Boss Divas (29 page)

“G
et out. We're going to take a drive.”

Qiana's eyes bulge in her busted face. “No.”

I click off the safety. “You can try me if you like,” I tell her. “But you know that I won't hesitate to splatter your brains all over this muthafucka. GET OUT!”

Qiana snaps out of her shock and then slowly climbs out of the cab.

I direct her to the Escalade, where Avonte is waiting behind the wheel.

Qiana keeps her chin up, but I still see the telltale signs of fear.

“This gotta feel like déjà vu for you,” I say snidely. “Isn't this how you and your girls got the drop on Yolanda?”

“You know it is.”

“Drive,” I tell Avonte.

When we peel off, I return my attention to Qiana. “I do recall us discussing a plan for that night,
but
I don't remember anything in those plans about you performing a C-section and taking her baby.”

“You never said anything about that bitch even being pregnant.”

“Because the shit was irrelevant. I wanted her
and
that bastard dead. Imagine my surprise when I get out of the hospital and see all over the news that you didn't fulfill your end of our arrangement.” I press the gun harder against her skull. “Do I look like the kind of bitch that you can fuckin' renege on?”

Her Adam's apple bobs again, but at least she doesn't bother to spit out no bullshit that's going to cause me to discharge a bullet into her skull.

“Where's the fuckin' kid?”

The apple bobs.

“Think twice before lying to me.”

She takes the warning to heart. “He's safe.”

“Do you have him?”

“No.”

She says the shit so quick and so smooth that my bullshit meter doesn't go off, but that's not enough for me to say that I believe her. “I want the kid,” I tell her.

“What? Why? So you can kill him?”

“Why the fuck do you give a shit? He's not yours.” I cock my head and study her. “Don't tell me that you've grown attached to that lil muthafucka?” I'm unable to contain my laughter. “What the
fuck
does your ass want with a miscellaneous bitch's baby?”

Her Adam's apple bobs again while the bitch doesn't bother to put up a single argument. I get the sense that there's something that I'm missing here. Every bitch is always on the come-up and working some damn angle. I know because I'm the same fuckin' way.
Why the hell would she hang on to this baby?

My eyes narrow on her. “You were going to try to fuck me, weren't you?” I hit on something because her eyes bulge again. I can't help but laugh because I'm going to fuck her, too. Doesn't matter. The situation will be rectified, but first I need to find out how bad the damage is.

“What did Diesel ask you?”

“What?”

“The nigga you spent all night fuckin'. I know that his ass grilled you. What did you tell him?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. He didn't ask me anything.”

“Bitch.” I remove the gun from her head to aim and shoot out the side window.

Qiana screams.

Avonte jumps and swerves out of her lane into oncoming traffic.

A horn blares and she quickly jerks the wheel so that she can get back in her lane.

Once everyone finishes panicking, I press my gun back against Qiana's temple. “Don't make me ask the fuckin' question again.”

“I don't remember,” she shouts, her eyes wetting up. “We did a few lines and . . . I don't remember a large chunk of what happened.”

“Then what happened to your face?”

“He, we, uh . . . I fell.”

Even Avonte laughs at that.

“Bitch, you really must think I'm stupid.” But drugging the bitch sounds like some dirty bullshit that grimy ATL nigga would pull. “Did he ask you about me?”

She shakes her head too fast for me to believe her. “I thought you said that you didn't remember shit?” I challenge.

“Well, why would he ask me about you?” she asks. “Why would he even think we know each other?”

I laugh. “Maybe you'll enjoy this one, but you've been sleeping with the enemy, bitch. Diesel is a Gangster Disciple—by way of Atlanta—and my nigga's cousin.”

The color drains from Qiana's face.

“Don't you even bother to find out who the fuck it is you've opened your legs for, trick? Or do you Flowers jump on every dick that's in front of you?”

Silence.

“You're a stupid muthafucka, I swear. You shouldn't be playin' in a game that you don't know the name
or
the fuckin' rules.” I look up to see where we are. “Pull over in that parking lot,” I tell Avonte.

Qiana tenses and shakes her head.

“Don't worry. You've bought yourself a little time.”

Qiana swallows and relaxes.

I smile while enjoying the surge of power I have over the moment. I could blow her brains all over this backseat and be done with it, but I can't shake that that shit would be a mistake. I need to take care of the baby first before clipping this last loose string.

Taking a deep breath, I remove the gun from Qiana's head and soften my tone. “Look. You gotta see this shit from my point of view. We agreed to do a job together and then I see that you didn't go through with your end of the deal. You can see why I might be a little . . .
confused
, don't you?”

