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By DE'NESHA DIAMOND
DAFINA BOOKSCopyright © 2011 De'nesha Diamond
All right reserved.
I'm seriously fucked. That shit hits home the second I see Python, my baby's daddy and the leader of the Black Gangster Disciples, kick down my door to see his arch enemy, Fat Ace, head nigga of theVice Lords, giving me a good dicking down.
I'm stunned and can't move.
"WHAT THE FUCK?" Fat Ace jerks out of my pussy and makes a dive toward the nightstand for his piece.
"YOU'RE A DEAD MUTHAFUCKA!" POW! Python's gun sounds like a cannon.
I blink out of my trance to dive in the opposite direction just as Fat Ace starts returning fire. Right now, I'm wishing that I didn't keep my own weapon locked in a safety box at the top of my bedroom closet. Judging by the look on Python's face, Fat Ace and I aren't walking out of this muthafucka alive.
POW! POW! POW!
Python ducks and twists away from the door before Fat Ace's bullets tear huge chunks out of the door frame. Unfortunately, that leaves me in Python's direct line of vision. Time crawls the second our gazes connect, while death skips down my spine and wraps itself around my heart.
"No, Python. Wait," I beg. I even foolishly lift my hands like a stop sign as if that's really going to enforce a time-out. Python's black, empty, soulless eyes narrow. At this fucking moment, I'm no different from any other nigga on the street: disposable. I'm already dead to him, and my tears are nothing but water.
Fat Ace squeezes off another round.
POW! POW! POW!
Wood splinters from the door frame inches above Python's head, but that doesn't stop him from lifting his Glock and aiming that muthafucka straight at me. I'm a cop and I'm used to plunging headlong into danger, but I don't have a badge pinned to my titties right now, and my courage is pissing out in between my legs.
Fat Ace misses again.
"Please. I'm carrying your baby." As a desperate act, I clutch the small mound below my belly, and I succeed in getting his eyes to drop.
To my left, Fat Ace's head whips in my direction. His voice booms like a clap of thunder.
"WHAT THE FUCK?"
I spin my head back toward Fat Ace. Why does it suddenly look like this muthafucka can pass for Python's twin? Anger rises off of him like steam. I open my mouth but my brain shuts down. It doesn't matter. There are no words that can save me.
"You fucking lying bitch!" Fat Ace's gun swings away from Python and toward me, while Python's gat turns toward Fat Ace. Both pull the trigger at the same time.
The bullets feel like two heat-seeking missiles slamming into me. I propel backward, and my head hits the wall first.
Across the room, Python's bullets slam into Fat Ace's right side, but the nigga remains on his feet and squeezes out a few more rounds.
Shocked, it takes a full second before the pain in my chest and left side has a chance to register. When it does, it's like nothing I've ever felt before. Blood gushes out of my body as I slowly slide down the wall and plop onto the floor.
Python shoots the gun out of Fat Ace's hand.
POW! POW! POW!
"What, nigga? What?" Python roars.
Fat Ace clutches his bleeding hand but then charges toward Python real low and manages to tackle him to the ground before Python is able to squeeze off another shot. They hit the hardwood with a loud thump, and Python's gun is knocked out of his hand.
I need to get help. There's way too much blood pooling around me. I'm dying. Me and my baby.
"Is that all you got, nigga?" Fat Ace jams a fist into the center of Python's face. Blood bursts from Python's thick lips and big nose like a red geyser.
Tears rush down my face like a fucking waterfall. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. It's all I can tell my unborn child.
"Your ass gonna die tonight, you punk-ass bitch," Python growls, slamming his fist into Fat Ace's jaw.
My head snaps up. My son, Christopher, is in the other room. How can he sleep through all this noise? An image of Christopher, curled up in the bottom of his closet, trembling and crying, springs to my mind. I have to get to my baby.
I slump over from the wall but lack the strength to stop my upper body's falling momentum. My face crashes into the hard floor, and I can feel a tooth floating in blood in my mouth.
Covered in sweat and blood, Python and Fat Ace continue wrestling on the floor. Fat Ace, still naked, gets the upper hand for a second and sends a crushing blow across Python's jaw. A distinguishable crack reverberates in the room. To my ears, the muthafaucka should be broken, but Python ain't no ordinary nigga. And sure enough, in the next second, Python retaliates, landing one vicious blow after another. A tight swing lands below Fat Ace's rib cage. Its force not only causes another crack, but it also lifts Fat Ace up at least a half foot in the air and gives Python the edge in repositioning himself.
The punches flow harder and faster. The floor trembles as if we're in the middle of an earthquake. Python is shoved against the side of the bed, and the damn thing flies toward my head. Lacking the energy to get out of the way, all I can do is close my eyes and prepare for the impact. The bed's metal leg slams into the center of my forehead with a sickening thud, and a million stars explode behind my eyes.
The scuffling on the other side of the bed continues; more bone crushes bone. When I finally manage to open my eyes, Python is trying to stretch his hand far enough to reach for a gun, but it is a few inches too far. Fat Ace is doing all he can to make sure that shit doesn't happen.
