The mean streets of Memphis are about to run red with blood as the most lethal ladies in the Dirty South prepare for all-out war.
Bullets have no names and collateral damage is just part of the game as deadly boss divas push their gangs to secure total control of the streets. In the end, only one can rule—but all-out war means all-out consequences.
Vice Lord chief Lucifer goes after the upstart Crippettes gang one by one—but locking down her power will put everything she lives to protect at risk. Ta’Shara straps on her training wheels to prove she can ride with the best of the Flowers—but does this good-girl-gone-bad really have what it takes to survive? And as Queen G LeShelle viciously body-drops to keep her bloody secrets buried, her husband Python may be the one person that can put her in check.The mean streets of Memphis are about to run red with blood as the most lethal ladies in the Dirty South prepare for all-out war.
Bullets have no names and collateral damage is just part of the game as deadly boss divas push their gangs to secure total control of the streets. In the end, only one can rule—but all-out war means all-out consequences.
Vice Lord chief Lucifer goes after the upstart Crippettes gang one by one—but locking down her power will put everything she lives to protect at risk. Ta’Shara straps on her training wheels to prove she can ride with the best of the Flowers—but does this good-girl-gone-bad really have what it takes to survive? And as Queen G LeShelle viciously body-drops to keep her bloody secrets buried, her husband Python may be the one person that can put her in check.
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Overview
The mean streets of Memphis are about to run red with blood as the most lethal ladies in the Dirty South prepare for all-out war.
Bullets have no names and collateral damage is just part of the game as deadly boss divas push their gangs to secure total control of the streets. In the end, only one can rule—but all-out war means all-out consequences.
Vice Lord chief Lucifer goes after the upstart Crippettes gang one by one—but locking down her power will put everything she lives to protect at risk. Ta’Shara straps on her training wheels to prove she can ride with the best of the Flowers—but does this good-girl-gone-bad really have what it takes to survive? And as Queen G LeShelle viciously body-drops to keep her bloody secrets buried, her husband Python may be the one person that can put her in check.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780758292544 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Kensington |
| Publication date: | 10/27/2015 |
| Series: | Diva , #4 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 320 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Boss Divas
By De'nesha Diamond
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
Copyright © 2014 De'nesha DiamondAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-9251-3
CHAPTER 1
Ta'Shara
"STOP THE FUCKING CAR!"
Profit slams on the brakes while I bolt out of the passenger car door and race into the night toward my foster parents' burning house.
"TRACEE! REGGIE!" They're not in there. Please, God. Don't let them be in there. "TRACEE! REGGIE!"
"Ta'Shara, wait up," Profit yells. His long strides eat up the distance between us even as I shove my way through the city's emergency responders. I've never seen flames stretch so high or felt such intense heat. Still, none of that shit stops me. In my delusional mind, there is still time to get them out of there.
"Hey, lady. You can't go in there," someone shouts and makes a grab for me.
As I draw closer to the front porch, Profit is able to wrap one of his powerful arms around my waist and lift me off my feet. "Baby, stop. You can't go in there."
"Let me go!" My legs pedal in the air as I stretch uselessly for the door. "TRACEE! REGGIE!" My screams rake my throat raw.
Profit drags me away from the growing flames.
Men in uniform rush over to us. I don't know who they are and I don't care. I just need to know one thing. "Where are my parents? Did they make it out?"
"Ma'am, calm down. Please tell me your name."
"WHERE ARE THEY?"
"Ma'am—"
"ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!"
"C'mon, man," Profit says. "Give my girl something."
The fireman draws a deep breath and then drops a bomb that changes my life forever.
"The neighbors reported the fire. Right now, I'm not aware of anyone making it out of the house. I'm sorry."
"NOOOOOOO!" I collapse in Profit's arms. He hauls me up against his six-three frame and I lay my head on his broad chest. Before, I found comfort in his strong embrace, but not tonight. I sob uncontrollably as pain overwhelms me, but then I make out a familiar car down the street.
"Oh. My. God."
Profit tenses. "What?"
My eyes aren't deceiving me. Sitting behind the wheel of her burgundy Crown Victoria is LeShelle with a slow smile creeping across her face. She forms a gun with her hand and pretends to fire at us.
We're next.
LeShelle tosses back her head and, despite the siren's wail, the roaring fire, and the chaos around me, that bitch's maniacal laugh rings in my ears.
