Queen Divas Read online

  “Well?” Dime stops dancing.

  “Well, what?”

  “Are we gonna ride through and pick T up?”

  “Shit.” My ass forgot just that damn quick. I push up out of my seat, dropping my phone and car keys on the floor.

  Romil and Dime laugh. I flash them the bird before bending over to pick the items up. I’m far from being steady on my feet as I head to the door.

  Dime asks, “Are you sure that your ass can even fucking drive?”

  “I got this,” I boast, struggling to put the key into the ignition.

  “I’ll drive,” Dime declares, snatching the keys out of my hands and then shoving me.

  “Fine. Fine. Fuck it. You drive.” We have a big laugh as we exchange seats and then cruise toward Ruby Cove.

  2

  Lucifer

  “Push. Push,” Dr. Modi coaches from between my legs.

  Déjà vu. I’m once again submerged in pain as I push and grind to get his baby out of me, but no matter how much I grunt, curse, or scream, he refuses to budge. In fact it feels like he’s spinning and clawing to stay in the womb.

  “It’s okay, Willow. You got this.”

  I look over. It’s Bishop again—the left side of his head still missing. I grab his hand. “No. I can’t do this. If he comes out, he’ll die. You gotta help me.”

  Bishop smiles. “Don’t be silly. Everything is going to be fine. I’ll take good care of your baby.”

  What the hell is he talking about? He’s dead. I release his hand and try to shove him away. “No. No. I don’t want you taking care of my baby,” I pant. More pain seizes me and I wonder if I’m going to survive this nightmare. “Awwwwww. Mason! Where is Mason?” I don’t understand why he isn’t here.

  Tears splash down my face as I fight not to push, but my body has a mind of its own and the contractions are never ending. “No. Please. I don’t want this. Make it stop!”

  Bishops laughs. “It’s a little too late for that.”

  “Push. Push. Push,” Dr. Modi shouts.

  “Aaaaargh. Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit muthafucka!” I growl at the smiling doctor between my legs. I hate his fucking face.

  “Here comes the head,” Dr. Modi cheers. “Push!”

  “Aaaaargh! I swear to God, after I deliver this baby, I’m going to fuckin’ kill you!”

  The doctor keeps smiling. “Push!”

  Sweat pours down my face and burns my eyes. I can’t see a muthafuckin’ thing. And I’m alone. I’m so fuckin’ alone. This isn’t how this is supposed to be. Mason is supposed to be here. Why would he leave me all alone?

  “Don’t worry.” Another voice joins this madness. “I’m here.”

  I look to my left and am stunned by the face approaching the bed. “Dad?”

  He smiles and lights up the room. “Hello, Willow.”

  Seeing him somehow cuts my pain in half. It’s been so long and he looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him—right down to the bloody rose on his chest where he’d been shot. “Daddy, my baby. You got to help me save my baby.”

  “Shhh. Calm down. I know you got a lot on your plate, but you can’t worry about that right now. You need to wake up.”

  “Can’t worry? B-but he’s going to die.”

  “You have to wake up.”

  “What?” I can’t process what he’s saying.

  “There’s somebody in the house—and they’ve come to kill you.”

  * * *

  My eyes pop open in the semidarkness and catch the gleam of a steel blade as it makes a sweeping arc down onto the bed. Instinct kicks in. I roll to the other side of the bed instead of reaching for the gun tucked underneath the pillow.

  The knife slices into the pillow-top mattress with a muted thump, ripping through the material.

  I keep rolling and crash over the left side of the bed. The gravitational pull is cruel and I hit the hardwood floor with alarming force, belly first. Pain shoots through every part of my body. I struggle to block it out as my hand flails for the other piece in the nightstand, but my movements aren’t as quick as normal.

  “Grrrrrrrrrr!” My attacker leaps over the bed and grabs a fistful of my hair and tries to yank it out of my scalp.

  Another bolt of pain rips through me while cartoon stars spin behind my eyes. Before I can get that shit to stop, my head is mashed into the wall. I make a big dent in that muthafucka because I taste bits of plaster. Balling my fist, I strike out and sock this bitch dead in her pussy—my first clue that my attacker is indeed a woman.

