Hustlin' Divas (29 page)

“What do you want?” I ask.

Dreadlocks laughs. “Shit. I came for some muthafuckin' pussy.” He reaches out and tweaks one of my nipples. “And to welcome you to your new family.”

I slap his hand away, only to be backhanded. Blood spews across the cab while my mind reels. It that moment, real fear creeps up the back of my neck. LeShelle and I have been through some foul shit in the past, but never in a million years did I think my sister would just sit back and watch some grown-ass nigga beat me down. Hot tears splash down my face as I glare over at my sister.

LeShelle looks down at Profit. “So this is the lil nigga who got your ass sprung.” She cocks her head. “Muthafucka is definitely better-looking than his brother.”

“Like Python is something to write home about.” I tug my dress to cover my breasts. “You gonna fuck with something that looks like it crawled out of the muthafuckin' toilet and then you're going to come over here and lecture my ass?”

“Now there's that smart-ass mouth I love so much,” LeShelle says.

Profit moans and stirs on the floor.

Dreadlocks delivers another blow to Profit's head before I have a chance to react.

“STOP IT. LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

“Tsk-tsk-tsk.” LeShelle shakes her head. “If I were you, I'd be more concerned about myself instead of that dead muthafucka lying over there.”

My heart drops. “W-what do you mean?”

“I told you to end it—or I would,” LeShelle says evenly.

“You c-can't.”

“Oh, yes the fuck I can.” She laughs. “And I most certainly will.” She holds up her Glock. “And I'm going to have fun doing it.”

“Shelle—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” LeShelle waves her finger in my face. “What did I say?” The limousine stops. “Worry about your damn self,” LeShelle reminds me.

I don't have time to grasp her meaning before the back doors are jerked open and Profit falls out. I gasp and try to reach for him, but then Dreadlocks damn near wrenches my arm out of its socket when he jerks me out in the opposite direction. “LET ME GO!” I squirm and kick so much that the front of my dress slides down again, exposing my breasts for everyone to see.

“Feisty bitch.” Dreadlocks chuckles and then blows his stank breath across my face. “I'm gonna have fun breaking your ass in. Just wait and see. I'll make you forget about that pretty lil nigga over there. I'm gonna make that pussy scream my name all fuckin' night long.”

A rush of acidic bile burns the back of my throat as my wide eyes search around for LeShelle. It's dark and it appears as if we're out in the middle of nowhere. Though it looks bad, a small part of me is clinging to a sliver of hope that LeShelle won't allow any harm to come to me. She's just doing all this to scare me.

Dreadlocks drags me along as if I weigh nothing, all the while painting a very vivid picture of just what he wants to do with me once he gets me behind this abandoned brick building we're heading toward.

This is not happening. It's not happening.

Then I see those muthafuckas pick up Profit and drag him along. I can't help but think of the worst as his head lolls around his shoulders and blood pours down his head.

“Leshelle, please,” I sob. “I'm sorry. I'll break up with him. I swear.”

“Fuck that crying shit,” LeShelle barks. “Time to put on your big-girl panties and handle this shit like a woman. You wanted to be grown and do grown things. Well, this is what happens when grown muthafuckas don't listen.”

“Shelle—”

“Real talk? This shit is long overdue.” LeShelle steps back into my view; her face is a cold mask of indifference. I've seen a lot of sides to LeShelle, but I have never seen this heartless bitch before. “You've never appreciated a muthafuckin' thing I've ever done for you. The protection I've always provided. All you've ever done is take and take. Well, tonight, baby girl, it's time to pay the fuckin' piper. I'm going to give you a little taste of my world: bullets and pain, baby.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“It means that I can't have your narrow ass blowing up my shit because of a fuckin' nigga who don't mean shit. In this world, you don't get shit for nothing. I'm a Queen G and after tonight…so are you.”

Our gazes lock and I know that my fate has been sealed. I'm going to be sexed into the Gangster Disciples. The gang way of branding bitches as their own.

“Wake that nigga up!” LeShelle orders.

Kookie unscrews the top off a bottle of water and then splashes it all over Profit's face. When that doesn't work immediately, she starts slapping him around.

“Fuuuck,” he moans. “W-what?”

“Wake up, lover boy.” Kookie chuckles. “You don't want to miss your special prom night, now, do you?”