How much more of this shit am I going to take? When will this fuckin' bullshit end?
BOOM!
The crowd gasps when windows explode from the top floor of the house, but my gaze never waivers from LeShelle. My tears dry up as anger grips me.
She did this shit. I don't need a jury to tell me that the bitch is guilty as hell. How long has she been threatening the Douglases' lives? Why in the hell didn't I believe that she would follow through?
LeShelle has proven her ruthlessness time after time. This fucking "Gangster Disciples versus the Vice Lords" shit ain't a game to her. It's a way of life. And she doesn't give a fuck who she hurts.
My blood boils and all at once everything burst out of me. I wrench away from Profit's protective arms and take off toward LeShelle in a rage.
"I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!"
"Ta'Shara, no!" Profit shouts.
I ignore him as I race toward LeShelle's car. My hot tears burn tracks down my face.
LeShelle laughs in and then pulls off from the curb, but not before I'm able to pound my fist against the trunk.
Profit's arms wrap back around my waist, but I kick out and connect with LeShelle's taillight and shatter that mutherfucka. The small wave of satisfaction I get is quickly erased when her piece-of-shit car burps out a black cloud of exhaust.
"NO! Don't let her get away. No!"
"Ta'Shara, please. Not now. Let it go!"
Let it go? I round on Profit. "How the fuck can you say that shit?"
BOOM!
More windows explode, drawing my attention back to the only place that I've ever called home. My heart claws its way out of my chest as orange flames and black smoke lick the sky.
My legs give out and my knees kiss the concrete, and all the while Profit's arms remain locked around me. I can't hear what he's saying because my sobs drown him out.
"This is all my fault," tumbles over my tongue. I conjure up an image of Tracee and Reggie—the last time I saw them. It's a horrible memory. Everyone was angry and everyone said things that ... can never be taken back.
Grief consumes me. I squeeze my eyes tight and cling to the ghosts inside of my head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Profit's arms tighten. I melt in his arms even though I want to lash out. Isn't it his fault my foster parents roasted in that house, too? When the question crosses my mind, I crumble from the weight of my shame.
I'm to blame. No one else.
A heap in the center of the street, I lay my head against Profit's chest again and take in the horrific sight through a steady sheen of tears. The Douglases were good people. All they wanted was the best for me and for me to believe in myself. They would've done the same for LeShelle if she gave them the chance.
LeShelle fell in love with the streets and the make-believe power of being the head bitch of the Queen Gs. I didn't want anything to do with any of that bullshit, but it didn't matter. I'm viewed as GD property by blood, and the shit hit the fan when I fell in love with Profit—a Vice Lord by blood. Back then Profit wasn't a soldier yet. But our being together was taken as a sign of disrespect. LeShelle couldn't let it slide.
However, the harder I fight the streets' politics, the deeper I'm dragged into her bullshit world of gangs and violence.
"I should have killed her when I had the chance." If I had, Tracee and Reggie would still be alive. "She won't get away with this," I vow. "I'm going to kill her if it's the last thing I do."
CHAPTER 2LeShelle
"Rot in hell, bitch." I jam on the accelerator. My clit thumps at the sight of the bright, orange flames engulfing the Douglases' house, which is still in my rearview. Watching Ta'Shara's hysterics almost felt as good as when I ordered June Bug and Kane to strap Tracee and Reggie down to the bed so I could douse their asses with gasoline. The only thing that could've made the night more perfect would be to have my precious lil sister roasting right next to them.
The bitch doesn't know how much I wish I could pump the brakes and finish what I drove out here to do. That's all right. I'm going to get my chance. The GD initials are still carved on Ta'Shara's ass, which means I still own it. I won't stop coming for her until she's being lowered into the ground. I know that shit is cold, but whatever love or loyalty I had for her is long gone.
While the tall flames stretch to the sky, laughter rumbles from my chest. The number of games I'm about to play with this dumb bitch multiplies in my head.
I corner onto Poplar Avenue, and June Bug and Kane's Expedition falls in line behind me. The sight of them takes the edge off my revenge high and plunges me into a pool of irritation. I hate having babysitters.
My cell phone rings from the car's charger.
Unknown caller.
