“Oops. Maybe next time we should sync up our drugging codes.”
He doesn’t pick up on my sarcasm. He’s too busy staring. “She really is a beautiful woman.”
I take another look. “She is pretty.” Though she has none of the brick-house curves that he normally goes for. Her breasts are B cups, but she does have a nice onion ass that I can get into. After another minute passes and he doesn’t peel his eyes away from her, I ask, “So did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Whack the boyfriend.”
Diesel shrugs. “He was an annoying piece of shit.”
“Humph.” I shake my head. “You fucked up. She’s never going to forgive you.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He sits down next to her and then brushes her hair from her face.
I fold my arms while jealousy creeps over me. “She’s not a doll, you know.”
Diesel doesn’t respond. Instead his fingers glide from her hair down the side of her face, over her collarbone, and then to the V-shape of her neckline. That’s where his fingers linger, stroking her creamy breasts. “She’s so . . . perfect,” he murmurs, and then pinches a nipple. To my surprise both those bitches get harder.
Diesel chuckles. “She’s attracted to me even though she’ll never admit it.”
I watch him watching her. The whole thing is weird. She’s the one knocked out and he’s in a trance.
“I bet she’s a hellcat in the bed.”
“If the scratches on your face are any indication, then I’m going to have to agree with you.”
He peels back the shoulders of her dress and then works the material down until her pink and black lace bra is exposed. When he unsnaps the center clasp, I ask, “Are you really about to do this?”
His pulling open both cups is my answer.
My assessment of her B-cups is upgraded when I see how perky those bitches naturally are. When Diesel lowers his head and sucks her nipples, I’m turned on. In fact, my clit pumps so much honey that my panties are drenched.
Diesel moans as if she’s the best thing that he’s tasted in years. In no time, he has both of her brown orbs glistening with his saliva. Gently, he shifts her body over so that she can lie flat against the leather sofa.
Diesel pulls off his shirt and T-shirt. When he goes to unbuckle his pants, I ease into an armchair and sip on my own vodka and tonic.
Diesel’s cock bursts through the slot of his silk boxers, so he goes ahead and removes those as well. Returning to the sofa, he lifts the hem of her dress to above her waist. Next, Diesel takes his time rolling down her panties. When he spreads her legs, I spread mine and play with myself while Diesel rapes his beautiful songbird.
53
Ta’Shara
Baptist Memorial Hospital
I’m numb.
I’ve finally succeeded in pushing Profit away. So why aren’t I happy? Maybe happy is the wrong word. Even when I was the one leaving, I was never going to be happy. The real question is whether I still feel as if it was the right decision.
Sadly—I do.
My door bursts open and a smiling Reggie Senior pushes an empty wheelchair into the room. “I know you gotta be ready to get out of here. Checkout time!”
Reggie’s broad smile proves to be infectious. I wipe my eyes and beam back. Two weeks in this drab place with the bad food and limited cable channels is more than enough.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks.
“About as ready as I’ll ever get.”
“Did the doctor come by and sign the discharge papers?”
“Got them right here.” I hold up the papers and wave them.
“Hot dog. Then let’s blow this joint.” He winks and then comes over to the bed to pick me up. I haven’t gotten used to being treated like a doll, but Reggie does it with such ease that I don’t think he minds at all. It’s the same when he’s fastening me in the passenger seat of his blue Cadillac, too.
After that, we’re on the road to Germantown to his and Mary’s nice two-story colonial home. He’s quick to explain how he and his wife bought the home. It was when his son was still in high school. Reggie and Mary had scrimped and saved their way into the middle class. There were stories of him and Junior tossing the football around in the yard, the many barbecues in the backyard, and, of course, when he and his wife first met Tracee as a surprise dinner guest during one of Junior’s spring breaks in college.
It took no time at all to deduce that Reggie Senior is still grieving for his wonderful son.