I sob and continue to beg. “Leave him alone. I…I swear, I'll do whatever you want, LeShelle. Please.”

“Oh, you going to do that shit anyway.” LeShelle laughs. “Time-out with all that bullshit you've been getting away with. Starting
tonight
.” She glances up at Dreadlocks. “Do you, nigga.”

“Fuck yeah.” He turns toward me and releases a barrage of punches. I'm shocked at first, but then it starts to feel like I'm being repeatedly rammed by a Mack truck, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

Profit?
I'm not sure if it's truly him or just voices in my head. I'm surrounded by so much pain that death seems like a logical escape.

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF HER! YOU GRIMY MUTHAFUCKA, COME PICK ON A NIGGA YOUR OWN SIZE!”

“Don't worry, nigga, we got something for you.” Dreadlocks laughs. “But right now, I'm gonna brand this bitch as GD property so you slob niggas know to keep your muthafuckin' hands off.” The punching stops and with one swipe, my dress is ripped off my body as I lie bleeding on a dirt road.

“Ta'Shara, baby. I'm sorry.” There's a scuffle and the sound of more bone being pounded.

LeShelle squats next to me and snatches my head up. “I know you don't understand this shit right now, but one day you will…and you're going to thank me for it.”

“Ta'Shara,” Profit croaks. “Forgive me, baby.”

I pry my eyes open, but they feel like they are already swollen shut. I push through the pain to open my mouth, gurgle some blood, and then spit out a tooth. “I h-hate you,” I hiss.

LeShelle shakes her head like she actually feels sorry me. “I guess that's the difference between us. I'm doing this because I
love
you.” She shares a sad smile and then presses a kiss against my bloody lips. “It'll all be over soon,” she promises, and then stands up.

Dreadlocks snatches my legs open and then shoves himself into my dry pussy, ripping me inside out.

The shock of it all allows me to escape into the dark recesses of my mind.
LeShelle said it will all be over soon. Just hold on.
I lie still, even though in my mind I'm curled into a fetal position.

Stroke after stroke, tears fall down my face.

“AHHHHH!” Dreadlocks blasts off. His cum feels like liquid fire burning my skin. “Now that's some good-ass pussy. I'm gonna have to get me some more of that shit later on.”

“C'mon, nigga. It's my turn,” shouts a muthafucka who's holding Profit down.

“Damn, nigga. Slow your roll. I'm coming.”

Dreadlocks is replaced with another nigga who has an afro that looks as if he's dusted a whole house with it. His dick is much smaller than Dreadlocks'. I'm grateful that I can't feel him while he's huffing and puffing over me.

“Damn, nigga. You done stretched this shit all out,” Afro complains.

LeShelle said that it will all be over soon.

“You feel this, baby? Huh? You feel me?”

LeShelle said that it will all be over soon.

Afro is quickly replaced by another and then another. I block it all out: the dicks, the sour breaths, the biting, and even Profit screaming in the background.

LeShelle said that it will all be over soon.

Finally the last nigga produces a switchblade and carves
GD
on the side of my ass cheek. Broken jaw be damned, I scream loud enough to wake the dead.

A beaten Profit is still fighting to get to me, but it's all useless.

“All right. Stop all that hollering,” LeShelle says, as if she's bored with the whole thing. “It's over with. You're officially a Queen G, bitch. You fuckin' belong to me.” She smiles, but it still doesn't reach her eyes. “But I gotta tell you,” she says, shaking her head. “I'm not all that convinced that you've learned your lesson about fuckin' around with the Vice Lords. I mean, what's to stop you from showing me your ass again when we let you go?”

“Nothing,” Kookie answers for me.

“Exactly.” LeShelle taps her steel against the side of her head. “Logic says that there's only one way to settle this shit.” She turns toward Profit. The two niggas holding Profit release him and jump out the way.

“YOU BITCH!” Profit charges toward LeShelle.

“That's
queen
bitch to you, muthafucka.” LeShelle aims, smiles, and unloads her entire clip into Profit.

My eyes widen as I scream in horror, “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

There are so many people to thank in this evolution that is De'nesha Diamond. First and foremost is our heavenly father, who's blessed me long before I had the common sense to realize it. To Granny, my baby Alice, who continue to inspire me though it's from up above now. My sister Channon “Chocolate Drop” Kennedy—you're still the best. My other sister, Charla Byrd, the funniest woman I know. My beautiful niece, Courtney—I love you. Kathy and Charles Alba—salt of the earth.