Bullshit. It's Python calling me from a burner. No doubt June Bug's blabbing ass has already called in and tattled. Well, fuck him—and fuck Python, too. I'm so through with his ass I don't know what to do.
Instead of sitting on our throne on Shotgun Row, our asses are hiding out from the police because his dumbass got too hot and snuffed one of his chicken-heads-slash-baby-mommas. Too bad her ass was also a fucking a cop. And not just any cop. She was the police captain's daughter. I mean, you got to have a certain talent to fuck up that bad. Granted, some of the heat has cooled off because people believe that Python is dead—supposedly killed in a fiery car crash off the Old Memphis Bridge a few months back.
But Python has nine lives—that or the devil keeps spitting his ass back out.
The phone stops ringing and the call rolls to voice mail. I know I'm gonna hear about the shit. Python always has a shit fit when I don't answer his calls, but I'll deal with his ass later. Reaching for the blunt I left in the ashtray, I quickly put fire to the tip and fill my lungs to the max. I hold that shit in until my brain fogs and my eyelids droop.
Despite feeling copasetic, I review the other shit I gotta deal with—like that grimy flower Qiana. Bitch double-crossed me. The deal was that I murk a snitch within my own ranks and in exchange she dusts off Python's latest pregnant side bitch,Yolanda. Simple. How in the fuck did this bitch fuck that shit up? I gotta see on the news that Qiana snatched the baby out of the corpse? Of course I wanted the little fucker dead, too. That shit should have been obvious. If Python even suspects that his baby is out there somewhere, he'll comb every street looking for it.
Shit. He's already chasing after one ghost—his long-lost brother, Mason. Somehow, someway, he's convinced himself that Fat Ace, the ex-leader of the Vice Lords, is his brother. All because of some birthmark.
I'm not going to be sucked into the land of make-believe with Python's ass. It don't matter anyway. Fat Ace—Mason — whatever the fuck his name is—is dead. End of story.
Python needs to get his mind right—and that don't mean putting his shady-ass cousin, Diesel, on the throne. I met him earlier tonight. He may be fine as fuck, a six-four, green-eyed brotha with his name tatted around his neck, but I don't trust his ass worth a damn. He'll rule these damn streets over my dead body. Bet that shit.
I puff out a thick cloud of smoke while my mind floats higher.
Riiiiinnnng! Riiiinnng!
Unknown caller.
I take another deep toke and let the call roll to voice mail again. The last few minutes, I coast the dark streets in silence. When I arrive at my and Python's temporary crib, I kill the engine and think about rolling another blunt. I ain't in the mood to deal with my husband's shit right now.
Husband. I'm still not used to the word.
I stare at the rock on my finger. I can't decide whether it's been worth it. What's the point of being a queen if you don't have a throne?
June Bug and Kane pull up at the curb and shut off their engine.
Python peeks through the venetian blinds.
Shit.
Abandoning the idea of rolling another fat one, I climb out of the car and head into the house. The front door is snatched open before I lay a hand on the knob. One of Python's thick, muscular arms jerks me into the house. I open my mouth, but my head rocks back before I actually hear the SLAP!
I crash into the wall behind me, and then slide down to the floor while blood fills my mouth.
"Where in the hell have you been? I've been calling you for hours."
Python growls, towering over me. His bulky chest flexes while he pumps his fists at his sides. "I got June Bug and Kane blowing me up, but you can't seem to answer my calls?"
I spit the blood from my mouth. "I must've had it on vibrate," I lie, peeling myself off the floor.
"You're a muthafuckin' lie." Python's face twists up.
"Whatever. Believe what you want." I press my fingers up to my lips to feel the damage. "What's the big deal? When I left here, you had your head so far up Diesel's ass, I didn't think you needed me."
His black gaze rakes me up and down. I stare back. Python has a face only a mother could love: a black gargoyle right down to the snake-forked tongue. Physically, his shit is on point; but the side bitches who drop their panties for this nigga are drawn to the power he represents—my ass included. I'm not cold and heartless. I do feel some kind of way about his ass. shit. It might even be called love—but I love his power more.
"I ain't no chump nigga," Python says. "Unless you're dead or bleeding in the streets, you pick up the phone when I call."
"What's the fuckin' problem? Your lil babysitters reported my every damn move anyway." I test my luck by bumping his shoulder and marching around him.
