The nurse’s frown returns. “Let’s not focus on that right now. You need to concentrate on getting better. My name is Maureen and I’m going to be your nurse on duty today. I’ve already paged Dr. Berg and he is on his way.”
“Fine. Fine.”The captain shoves Maureen. “I need to finish interrogating my prisoner.”
Maureen snatches her arm back and stands her ground. “This is not the time or place for that. Under the circumstances, I doubt whatever this young lady says will stand up in a court of law anyway.We don’t even know whether she’s lucid enough to understand what’s happening.”
“Mind your own damn business.”
Maureen jabs a hand onto her hip.“This is my business.You can either step out or get knocked out.Your choice.” She tilts her head side to side, cracking a few bones in her neck.
I don’t doubt for a second that she can take Johnson. Her I-don’t give-a-fuck-attitude reminds me of Momma Peaches.
Johnson gives the nurse a nasty look while his face purples, but whatever bullshit he’s about to blast is cut off when a man in a white coat strolls into the room.
“Ahh. So it’s true. Our sleeping beauty has awakened.”The doctor with snow-white hair flashes a smile and reaches for a pen-sized flashlight in his front pocket. He’s completely oblivious to the war he’s interrupted. “I’m Dr. Berg—and I’ve been taking care of you these few months.”
In the next second, I’m blind.
“Look to your left. Uh, huh. To your right. That’s a good girl.” He clicks off the light and then gets busy jotting shit into my chart. “How are we feeling today, Ms. Murphy?”
Captain Johnson backs away from the bed.
“Much better now that you guys are here,” I croak.
“That’s good. That’s good.” The doctor starts unsnapping the buttons in the front of my gown. “Let’s me just take a peek at how some of your wounds are healing.”
It takes a second before my brain catches up to what he’s saying, but by that time, my gown is open and I glance down at a minefield of multicolored stabs wounds across my chest. Fuck. I don’t even recognize my shit.
“You’re one lucky girl,” Dr. Berg says, smiling and writing again. “Do you remember anything that led to your being here?”
“I don’t know where here is,” I tell him.
“You’re at Baptist Memorial. Do you remember what happened?”
DIE, BITCH! DIE! Ta’Shara’s demonic face flashes before my eyes and my hands ball at my sides and I nod my head.
The doctor smiles again and then buries his head into my chart. For the next thirty minutes, I suffer through a flurry of activity and a battery of questions.To my horror, this dirty cop hadn’t lied. My ass has been knocked out for three whole months. Where are my people at? I glance around the room.
Ain’t nobody here to hold me down? They ain’t got no love for the throne?
Johnson steps back into the room.
The monitor besides me beeps like crazy.
“Her blood pressure is skyrocketing,” Nurse Maureen announces. Her gaze follows mine to the captain. “Maybe it’s best that you step back out of the room.”
“Fuck that,” he barks. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers out of that . . .” He chews on the word that he wanted to say. “. . . your patient.”
The nurse and doctor exchange annoyed looks, but Johnson ignores them.
Another nurse enters the room, rolling a cart of some kind. She looks stunned to see that I’m awake.
“If you’ve come to draw her blood come on now,” Nurse Maureen says, pulling out a small vial.
The new nurse scrambles around Johnson and comes up on the left side of the bed. While she preps to draw blood, Nurse Maureen injects something into my IV.
The doctor smiles. “This is just something to calm you down.”
Instantly, the shit puts me on ice.
Dr. Berg spits out a laundry list of tests that he wants to perform. I try to concentrate on what he’s saying but it goes in one ear and out the other.
I jump at a sudden sharp pinch. “What the fuck?”
“Sorry,” the nervous nurse says after stabbing me with a needle. “You moved your hand.”
Does everybody think my ass is a pin cushion? I keep an eye on her, wondering if this is the first time that she has done this.
“All right,” the doctor says, flipping my folder closed. “If you don’t have any questions for me, I’ll leave you to get some rest. If you need anything, press the button next to you. It’ll connect you to the nurses’ station. Okay?” He flashes me a smile and pats me on my leg. “We’re going to get you fixed up and out of here as soon as we can.”
Barely able to keep my eyes open, I nod and then track him as he heads for the door. My attention zooms back toward the silent nurse when I feel something being crammed into my hand. Frowning, I look down at a folded piece of paper.
The nurse gives me a look, telling me to keep this shit on the down-low before she scrambles to catch up with Dr. Berg at the door.
Captain Johnson steps up to the bed’s rail, ready for round two.
“Doctor,” I call out despite my burning throat.
Dr. Berg turns and the nervous nurse tenses up.
Fighting the drugs, I continue, “I just need a witness of me telling this dirty muthafucka here that I don’t have shit to say until I talk to my lawyer.”
Rage seizes Johnson’s face as he swings his heated gaze between me and the doctor.