To K'wan, thanks for being my literary Godfather. Tu-Shonda Whitaker for keeping me laughing and sane. Brenda Jackson for being a good friend and inspiration. Marc Gerald for taking me under your wing. To Selena James for having the patience of Job.

And, of course, the Byrdwatcher family and The Diamond Girls book club—you lift me up. And to anyone I forgot, blame it on the alcohol. LOL.

Best of Love,

De'nesha

A READING GROUP GUIDE

 

HUSTLIN' DIVAS

 

 

DE'NESHA DIAMOND

 

About this Guide

The following questions are intended
to enhance your group's
reading of this book.

1. How do you think that Ta'Shara being in foster care affected her life?
   
2. Do you think that Ta'Shara and LeShelle being separated as teenagers was a good thing? Had they stayed together, do you think their lives would have been different? If so, in what way?
   
3. Ta'Shara and Profit were forbidden young lovers. Do you think staying together, despite the danger, was worth all they went through?
   
4. LeShelle was the ultimate bitch. Did you feel any connection with LeShelle? If so, in what way?
   
5. LeShelle would do anything for Python. Do you think she loved him, or was she addicted to the power of being the Queen G?
   
6. How do you feel about LeShelle ordering her sister's rape? Do you believe she did it out of love or out of control?
   
7. Melanie led a secret life. How do you think things would have been different if she weren't a cop?
   
8. Do you believe Python really loved Melanie? Do you believe a man can love more than one woman at a time?
   
9. How do you feel about Melanie killing her partner? Do you believe it was warranted?
   
10. What do you think was the real reason that Yo-Yo could not be romantically involved with Baby?
    
11. Do you think Momma Peaches was responsible for Alice's rape when Alice was a child?
    
12. How do you feel about Python and Fat Ace being brothers? Are our brothers always our keepers?
    

A sneak peek…

STREET DIVAS

 

Coming in June 2011
from Dafina Books

T
he crowd at Da Club is jumping, which means the cash at the registers is flowing. That's usually all it takes for me to be in a good mood, but tonight I'm having trouble trying to fake the funk, since I know Mason, or Fat Ace as he's known in the streets, is rolling over at that pig's crib, getting his dick wet. And now she supposed to be having his baby? I don't know if I believe that shit. I know that nigga better be asking for a DNA test. I don't like
Officer
Melanie Johnson. I think she's as shady as her daddy. Everybody knows he's been sucking off the Vice Lord's teet for a couple of decades now. And she used to date Python back in high school? C'mon, now. Is her pussy so damn good that niggas can't put two and two together?

Of course not.
What the hell am I thinking? If Mason was so smart, then he'd know that my ass has been in love with him since Adam gave Eve his rib. But, no, I have a “do not touch” sign on my forehead as far as Mason is concerned. He and my brother, Bishop, have been best friends since grade school, which makes me like the sister he never had. It doesn't matter how hard I ride or how vicious I am in this street game. I am and always will be just his right-hand chick.

“Shit, Cutty. Give me a whiskey on the rocks,” I say, pounding on the bar and then swiveling my head in a slow one-eighty to check out the dancing crowd. A few seconds later, I have my drink and start edging toward the back of the club. Damn. I should try to get fucked up or grab one of these punk-ass niggas to rub out some stress.

I find me a table in a dark corner at the back of the club and check out the scene. When my eyes land on one brother laughing with a group of niggas while quietly checking me out, I throw my head back to let him know that it's cool for him to come and approach me. He excuses himself, and I watch his confident pimp walk as he heads on back. Six foot two, chocolate, trim with a pencil goatee—I definitely see potential.

“Now, what's a fine woman like you doing hiding in the back of the club?” he asks.

So much for potential.
“Never mind, I'm busy.” I dismiss him and return to my drink.

“Whoa. Whoa.” He holds up his hands. “I'm sorry if I didn't come correct, but a nigga gets nervous when he gets around a beautiful woman. Let me try again.”

I glance up, annoyed that he's still standing there.

“My name is Justin, and you are…?”

Holding his gaze, I reevaluate the situation. “Lucifer,” I say.

He doesn't laugh, which tells me he recognizes the name. “How's your head game, Justin?”

Not sure he heard me right, he blinks and then glances around, as if there are going to be cameras jumping out or something. “Come again?”