She doesn't answer.

“Now, I'm going to give you a second chance to fulfill your end of the bargain. Bring me the kid and then everything can go back to being normal. You don't know me and I don't know you and never shall our paths cross again. Got it?”

Silence.

“This is the part where you nod or say that you understand.”

“I understand—but I'm going to need some time . . . to get him and bring him back.”

“How much time?” I growl.

“A week.”

Is she fuckin' with me?
“You have forty-eight hours. We'll meet in Hacks Cross in Winchester across from the golf course—ten o'clock. Now get out.”

Swearing under her breath, Qiana quickly climbs out of the car. I lock the door and climb into the front seat. “Forty-eight hours. Don't be late—and don't have me come looking for you again. You won't like what happens if I do.” I tap Avonte on the shoulder and we peel out of the parking lot, laughing at the busted bitch the whole way.

M
y ass is so sprung. I love how Mason can't stop touching, kissing, and talking to my stomach. These intimate moments are showing a side of him that I've never seen before. Our situation is officially on display. A few in the Vice Lord family have been bold enough to tell me it's about time that I found myself a steady lay and they hope it'll do some good in mellowing my ass out. Those conversations end with me threatening to cut their dicks off. Since they can't tell when I'm joking, they fall the fuck back and play their positions.

In the quiet times, I can't help but be aware of how my pregnancy is changing the dynamics and my position within the set. The shit is fuckin' with me. I've worked so hard to get these niggas to forget that my ass even has a pussy. Now my growing belly erases all that shit.

Fuck. I still have a couple of Crippettes I have to take care of before I kick my heels up and take it easy. “Lynch stashed those other bitches somewhere,” I tell Mason, while curled in a comfortable nook under his arm.

“If he's smart,” Mason says, kissing the top of my head. “We are talking about his wife.”

Hurt, I lean back at his casualness. “What—you ain't still heated over what they did to Bishop?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

I relax. “Good. I want to make sure that we're on the same page.”

“I got you—and I'm on that and that Angels of Mercy bullshit, too. You know we're gonna get some heat for that shit.”

“Fuck those muthafuckas.”

“Humph. We can only fight so many wars at one time, baby.”

“What are you saying?”

“That we don't want to overextend ourselves—but, for right now, your man is always two steps ahead on those muthafuckas.”

My man.
“Always, huh? That shit is news to me.”

“Smart ass.” Mason chuckles and nuzzles my neck. “I promise you, I'm on this shit,” he says. “You ain't gotta do a damn thing, but take care of my son.” He caresses my stomach again.

“Son?” I smile. “What makes you think that it won't be a girl?”

He puffs out his chest.“ 'Cause my swimmers paddle with three legs, you feel me?”

I punch his shoulder. “Boy, stop.”

“What?” He laughs. “You asked.”

“Well,
I
think that it's gonna be a girl—and she's gonna be a boss bitch, like her mother.”

Still chuckling, Mason inches closer. “You got me on that shit. You
are
a bad bitch—and I won't be mad if you spit out a mini-Willow this time around, but
next time.
. . .”

Grinning, I shoot back. “Next time? Who said that there's gonna be a next time?”

“
I
did,” he answers, matter-of-fact. He lifts my chin so that he can meet my gaze head-on. “Now that you're officially my lady, I plan on pumping that belly with a whole lot of babies.” He leans over me and reaches underneath my pillow.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to have a serious discussion.” He pulls out a velvet black box and sets it on my belly.

My heart skips several beats. “What's that?”

“What do you think it is?”

I blink like an epileptic to keep my eyes dry. I don't trust myself to even hazard a guess as to what's in the box.

Now chuckling at my speechlessness, Mason plucks up the box to open it and then sets it back down.

I gasp at the sight of a platinum and diamond ring.

“So what do you say? Do you want to officially be my lady—for life?”

Stunned, I can't stop staring.

“Well?” Mason prompts. “Has a cat got your tongue?”

“I'm thinking. I'm thinking.” I smirk, removing the ring from the box and examining it.

“Stop frontin'.” He laughs with a nervous note.

He takes the ring from my hand and slides the rock into place on the right finger. “There. Now don't ever take that muthafucka off.”

I cock my head, thinking.

Sweat pops out along his forehead. “Willow,” he barks, impatient.

After torturing him long enough, a smile breaks across my face. “Of course, I'll marry you. What took you so long?”