  She grunts, but the punch has less effect than if my attacker had been the opposite sex. It’s enough for her to release her hold on my head for a millisecond, and I’m able to sweep my arm out and hit those knees.

  She drops like a stone.

  I spring up on this bitch, but I lose a second when something warm rushes down my inner thigh. A punch hits me square in my jaw, knocking my ass to the left, where I trip over the foot of the bed.

  More cartoon stars. This bitch is pissing me off.

  My attacker launches toward me again. I block her first two blows, keeping my elbows together, like Bishop taught me. When I come out from behind an arm shield, I wail on this bitch like a heavyweight champion. In no time, I pin her to the floor, my fist as bloody as my thighs.

  She whimpers.

  While I got this bitch under the moonlight spilling through the window, I snatch the wool mask from her head. When her hair stops tumbling out, I’m shocked. Shariffa?

  This bitch ain’t this muthafuckin’ bold. But there’s not a damn thing wrong with my eyes.

  Enraged, I wrap my hands around Shariffa’s neck and squeeze with everything I got. “You stupid bitch!” My arms tremble as my grip tightens.

  “ACK. GACK.” She chokes, clawing at my hands.

  “That’s right. Let me hear death rattle around in your chest. When you’re gone, I’m going to take my fucking time peeling and slicing your ass from your head to your toes.”

  “ACK. GAAACK.”

  “There’s not going to be anything left of your treacherous ass. I’m going to make damn sure of that shit.”

  “ACK. GAAAACK!”

  This bitch is seconds away from passing from this world to the other when an ungodly pain shoots up from my abdomen and straight to my brain.

  “Aaaaaargh!” The scream is out of my throat before I have a chance to stop it. Then it happens again and I pitch over and hit the floor, gripping my belly.

  I’m only mildly aware of Shariffa coughing and wheezing next to me.

  Pull it together. Pull it together. But I can’t. The baby!

  Shariffa scrambles for the knife.

  Somehow I swing out an arm and grab her ankle. She trips with a loud thump!

  Desperate, Shariffa kicks me with her free leg. My head. My neck—and then a firm kick straight to my belly.

  “Aaaaaaargh!” This dirty bitch. But she’s going to win this battle. The knife glistens in the moonlight before it makes its second swinging arc straight toward my baby.

  BAM!

  The bedroom door is kicked open.

  Shariffa jumps.

  POW! POW! POW!

  She is lifted into the air as the bullets slam into her, and then she collapses into a bloody heap beside me.

  “Lucifer!” Ta’Shara rushes into the room and drops down beside me. “Lucifer, are you all right?”

  I want to answer her, but instead I tumble into darkness.

  3

  Ta’Shara

  Oh shit. I stare down at Lucifer and at the carnage around her moonlit bedroom with a gun still clutched in my hands. Lucifer is barely recognizable with her long black hair matted on both sides of her head. Her pink satin nightgown is ripped and bloody. Her gigantic pregnant belly protrudes straight up and is splattered with bits of brain from the crazy bitch I dumped three bullets into when I stormed in here. I didn’t even have time to think before pulling the trigger. I reacted . . . again. I’ve be
en a Vice Lord Flower for just a couple of months and I’ve already dropped my third body.

  Fuck. It was all by chance that I even saw the bitch creeping around outside of the house. If I weren’t in the middle of leaving my man, Profit, again, I wouldn’t have seen shit.

  It’s bad enough that hours ago I finally put an end to my evil-ass sister, LeShelle. I’d dumped at least a dozen slugs into her before dousing her ass in gasoline and lighting her up. Given that the fire was the exact same way LeShelle killed my best friend, Essence, and then my foster parents, Tracee and Reggie Douglas, it was a fitting ending for the crazy bitch masquerading as my sister.

  And now this shit. Can’t I catch a break?

  After a full minute, my mind remains blank on what the hell I’m supposed to do next—but I have to do something.

  Is she breathing? Kneeling beside Lucifer, I place two fingers against her neck to check for a pulse.

  I can’t find one.

  Oh God, no.