After parking in the drive, Reggie hops out of the van and gets me settled back into the wheelchair in almost Superman speed. It isn’t too long before guilt finds a permanent home in my soul. It isn’t right that he and his wife are taking care of a foster kid that their son hadn’t legally adopted, but all signs point to Reggie being happy to do it. And when I enter the house to the distinct smell of some good ol’-fashioned soul food cooking, I know that Mary is also thrilled that I will be staying with them, temporarily.
Olivia Sullivan, Tracee’s mom, is still bidding for me to move to Houston. She’s called daily at the hospital to talk to me about one rehab facility after another that she’s found on-line. Everyone remains so positive that I’ll be able to walk again.
I’m not so sure.
My paralysis is a fitting punishment for my crimes. I’d rather this than being on death row or six feet under, which was clearly the road I was traveling down.
“I got you a surprise,” Reggie announces, excited.
Mary clasps her hands together and grins.
The whole black Leave It to Beaver scene is making me uncomfortable.
“Okay. What is it?” I ask.
Reggie rolls me over to the set of stairs. I panic, until Reggie gestures dramatically to the contraption on the wall. “Ta-dah!”
I keep the plastic smile carved on my face, but I have no idea what the heck I’m looking at, yet they are waiting for me to say something. “Oh, yeah! Um. What is it?”
“It’s a stair lift,” Reggie explains. “You roll your chair over here like this.” He takes me over to the wall. “Back up until you hear this series of clicks.” Sure enough, three short clicks sound from behind me. “And then you press this button.” He points to an LCD-lit button. “Go ahead. Press it.”
With the Douglases grinning around me, I follow instructions and push the button. A mechanical winding noise starts and the next thing I know I’m being lifted up the staircase at a snail’s pace.
“Oh wow,” I exclaim.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Reggie asks with his chest puffed out.
It’s so silly that I struggle not to laugh. “Yes. It’s great.” Except that it takes three whole minutes to reach the top when it only takes Reggie and Mary three seconds to jog after me. Still proud as he can be, he shows me how to detach from the electronic unit and then wheels me to my new room. At first sight of the pink room, I break down in tears.
“Oh, Ta’Shara. I’m sorry,” Mary frets from behind me. “You don’t like it.”
“No.” Sniff. “No. It’s not that. In fact, I love it. It looks so much like my old room.”
Mary beams. “We prayed that you’d like it. We really want you to feel that this is your new home.”
I get it now. There seems to be some kind of bidding war going on between the Douglases and the Sullivans. Both families want me to pick them to be my new parents or guardians. It’s incredibly touching to even be wanted, given my disability.
“We know the place will need some more of your personal touches, so if you’d like, I could go to your last place of residence and pick up your belongings.”
I choke. The idea of sending the Douglases anywhere near Ruby Cove is crazy and dangerous. “That’s okay. I’ll text my address to my friend Mack and she can bring my stuff.”
“Oh. Okay.” Reggie nods, relieved.
“Well, if you want to wash up, dinner should be ready
in a few minutes,” Mary says, smiling.
“Okay. Great.”
The doorbell rings.
“Ah. That should be Olivia,” Mary says. “Right on time.”
Two hours later, I’m participating in a strange play where everyone is being overly nice and accommodating, but each is working my nerves.
Eventually, the discussion turns to my plans for the future. They agree that there’s no point in my returning to school until the fall.The idea of having to repeat the tenth grade, then being two years behind my original class, sends my spirits spiraling.
The Douglases assure me that there is no shame in having to repeat a grade, especially after all that I’ve been through the last year. However, Olivia comes up with the perfect solution. “I say the hell with it.Take the GED and then enroll in a community college, then transfer to the university of your choice. Simple.”
I smile. “I like that idea.”
Olivia beams.
Reggie and Mary exchange looks for having lost a round.
Mary clears her throat. “That’s an option that you can do here in Memphis, too.”
“But Houston has better facilities for the type of rehab that you’ll need,” Olivia adds.