Excited, Mason whoops and then kisses me senseless. It's the happiest moment of my life.

“I
had a nice time last night,
Mrs. Hawkins,”
Drake says, peppering the side of my neck with kisses as I rush through my morning ritual in front of the bathroom vanity.

“I had a nice time, too. It was good to get out and be among the living.”

He chuckles in my ear. “I wasn't talking about the club. I was talking about what came after.” He squeezes my ass.

I smile remembering last night's four mind-blowing orgasms. “Yeah. That was really nice, too.”

“Yeah? I brought out my best moves.”

“I noticed. I almost broke out my scorecards. Perfect ten.”

Drake brushes his shoulders off and I can't help but press a kiss to his adorable face. But this day is no different from the others. By the time I'm sitting down for breakfast-slash-lunch, my mind is back on the job.

“So that's it? Case closed?” Drake says, correctly guessing where my mind is.

“I'm afraid so,” I say, disappointed. “The chief and mayor couldn't have made their position any clearer. They aren't interested in Captain Johnson's dirty secrets. They're convinced that important, innocent political bystanders will be dragged down in the mud with his name.”

“Important, innocent political bystanders? Wow. Those are four words that aren't usually in the same sentence.” He cracks open a couple of pistachio nuts and tosses them into his mouth.

“All I know is that my hands are tied,” I tell him and then sulk with my cooling cup of coffee.

Clearly deciding to ease off the guilt trip, Drake abandons his snack to give me a peck on the forehead. “All you can do is the best that you can do.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Well . . . at least now you can dedicate some more time to that double homicide you guys discovered out in the woods.”

“Yeah. Yippee.” My mind zooms to Qiana and the secrets she's holding to close to the chest. Fortunately, the girl isn't the sharpest tool in the toolbox. It's a matter of time before she or one of her friends crack.

Drake waves. “Hello? Anybody there?”

I blink. “I'm sorry. What?”

He taps the refrigerator calendar. “I was reminding you not to forget what day it is.”

My eyes follow to the day circled in red. “Oh. Fuck.”

“Yeah. Oh. Fuck.” He flashes me a sympathetic smile.

“Can my life get any shittier?” I exit the kitchen and head straight to the bar to top off my cold coffee.

“Better make it a double shot,” Drake says.

“I would if I could.”

“Hey.” Drake eases behind me. “You don't have to go if you don't want. You don't owe him anything.”

“He's my father.”

“So? It's not like he raised you or anything. Your stepfather did that shit. Frankly, he's the one that turned your life around and put you on the straight and narrow.”

“You're Dyson's cheerleader now?” I ask, surprised.

“What? Just because he doesn't like me doesn't mean that I can't give him credit when credit is due. Back in the day, you were just like all these gangbangers you're chas-ing now.”

“True. But shit has gotten much worse. These streets chew people up and then spit them out. They rip apart families and destroy hope.” I shake my head, thinking of the volume of violence I deal with day after day. “I became a cop because I thought I could make a difference—but I'm just a cog in a system that's been broken for a long time. No one is interested in justice. No one is interested in changing things.” Hopelessness weighs down my shoulders as I recall images of Tyneshia Gibson, Yolanda Terry, Melvin and Victoria Johnson—and the entire slaughter at the Royal Knights motorcycle club. “It's all just bullshit.”

“You can't believe that,” Drake says, rubbing my back.

“Sadly, I do.” Caught up in my feelings, my eyes burn with restrained tears.

My husband cloaks me in his arms. Silent, he holds me while I feed off his strength. He's always been good at this. Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without him.

After a good five minutes, I sigh and withdraw. “I better go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. The sooner, I get this shit over with the better.” I down the rest of my coffee and then grab my shit before heading toward the door.

The ride out to the Federal Correctional Institute isn't a long one, but it feels like it. I'm a jumble of nerves as I park outside of the facility's release gates and kill the engine.

I don't know how long this shit is going to take. The people inside operate on their own timetable and everybody else has to deal with it.
Drake is right. I can back out.

I eyeball the keys dangling from the car's ignition, but I don't turn the muthafucka over.

What is it about little girls and their damn daddies? Even the ones who don't stick around.

The morning drifts into the afternoon and at some point, my eyes grow heavy with sleep.

I bolt up from behind the wheel with my heart in my throat. When I cut my gaze toward the half-open window, it crashes into a pair of eyes that look like mine.

“Hey, princess!”

I can't believe that he still calls me that. “Hello, Isaac.”