  I check again, frantically sliding my fingers along the groove between her neck and her collarbone. Between my own hammering heartbeats, I detect a slight thumping against the pads of my fingers. I almost pass out in relief. Then I remember that Lucifer and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms. Once upon a time, I actually looked up to the deadliest gangsta diva in Memphis’s mean streets, but that was before I’d caught her kissing my man. Now, I don’t care too much for her. So why in the hell did I save her?

  Lucifer’s stomach moves. I inch back and nearly trip over the brainless girl behind me. Fuck. With horror and fascination, I watch as Lucifer’s belly rolls and drops lower. Is the baby trying to get out?

  Lucifer emits a low, winding moan that makes the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand straight up. As she comes to, she clutches at her moving belly. In no time at all, her moans deepen into a low guttural roar. Glancing down between her legs, I note the vibrant red blood on her thighs glowing in the moonlight.

  My heart leaps up into my throat and I’m paralyzed with fear. I’ve been through a lot of shit in my seventeen years on this earth, but this shit right here is waaay out of my fucking league. I don’t know shit about delivering babies, not to mention one whose mother looks like she’s on the edge of death herself.

  Lucifer stops roaring and starts sucking vast amounts of air through her teeth. When she finally manages to lift her fevered gaze toward me, her face is blanketed with fear and pain. “H-help me.”

  I blink. I’m willing to bet everything I own that Lucifer has never asked for help from another bitch a single day in her life. It’s gotta be tearing her up inside that she must ask me, of all people, right now. Taking a step back, the memory of Profit locking his lips against hers flashes inside my head. It reminds me of the long knife of betrayal still buried in the center of my back.

  Lucifer said that he kissed her.

  Profit said it was a mistake.

  The shit still hurts like a muthafucka—and it is the reason my ass was leaving.

  “Please,” Lucifer adds. “H-help.”

  I want to tell her that I’ve already helped her ass once tonight—this other shit she might need to get someone else. I take another step back. However, watching the baby inch its way even lower, my conscience makes it clear that there is no way I could leave her like this. Push all the bad shit aside and do what you gotta do.

  “Okay. Tell me what you want me to do,” I say, sweating.

  “Maybe you should boil some water or something.”

  “For what?” My confusion annoys her.

  “I don’t know. Isn’t that what they always say on TV when a woman goes into labor? They always ask for towels and boiling water.”

  “Oh.” And then what? “So . . . you want me to boil some water?”

  “Yes . . . no . . . I mean, I don’t know.” At the next bolt of pain that flashes across her face, Lucifer bears down and growls through it. After an eternity, she relaxes and pants as if she’s finished running a marathon.

  Lucifer looks up. “Whatever you do, please don’t just stand there like a statue.”

  “Okay. Okay.” I force myself to breathe, but my nerves are far from calm. “Lucifer, hang on. Don’t you think about dying on me,” I tell her and then look around the room again.

  The phone. I race to hit the bedroom’s light switch so I can search around for a landline.The horrific scene in the room is even worse under the harsh bedroom lights. Blood paints almost everything in the room: the walls, the floor, and even the bedsheets.

  “Aaaargh!” Lucifer’s deepening growl sounds demonic.

  I search around like a deer caught in headlights. “Where the fuck is the phone?” I glance back at Lucifer to see whether she can help me out.

  Sweat pours down her face. It’s all she can do to suck in quick sips of air and remain conscious.

  Hell. I don’t even know what the fuck I did with my cell phone, probably dropped it somewhere outside when I rushed into the house. There’s got to be a phone downstairs. “Lucifer, I’ll be right back,” I shout. I race out of the room and take the stairs two at a time. At the bottom of the staircase, I find a portable unit sitting in its base on an end table by the sofa. I snatch it up and punch in 9-1-1.

  As soon as the operator comes on the line, I blurt, “I need an ambulance. I have a pregnant woman unconscious and bleeding out.”

  “Calm down, miss. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Yes. It’s Ta’Shara Murphy. Please. Hurry. Someone broke in here and tried to kill her. I shot the intruder but—”

  “Miss, please. Slow down. Help is on the way. Did you say that you shot someone?”