“That’s not true,” Mary snaps, pounding her fist on the table.
“All right, ladies. Calm down,” Reggie advises. “There is no need for everyone to get upset. We don’t want to overwhelm Ta’Shara. After all, the decision is hers to make.”
Three sets of eyeballs shift to me.
“Uh. I—I haven’t had time to think it all through,” I tell them, hoping that is a satisfactory answer.
Reggie nods while Olivia and Mary exchange warring glares.
After dinner, I’m full and tired. I ask to be excused and resist Reggie’s offer of help working the staircase lift. However, once on the second floor, I need help getting into the special bathtub that Reggie installed. By the time I’m washed and tucked into bed I’m exhausted and humiliated. The number of things that I’ll have to relearn in order to take care of my basic needs is overwhelming.
Despite my exhaustion, sleep eludes me, and the walls of my new pink princess room close in on me. Sometime past midnight, I click on the side-table lamp and drag myself backwards so I can lean against the headboard. I glance around the room. I’m no longer anyone’s pink princess.That li’l naïve girl is long gone, and I have no idea how to reach her again. Tears skip down my face. I mourn the girl I used to be and wish that there were some way I could get back to her.
On the nightstand are a few paperbacks that the Douglases thought I’d enjoy reading. The family has always been big on reading. I pick up a couple of them, but there is nothing that I want to read. I check out what else is in the nightstand, and I’m surprised to come across a pack of matches. Picking them up, my heart trips inside my chest. With trembling fingers, I strike one match and stare, fascinated, at the small orange glow.
LeShelle’s screams replay in my head, but I no longer feel tortured by it. In fact, I’m pleased by it. The flame touches my hand and I extinguish it with a casual wave. I strike another—and then another. I marvel at how each flame is more beautiful than the last.
Destruction
54
Mack
While Fat Ace and a handful of soldiers remain by Lucifer’s side at the hospital, Profit has stepped up and made his presence known. The talk about when and how to hit the Gangster Disciples is heating up, and Profit is all over the shit. I’m impressed. Until recently, the young blood has had limited experience. But now he’s the man with the plan, and our shell-shocked soldiers are eager to follow someone.
The Shotgun Row and Club Diesel hits were major successes. The shit with Tombstone was fucked up though, but Profit promises the next hit will be just as big. Tonight we celebrate. Ruby Cove gathers together for an impromptu block party. It’s better than another night of exchanging sad stories about the people we’ve lost. We’re all on a good high, bragging about the number of bodies we dropped and hating that we haven’t toe-tagged Python or King Isaac.
I’m glad to see Profit being elevated, but not all the changes I’m seeing are good. Sure, it’s important for him to be hard and fearless, but I don’t think that he’s taking his breakup with Ta’Shara too well at all. For one, he’s drinking like a fish, and before when the thots and hoes tried their best to throw pussy his way, he ignored them. Tonight that’s not the case. While the music bumps and our people keep the alcohol flowing, Profit is receptive to the females and he’s grinding on a few of them a bit too hard. I know the shit ain’t none of my business, but he’s really pissing me off.
Romil hasn’t said much, but I can tell by the few looks she’s cut my way that she feels the same way I do. As the night drones on, my promise to Ta’Shara eats me up. If Profit knew that his girl was now a paraplegic, he wouldn’t be out here, rubbing on bitches’ asses like a fuckin’ jerk.
The shit got so dire that I put word in circulation that if I see a single Flower go inside to break Profit off some pussy, they’ll have to answer to me. There are a few odd looks, but everyone sees that my ass ain’t playing. Profit can drink all the liquor he wants, but pussy is off the fucking menu.
I’ve known Ta’Shara for a short time, but she’s good people. There’s something about her that makes you want to protect her, even though she has proven that she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. At midnight, a good hunk of us gather around to pour beer for the lost soldiers. We say their names, one by one. Next come the ones who were wounded but survived. There’s an uncomfortable silence when we get to Ta’Shara’s and Lucifer’s names; especially Lucifer’s.