Watching all this go down, I realize that I don't give a fuck if they kill each other. Why should I? I'm already sentenced to death. I can feel its cold fingers settling into my bones.
More tears flow as I have my last pity party. It's true what they say—your life does flash before your eyes. But it's not the good parts. It's all the fucked-up shit that you've done. Now that judgment is seconds away, I don't have a clue what I'm going to tell the man upstairs, that's a good sign that my ass is going straight to hell.
I have to say good-bye to Christopher.
Sucking in a breath, I dig deep for some reserved strength. Determined, I drag my body across the floor, crawling with my forearms.
To my right, the bedroom window explodes, and shards of glass stab parts of my body.
Python and Fat Ace wrestle for control of the gun.
"Fuck you, muthafucka," one of them growls.
Still, I'm not concerned about their dumb asses. I need to see my baby one more time. However, I only get about half a foot before sweat breaks out across my brow and then rolls down the side of my face. How in the hell can I be cold and sweating at the same time?
POW! POW! POW!
More glass shatters. I turn my head in time to see Fat Ace's large, muscled ass dive out the window. Python runs up to the muthafucka and proceeds to empty his magazine out the broken window.
"CRABBY MUTHAFUCKA!" Python reaches into his back pocket and produces another clip. He peers out into the darkness for a minute. "I'm a get his punk ass," he says, and then turns and races out of the bedroom in hot pursuit, nearly kicking me in the head as he passes.
Relieved that he's gone, I drag myself another inch before my arms wobble and threaten to collapse. I need to catch my breath.
POW! POW! POW!
The shooting continues outside. In the distance, I hear police sirens. Then again, it could be wishful thinking. It's not like the department would respond this fuckin' fast.
Christopher. I gotta get to my baby.
Convinced that I've caught my second wind, I attempt to drag myself again. I try and try, but I can't move another inch. A sob lodges in my throat as I hear the sound of footsteps. Christopher! He must've gotten the courage to come see if I'm all right. "Baby, is that you?" Damn. That one question leaves me breathless. I'm panting so hard I sound like I just ran a marathon.
The slow, steady footsteps draw closer.
"Baby?" I stretch out a blood-covered hand. When I see it, I'm suddenly worried about what Christopher will think seeing me like this. Shakily, I look around. I'm practically swimming in my own piss and blood. It could scare the shit out of him, scar him for life.
He's almost at the door.
Tell him not to come in here!
"Your fuckin' baby is gone."
Python's rumbling baritone fills my bedroom and freezes what blood I have left in my veins. My head creeps back around, and I'm stuck looking at the bottom of a pair of black jeans and shit kickers. More tears rush to my eyes. This nigga is probably going to stomp my ass into the hardwood floors.
"You're one slick, muthafuckin' bitch, you know that?"
"How long you been fuckin' that crab, huh?"
My brain scrambles, but I can't think of a goddamn thing to say.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" The more he talks, the deeper his voice gets. The sob that's been stuck in the middle of my throat now feels like a fucking boulder, blocking off my windpipe.
Python squats down. I avoid making eye contact because I'm more concerned about the Glock dangling in his hand. My heart should be hammering, but instead I don't think the muthafucka is working.
The gun moves toward me until the barrel is shoved underneath my chin, forcing my head up. Now it doesn't seem possible that I've spent so many years loving this nigga. How does a woman fall in love with death?
Python is not easy on the eyes, and his snake-forked tongue doesn't help. Big and bulky, his body is covered with tats of pythons, teardrops, names of fallen street soldiers, but more important is the big six-pointed star that represents the Black Gangster Disciples. He's not just a member. In this shitty town, he's the head nigga in charge—and my dumb ass crossed him.
"Look at me," he commands.
My gaze crashes into his inky black eyes, where I stare into a bottomless pit.
"You know you fucked up, right?"
I whimper and try to plea with my eyes. It's all I can do.
Muscles twitch along Python's jawline as he shakes his head. Then I see some shit that I ain't never seen before from this nigga: tears. They gloss his eyes, but they don't roll down his face. He ain't that kind of nigga.
"You fuckin' betrayed me. Out of all the niggas you could've fucked you pick that greasy muthafucka?"
"Shut the fuck up! I don't wanna hear your ass beggin' for shit. Your life is a wrap. Believe that!" He stares into my eyes and shakes his head. "What? You thought your pussy was so damn good that I was going to let this shit slide? I got streetwalkers who can pop pussy better than you. You ain't got a pot of gold buried up in that ass. I kept your triflin' ass around because I thought ..." He shakes his head again and the tears dry up or had I imagined those muthafuckas?
Sirens. I'm sure this time. The police are coming.
He chuckles. "What? You think the brothahs and sistahs in blue are about to save your monkey ass? Sheeiiit. That ain't how this is going down."
So many tears are rolling out my eyes I can barely see him now. I want to beg again, but I know it's useless. Time to buck up. Face this shit head-on.
"I can't believe that I ever thought you were my rib. You ain't good enough to wipe the shit out the crack of my ass," he sneers, releasing my chin and standing up.