"You're damn right they check-in—that's what your ass needs to be doing. These fuckin' streets are hot. I can't be up in this bitch tryna make moves and be worrying about you at the same damn time."
I smile in the middle of his barking. "You were worried?"
Python paces like he's tryna wear a hole in the carpet. "Shelle, I ain't got time for fuckin' games. Brothas around me dropping and disappearing into thin air: Momma Peaches, Melanie, Mason, Yolanda—the baby."
Aw shit. Here he comes whining about that damn jizz baby. When I get my hands on that damn Qiana ...
"Melanie hardly counts since you offed the bitch yourself" I remind him and head into the living room.
"Don't start that shit"
"Start what?" I ask, innocently. I plop down in front of the coffee table that's stacked with bricks of cocaine, cash, guns, pill baggies, and vials of shit I ain't never seen before. I ignore that hard shit and go straight for the blueberry Mary Jane.
"What happened after you left Passions?" he asks.
I grab the package of cigars. "You already know what happened. Your boys told you"
"I want you to tell me"
I ignore him and continue making my shit.
He continues to interrogate. "How in the hell you end up burning down your sister's crib and leaving Kookie as part of the barbecue?"
"Why are you asking me about my business when you keep me out of yours?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Diesel! Are you seriously going to give him the keys to the throne? You're just going to give up? I mean, I'm a boss bitch. I make sure all these punk-ass muthafuckas out here know it. Kookie and her nigga McGriff had been playin' our asses, and making deals on the side—the situation needed to be addressed—and I handled that shit"
A doorknob rattles. I cock my head to the side to see Diesel's pretty ass exit the bathroom. I didn't know that his ass was still here.
"Damn, nigga. You dropping logs or eavesdroppin' back there?" I ask.
Diesel smirks, but his greenish-blue eyes signal that he's far from being amused. "I see you found your way back home. Cuz was worried"
"Speaking of home, why don't you carry your shady ass back to Atlanta?" I challenge, matching his smirk. I want it crystal damn clear that I don't like his honey-colored ass—I don't give a damn what his reputation is down in the A. All I know is he ain't taking what's mine.
"Damn, Shelle. What the fuck is up with you?" Python scolds. "D is fam. You need to treat him as such."
"Family, huh?" Diesel and I glare at each other. "Yeah. I can do that. I just love family."
"Annnd on that note, I think it's time that I head out." Diesel winks.
I toss him the middle finger.
Python hands over the joint and climbs back onto his feet. "A'ight, cuz. Sorry about that. She must be PMSing."
No, this nigga didn't.
"We gonna hook up tomorrow, right?" The men slap palms, and bump shoulders.
"Two o'clock sharp," Diesel confirms and then turns.
Python follows him, pounding Diesel's broad back while he escorts him to the door.
I put fire to the tip of my blunt, though my lips are still throbbing like a muthafucka. My gaze tracks the cousins across the small house. All kinds of alarms sound off inside my head. This muthafucka is too pretty, too smooth, and too fuckin' powerful to be trusted. What the hell is my man doing, handing over the keys to the throne without firing a single bullet?
This shit is fucked up.
At the door, Diesel turns one last time and smiles. "It was nice meeting you, LeShelle," he says.
"Uh-huh."
He laughs and then slips out.
Python closes and locks the door behind his cousin before strutting his ass back into the living room.
I shake my head. "Damn shame."
He huffs out a long breath. "What?"
"You're making a big mistake."
"I got this."
"Do you?" I challenge.
"Yeah." He reaches over and takes the blunt right out of my mouth so he can toke on it for a few puffs. "Shit on our end is sloppy as fuck—has been for a little while. My soldiers are wide open and protection is close to nonexistent. That bitch Lucifer and the Vice Lords are feasting on my fuckin' streets and tagging so many niggas hell can't keep up." He takes another hit, but it doesn't settle his nerves. "Nah. If I'm going to settle this shit, I'm gonna need a solid nigga I can trust."
I laugh. "And you think that you can trust a muthafucka from Atlanta? Since when? Those niggas ain't got no fuckin' home trainin'. We don't need him."
"I trust Diesel. That's all that matters. We're going to settle some scores and then he's going to hold shit down while we go to Mexico and chill out for a while—there's too much heat around here."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Boss Divas by De'nesha Diamond. Copyright © 2014 De'nesha Diamond. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
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