“No. That's what I want you to help me with. How's your head game? Do you eat pussy?”

His smile returns. “I ain't had no complaints.”

I lean back in my chair. “Then let me see what you're working with.”

Justin's face twists in confusion as he checks around for those cameras again. “What? Here?”

“Why not?”

“Right now?”

I cock my head, letting him know that I'm losing my patience. Finally he does one more glance around and then crawls underneath the velveteen tablecloth and makes his way over to unbutton and unzip my pants. I ease back a little more so he can roll my jeans down over my hips and then spread my legs. He peels open my lips, and I sigh softly when his warm, wet tongue flutters against my clit. Now this is exactly what I need.

Even with the loud music bumping and my pussy being serviced, my mind circle back to Mason. In particular, the last time I saved his life…

 

Fat Ace sat slouched over in pain in the back of his black and chrome Escalade. His chest was on fire, so he drew in short breaths while he struggled to remain conscious. The Black Gangster Disciples got the drop on his ass. He took a big chance racing down to the hospital to check on his lil brother, but there was no way he wasn't going to see about his own flesh and blood. If there was one thing his father pounded into his head, it's that family took care of family. He and Profit might not have shared the same momma, but their father's blood was hard and true.

Since the day Profit arrived in Memphis from Atlanta, Fat Ace made sure his name protected the young hothead. It wasn't easy, since the lil nigga was determined to do things his way and stay away from street politics. Fat Ace respected his decision but only because he knew that it was just a matter of time before the game sucked him in and he would be forced to choose sides. That was just how shit worked.

“Hang in there, Big Man,” Lucifer shouted back from the driver's seat. “We're going to get you fixed up.”

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Everybody ducked down as the back glass of the SUV shattered.

“Fuck these muthafuckas,” Bishop shouted, aiming his TEC-9 and unloading at the black Monte Carlo.

The anxious brother was blasting so close to Fat Ace's ear that I was sure that if he did survive this night, he would certainly be deaf when it was all said and done. He looked at his blood-soaked T-shirt and grounded his back molars in anger. He wasn't going to go out like this. He refused to. He closed his eyes and pulled strength from his inner demon.

Gunfire flew all around him, and in the distance he could hear the familiar wail of police sirens. “Goddamn, Lucifer. You can't drive no faster than this shit?”

I laughed. “All is well, my nigga. You know I got this shit.”

That was all Fat Ace needed to hear. He trusted me and Bishop. They went back a long ways. Stealing and raising hell from about the time they started talking. As a result, they were recruited into the Vice Lords because niggas didn't want the vicious trio as an enemy in some other gang. Although they came into the game together, it was Fat Ace who rose to prominence faster than anyone had ever seen before. One day he was a foot solider and damn near the next his name fell from niggas' lips like he was some sort of urban legend.

The Black Gangster Disciples locked their blocks down basically by sheer numbers; the Vice Lords were more tactical and precise with their shit. When they hit, they hit hard and where it fucking counted and hurt the most. The GDs' wanted to fight until the world blew up, and the Vice Lords' were more than happy to accommodate them.

I took a sharp right while the Black Monte Carlo went left, and the yellow Cutlass kept it moving straight. The chasing police cars splintered off. On a damn-near-isolated street, I showed that I was nothing to fuck with behind the wheel. Within minutes, I shook our police tail.

Fat Ace lost the strength to even ask where we were headed. He was too busy wondering how the hell he was sweating and freezing at the same time. Hang in there, man. Hang in there.

This wasn't the first time Fat Ace had taken a couple of bullets, but it definitely felt like this was more serious than any other time before. He smiled through his delirium. If he had to die tonight, he was going to meet his maker with his chin up and his chest pumped out. Fat Ace closed his eyes and waited for the white light.

I glanced back at my boy and clenched my hands tighter on the steering wheel. “Yo, Gully. You remember that doctor who operated on Koopsta a couple of months back?”

“Yeah. What up?”

“Didn't you say he stayed out in Tunica near your aunt?”

Gully bobbed his head as he peeked over at our chief. “Nigga got skills. He pulled a few slugs out of a few homeys.”

“Let's pay him a house call.” I smiled and jammed my foot down on the accelerator until we were practically floating out to Mississippi.

 

Click.