  “Yes. Damn it! Hurry! She’s lost a lot of blood.” Vaguely, I’m aware of something rumbling outside. Sounds like a couple of foot soldiers cruising down Ruby Cove in their loud-ass hoopties. It’s still possible help. I head toward the window.

  “The police and ambulance are on the way, ma’am,” the operator says, “but I need to get a little more information from you.”

  I nod and reach to peek through the venetian blinds.

  “SIX POPPIN’, FIVE DROPPIN’,” voices shout from outside. A second later, bullets fly into the house. Before I can think or move away from the window, I’m lifted off my feet and thrown back. Pain sears through me as the onslaught continues and the house turns into a war zone.

  As I collapse on the floor, my legs twist beneath me.

  “Fuck you, you dirty muthafuckas!” another ominous voice shouts from outside.

  Six poppin’. The Gangster Disciples? How in the hell did they make it onto Ruby Cove?

  The war between the Vice Lords and Gangster Disciples stretches so far back that no one living or locked down remembers how the shit got started in the first place. For the longest time, my ass never wanted to get involved in this street shit, but I was dragged in, kicking and screaming, when my sister, LeShelle, became the wifey of Python, chief of the Gangster Disciples. By her locking down that ugly, reptile-looking muthafucka, people viewed me as Gangster Disciple property, too. Everything went left when I met and fell in love with Profit—who happened to be the younger brother to the chief of the Vice Lords.

  When I refused to give Profit up, LeShelle and a group of her GD minions kidnapped Profit and me on our prom night. LeShelle stood there and watched as those dirty muthafuckas took turns raping me. After that, she put seventeen bullets in Profit and left him for dead. I ended up in a mental hospital, where they kept me stoned out of my mind for months.When Profit pulled through and my foster parents managed my release, LeShelle and I were right back at it.

  Then she murdered the Douglases.

  It was a matter of time before LeShelle and I went head-to-head. When it happened, LeShelle didn’t think I had the balls to take her out—but she didn’t know just how far she had pushed me.

  The bitch is gone, but the Vice Lord and Gangster Disciple’s war continues.

  “Ta’Shara! What the fuck is going on down ther
e?” Lucifer shouts.

  I lay gasping on the floor. My shock delays the pain, but only briefly. Before I know it, the entire right side of my body feels as if it’s on fire. I watch as my own blood bloom across my white T-shirt. When a bullet grazes my left temple, I realize that I don’t have time to work the shit out inside my head. I have to get out of the damn way.

  Rat-a-tat-tat-tat

  Rat-a-tat-tat-tat

  I pull in a deep breath, but the shit makes the pain worse. Bullets zip and ping around my head. Then one sears into my back.

  “Ta’Shara! Are you still down there?” Lucifer shouts.

  The world spins. Nothing is real any more. I don’t have enough energy to shout back. Alarm bells goes off when I realize I can’t feel my legs. Still, I drag my body across the floor—away from the living room’s front window. Stabbed at least a million times by broken glass and splintered wood, I struggle to remain focused. I certainly don’t want to die here—not like this.

  Profit’s face flashes before my eyes. Not the slim pretty boy I met that one fateful day at the mall, but the handsome, chiseled, and virile Vice Lord soldier who broke my heart. An hour ago, I couldn’t imagine ever forgiving him for kissing Lucifer. Now I wish that he would rush through the front door and save the day.

  Rat-a-tat-tat-tat

  Rat-a-tat-tat-tat

  From the corner of my eye, I spot the phone and the gun that was knocked out of my hands, several feet away from me. The idea of crawling to it exhausts me. But I have to do something.

  Rat-a-tat-tat-tat

  Rat-a-tat-tat-tat

  A wave of tears soothes my burning eyes, but I manage to make it halfway across the living room when the gunfire stops.

  I take the lull in ricocheting bullets to collapse in a pool of my own blood. However, it’s the pain that I can’t get away from. I wish that I could crawl out of my skin.

  Clunk! Clunk!

  My head snatches up at the noise coming from the top floor. Lucifer.

  How in the hell did I forget about her—and the baby?

  Rat-a-tat-tat-tat

  Rat-a-tat-tat-tat