There are already rumors floating that the most dangerous chick in the game is brain dead and that our leader, Fat Ace, is having a hard time accepting that shit as fact. So far, he’s refusing to leave her side. He and Lucifer’s mother hold vigil day and night. Sooner or later, a decision on whether to pull the plug will have to be made.
But for now, none of us feels comfortable pouring beer out in her name.
A drunken Profit nibbles on Amira’s ear and tugs her in the direction of his crib. She giggles like a teenybopper and allows him to pull her away. I glare at her ass, waiting for her to look in my direction. At the door, Amira looks at me, but then gives my ass a Kanye shrug and goes inside.
“That fucking bitch.” I slam my beer bottle to the ground and take off toward Profit’s house with Romil close behind. I don’t even think twice about kicking in the door.
Bam!
Profit’s head snaps up. “What the fuck?” His hand goes to his weapon.
“Slow your roll, cuz. It’s just me,” I tell him while I march straight toward Amira’s trifling ass.
Her eyes grow big as fuck when I latch on to her fresh sew-in weave and snatch her.
“Heeey!” she screams.
“Shut up!” I crash the butt of my weapon across her jaw.
Blood sprays across the floor.
“Whoa. Whoa.” Profit attempts to stop my next blow, but I’m too quick and Amira drops like a stone. “What the fuck you doing?”
“This is Flower business,” I tell him. “Don’t you worry about it.”
“Don’t worry?”
I shout at Amira, “You still here? What the fuck are you waiting on?”
Amira glances up at Profit.
Pissed, I kick the bitch in the gut to get her to move. “What the fuck is you looking at him for? Get up outta here!” I deliver another kick.
Amira scrambles across the floor, but the second she moves past me, Romil slams her Timberland into the back of her ass, just so she can brag that she helped two-piece her ass.
Once the bitch is gone, Profit is confused about what the fuck happened.
“So what’s this? You’re into random bitches now?” I ask.
Profit glances around. “You talking to me?”
“You’re standing there, ain’t you?”
“No. You
can’t be talking to me out the side of your neck up in my crib.”
“This ain’t no side nothing. I’m coming to you direct because Ta’Shara is my girl and I’m not the type of friend to allow any disrespect for my fuckin’ friend.”
“Humph. News flash:Your girl and I broke up. I’m a free muthafuckin’ agent and I don’t need your permission to bring another shorty up in here if that’s what I choose to do.”
“Nigga, who you foolin’? Your ass ain’t nowhere near being over Ta’Shara. You’re just hurt because she’s making shit hard for you right now. You should be happy that she is, because that shows that she ain’t like these other bitches who are trying to fuck you for status. You need to figure out how in the fuck you’re going to win Ta’Shara’s ass back. You two belong together like peanut butter and jelly. You’re not going to find a better bitch, especially out here.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, taking a drink of beer. “Ta’Shara made it clear that she doesn’t want to have any more to do with me.”
“I doubt that Ta’Shara knows what the fuck she wants right now. The bitch has been through more shit in a year than my ass has the entire twenty years I’ve been in the game. You got to be patient with her. I mean, if you really do love her.”
“Of course I love her.” He clamps his jaw tight after confessing that much. He drains the last of his beer before continuing. “Look. I get what you two are doing, but at the end of the day, I can’t make Ta’Shara love me when she’s too busy regretting the day that she ever met me.”
“She said that?”
He hesitates. “Pretty much.”
“And your dumb ass believed her?”
Profit frowns. “Yes. I believed her. She was looking me dead in my eye when she said that shit at the hospital.”
Romil and I glance at each other. “You saw her at the hospital?”
He walks over to his couch and plops down as if carrying the world on his shoulders has worn him out. “Yeah. Of course. I went up there the day I got released—much good that shit did me.”
Queen Divas Page 23