Dr. Daniel Cleveland's eyes flew open, but he didn't move or cry out from his comfy king-sized bed because of the cold steel being pressed against his head.

I smiled, the moonlight illuminating just my teeth and the whites of my eyes. “Hope this isn't a bad time to disturb you, Doc,” I whispered. “But I have a friend who is in need of some emergency medical care. I'm sure you don't mind us just dropping by.”

“H-how can I help you?”

“I was hoping that you would say that. Come with me.” I eased the gun away from his temple and allowed the doctor to step out of bed.

Dr. Cleveland grabbed his glasses from the bed table and cast a worried look over his shoulder at his wife, who was steadily snoring.

“Frankly, I don't know how you get any sleep with all that noise,” I commented, shaking my head. “You might want to tell her to get that shit checked out.”

Dressed in just his T-shirt and boxers, the doctor crept out of the bedroom with me trailing behind him. In the hallway, Gully stood with his flag wrapped around the lower part of his face.

“Stay here and make sure the missus doesn't come checking on her man,” I said.

“This is a little unorthodox, don't you think, son?” Dr. Cleveland scratched his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Let's just say we're a little in between insurance policies and don't want to bother those good folks down at the hospital.” I flashed another smile. “Your patient is waiting for you downstairs.”

Dr. Cleveland started to say something else, but one look into my black eyes and he thought better of it. Downstairs, Fat Ace was spread out on the doctor's sturdy mahogany dining room table. Beside him, Bishop stood with his TEC-9 in hand.

“Time for you to work your magic, Doc,” I said, planting my gun against the older man's back and pushing him forward.

The doctor's eyes widened as he approached and saw the gapping holes gushing blood all over his good furniture. “I …I can't—”

“You can and you will,” I whispered menacingly. “And I don't advise you fuckin'up, either Doc, or you and the little lady upstairs are going to leave this fucked-up world right along with him.” I shoved the doctor so hard that he bumped against the table. “Get busy.”

 

I'm pulled out of the memory when I finally feel my nut rise and then gush into Justin's open mouth. Trembling and shaking, I smash his face in there good to make sure he gets every drop and then at long last push him away. While he crawls out from up under the table, I work my pants and panties back onto my hips.

“Not bad, Justin. You got a number?”

He grins at me with pussy juice glossing his lips. “Absolutely. There's more where that came from.”

I scoop my cell phone from my pants pocket just as the muthafucka starts ringing. It's Bishop. “Hold on a second,” I tell Justin, and then answer the phone. “Whatever it is, I'm busy.”

“They got Profit!”

“What?” The alcohol in my system disappears as I jet up out of my chair. “I thought he was at his prom tonight?”

“Hey!” Justin yells when I rush past him. I just keep him in my rearview.

“He was. Those muthafuckas snatched him and his girl in front of witnesses on their way to the hotel! I'm trying to find Fat Ace, but he ain't answering his cell.”

“Shit.” I race through the crowd and then bolt out the front door. “Where you at?”

“We're out here looking for these niggas. We got a tip…Hey, is that the building? Yo, I think we've found—There he go!”

I hop behind the wheel of my black Escalade. “Give me a fuckin' address, Bishop.”

“Over off O'Donnell. Where the abandoned warehouse buildings are.”

“I'm on it.” I peel out of the parking lot while straining to hear every little thing over the line. “Talk to me, Bishop.” When I hear nothing, I glance down at my cell to see I've lost the signal. I just toss the muthafucka aside and slam on the accelerator. Less than five minutes later, I make it over to O'Donnell and see Bishop and a string of brothers from the set.

“Tell me something,” I shout, racing out of my SUV with my gat ready to blast. Niggas part like the Red Sea, and my gaze immediately lands on the twisted, bloody body lying in the dirt. “Shit.”

Brothers continue to stand around and shake they heads. “Them grimy niggas gonna pay for this shit.”

For the first time in a long while, I'm stunned. I liked Profit, even though I've just known him for a little over a year. The lil nigga had heart. “We know who did this?”

“Who the fuck else? Those Gangster Disciples,” Bishop shouts. “They want heat? We're about to bring it to them.”

I kneel next to Profit's body and look down at his young face.
So much potential.
Leaning forward, I place a hand against the side of his neck, and my heart nearly stops.

“What?” Bishop asks.

I pick up Profit's wrist and then place my ear against his chest. “Oh my God. He's still alive.”