The next thing I hear is the unzipping of his black jeans.
"You wanna live, bitch? Hmm?"
I nod but he still grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me up. Next thing I know, his fat cock is slapping me in the face.
"Suck that shit. Show me how much you wanna fuckin' live, bitch. You fuck this shit up, and I'll blast your goddamn brains all over this fuckin' floor. You got that?"
I try to nod again, but the shit is impossible. Python's dick is so hard when he shoves that muthafucka into my mouth that he takes out another fuckin' tooth. I can't even say that I'm sucking his shit as much as I'm bleeding and choking on it.
"Ssssssss." He grinds his hips and then keeps hammering away. "C'mon, pig. Get this nut."
I don't know how in the hell I remain conscious, but I do, hoping this nigga will come sooner rather than later. But when Python's dick springs out of my mouth, I'm not blasted with a warm load of salty cum but with a hot stream of nasty-ass piss. I close my mouth and try to turn my head away, but this nigga holds me still and tries to drown my ass.
"Open up, bitch. OPEN THE FUCK UP!"
Crying, I open my mouth.
"Yeah. That's right. Drink this shit up. This is the kind of nut you deserve!"
By the time he lets my head go, I'm drenched from head to goddamn toe but still sobbing and trying to cling to life. Python stuffs his still-rock-hard dick back into his pants and zips up. "Fuckin' pathetic. That had to be the worst head I ever had."
My eyes drop to the space in between his legs. There I see my seven-year-old baby, Christopher. He stands in his pajamas, clutching his beloved teddy bear. "I'm so sorry," I whisper.
Christopher's eyes round with absolute horror.
He's going to watch me die.
"You're a fuckin' waste of space, bitch. Go suck the devil's dick," Python hisses, and then plants his gun at the back of my head and pulls the trigger.
Profit jumps and wiggles around as bullet after bullet slams into him. His face remains filled with rage as he glares at LeShelle. If he could reach her, he would tear her apart limb by limb with his bare hands. At long last, there's an audible click. This evil bitch has run out of bullets. However, to everyone's disbelief, Profit remains standing—but barely.
"What the fuck?" one nigga marvels.
The shit spooks the small crowd as they stare openmouthed at Profit. A sliver of hope blossoms in my chest but then dies when Profit wobbles on his weakening legs and blood streams from both corners of his mouth.
"Profit." I take advantage of my shocked captors and scramble out of their grasp. But by that time, my man drops to his knees like a stone, and his eyes slowly roll toward mine. Our connection doesn't last longer than a second, but in that time I read so much in his eyes.
It's the love that I'm going to remember and cherish. At last he tilts over and collapses against the gravel and dirt.
"Whoa, ho, ho," Dreadlocks laughs. "Did y'all see that zombie shit? What the fuck?"
"Noooo," I moan, shaking my head as I crawl over glass, sharp rocks, and God knows whatever else. I have to reach him. "Profit ... baby?"
"That nigga was a fuckin' soldier," another goon praises from behind me. "I ain't seen no shit like that in all my life."
My breath thins when I reach Profit. He looks like a broken mannequin, lying in a growing pool of blood. I try to take it all in, but I'm wondering how on earth to put him back together again. "Profit ... baby?" My hands tremble as I reach out to touch his face.
"Fuck that nigga. He ain't no damn body," LeShelle snaps. "Grab Ta'Shara and let's get the fuck out of here."
I sit and carefully pull Profit's head into my lap. "I'm sooo sorry," I whisper as tears cascade over my lashes and fall onto his face. "This is all my fault. I knew better and ... Please, I can't lose you like this. I love you. Oh, God, you don't know how much I love you." Lowering my head, I rain kisses across his still face. "Please, please forgive me." Once the sobbing starts, I can't stop. I no longer feel the pain in my jaw, my ass, or even in between my legs. The only pain that is threatening to kill me is the one that is in my heart.
"I SAID GRAB THE BITCH!" LeShelle yells. "What the fuck are y'all lollygagging for? We ain't chillin' out in Disneyland. We gotta get the fuck out of here."
"Profit, I'm so sorry," I repeat over and over again, rocking his head in my lap. "Please forgive me. Please." I'm vaguely aware of approaching feet. I lock my arms around Profit's shoulders. At this moment, I have one truth: I want to die here with him.
"You heard your sister. It's time to go!" An arm as hard as steel latches around my waist and jacks me up so fast that he also pulls Profit up as well. But I lose my grip, and Profit slams down onto the ground again.
"PROFIT, NOOOOOO!" I thrust out my hands, trying to reach him.
"Goddamn, this bitch got a fuckin' pair of lungs!"
"Get her in the damn limo! Shit," LeShelle barks.
Her girls scramble out of the way. The looks on their faces are ones of stunned disbelief.
"Damn, LeShelle," Kookie says, shaking her. "You're a cold-ass bitch."
"You didn't know? You should've asked somebody."
"No! No! No!"
Excerpted from Street Divas by DE'NESHA DIAMOND Copyright © 2011 by De'nesha Diamond. Excerpted by permission of DAFINA BOOKS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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