, your family, but—”
“But what?” Alice's voice chokes up.
“He . . . he didn't want to have anything to do with you. At that time, he considered me and Smokestack his parents and the Vice Lords as his people. Smokestack molded him to take his place and that's what he did.”
Smokestack?
That would mean Mason is . . . Fat Ace?
I can't stop shaking my head and listening to this wild story.
There's a moment of stunned silence and then Alice shakes her head. “You're lying.What did you tell him?”
“The truth.”
“Liar!”
POW!
Dribbles screams as she flies back and hits the hard, graveled road.
“Get up,” Alice shouts.
The woman sobs, clutching her bloody shoulder.
“GET THE FUCK UP.”
“I'm going. I'm going.” Dribbles struggles to get back onto her feet. “Please, Alice, don't kill me. I swear I told him the truth, but he said his allegiance was with the Vice Lord Nation and that he never wanted to talk about it again. So we didn't. But he knew the truth, about you, your sister . . . and his brother, Terrell.”
“No. No. I don't believe you.You're lying.You turned him against me.”
“Alice—”
“Shut up! I'm tired of talking.”
Dribbles snaps her mouth shut.
“Now move.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Over by that big oak tree,” Alice tells her calmly. “I've been digging two graves for my sister and ex-lover, but now I think I'm going to put you in one of them.”
Dribbles doesn't move.
“Or I can shoot you right here and now,” Alice warns.
Crying and snotting, Dribbles finally shuffles one foot in front of the other toward the side of the house. Once they are out of view, I pull back from the window with my head spinning with so much information. There's no use trying to absorb it. It's too much. How long have Python and Fat Ace been beefing—and all this time Mason knew Terrell was his brother?
I can't believe it.
I don't want to believe it.
“I gotta get out of here,” I whisper. I probably have a few minutes at best before Alice returns to the house. After that, it's either me or the poor bastard in the kitchen that's going into that other grave by the oak tree.
Struggling to get back onto my feet, I keep hold of the knife and make my way toward the door. Once there, I creep out onto the porch and then hop like a muthafucka to that van, praying the whole time that the Lord got one more miracle and Alice left the keys in the ignition.
She did.
Praise Jesus!
“I promise, Lord. I'm going to church every Sunday.” I lock the doors first and start the van.
To my right, Alice and Dribbles spin around. I have two seconds to think about my next move.
POW! POW! POW!
The passenger window explodes.
Heart racing, I shift the car into drive and pull a hard right toward Alice.
POW! POW! POW!
I duck as bullets slam into the front window.
Dribbles turns and jumps into one of the graves while Alice stubbornly holds her ground while emptying her clip into the van's windshield.
Tears burn and flood my eyes. “I'm so sorry, Alice.”
POW! POW! POW!
The SUV plows into Alice head on and then crashes into the big oak tree behind her with a sickening
thump
. At the same time, the vehicle's air bags explode in my face and knock me out cold.

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