“Any further interrogation or attempted murder on his part will be brought up before a judge as a breach of my civil rights.” I glare back at Johnson. That’s right, muthafucka. I know how to play this game.
Dr. Berg clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Captain. But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“She is under my custody,” Johnson seethes.
“First and foremost, she is my patient—that takes precedence.” The doctor puffs up his chest. “Ms. Murphy has sustained quite a bit of trauma. I can’t have you adding to her stress. Besides, she requested to speak with an attorney, I don’t see why you or your man can’t just wait outside the door until one arrives or she’s released from our care. I assure you, she’s not going anywhere.”
Johnson plants himself in the doctor’s face. “I don’t give a fuck about that shit. The bitch is going to talk!”
“Captain Johnson,” the doctor gasps. “The young lady has just awoken from a three-month coma and has requested to speak with an attorney. Now, I’m going to have to ask you to leave—or you’ll leave me no choice but to place a call to your superiors.”
Checkmate, muthafucka.
Johnson struggles with his temper until he jabs a finger toward me and snarls. “This isn’t over, Ms. Murphy.”
“Captain Johnson,” the doctor warns impatiently.
“Fuck off,” Johnson barks.
The doctor jumps back.
“And as for you,” Johnson hisses as he leans back over the bed. “I’ll be back—maybe even with a certain young man soldier who wants to talk to you about a certain prom date you crashed.”
My heart stops.
His smile returns. “Think it over.”
Instead of cussing his ass out, I clamp my jaw tight and glare at everyone as they clear out of my room.
Once alone, I remember the folded piece of paper in my hand and read:
I got you—
Python.
20
Lucifer
Pregnant.
After spending a full hour pissing on a dozen home-pregnancy tests, it’s time for me to accept the truth—but I can’t. In fact, I don’t even want to leave this bathroom, let alone hop off this toilet until one of these sticks stops turning blue.
What am I gonna do?
I can’t be that bitch that wobbles into combat, hoping my water doesn’t break.
“Jeez.” I toss the stick over into the sink and then drop my head into my hands. This can’t b
e happening. Mason flashes behind my closed eyes and I’m ashamed of the way that I’m reacting.
My mind has been spinning for the past month from all the information Dribbles unloaded on me. The moment she said the name Carver, pieces of the puzzle started snapping together. Memories of how Python wept when he clutched Mason in the rain. How did he put two and two together?
I should have drilled Dribbles for more information, but I was too busy tryna reject what she was saying. Brothers. How the fuck could that be? And what the hell would happen if that shit ever got out? Would it change anything or would it change everything?
I wish that I could talk to Bishop about this shit, but things between us are getting worse with each passing day. At every meeting, Bishop feels way too comfortable challenging and confronting every decision I make. It’s not clear that he’s winning anyone over, but I can tell they are all waiting to see how I’m going to check my own brother.
The alarm on my watch sounds and I reach over to the bathroom sink and check the results of yet another test.
Still pregnant.
Who gives a fuck what niggas think? I’m having this baby.
The second the declaration thunders in my head my shoulders get lighter and a sad smile twitches at the corners of my lips. My cell phone rings and I have to reach down and retrieve it from my pants pooled around my feet.
“Yeah.”
“We need to meet,” Cousin Skeet says.
Just like that, the weight returns to my shoulders. “Whassup?”
“In person. Make it over to Hemp’s for a one-on-one.”
“Time?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
I draw a deep breath. I don’t feel like dealing with Cousin Skeet right now—especially since he’s been throwing up roadblocks like a muthafucka, preventing me and Profit from getting at LeShelle’s tube-sucking ass lying in the hospital. Skeet’s taking a lot of heat from the city for the escalating wars on the street—says it’s his ass if we turn the Baptist Memorial into another war zone tryna get that bitch.
“A’ight.” I end the call and roll my eyes.
The shit is on ice but I’ll get that bitch, either in the hospital or a jail cell. I don’t give a fuck which.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, my boy Tombstone rolls us up to Hemp’s Liquor Store. I peek behind the bulletproof windows to see if anybody’s mobbing too deep. There are two cars in this busted-ass parking lot and one crackhead couple stumbling down the sidewalk and beating on each other.
“Why the fuck am I out here?” I mumble before climbing out of the car. “Stay here,” I order Tombstone.
“You got it, boss.”
On full alert, I march through the front door. A loud cowbell announces me, getting the fat chick with a red Ronald McDonald-colored wig on to look up from her magazine.
“Go on back. He’s expecting you,” she says, hitting a buzzer that unlocks a metal door off to her left.
I erase all emotions from my face and march through the second door.
Off the bat, Cousin Skeet stops pacing to look up.
“I’m here. Speak your mind,” I tell him.
“Have a seat,” Skeet says, gesturing to an unfolded iron chair.
“I’ll stand.”
He gives me a look, and then must realize that he needs to change up the attitude. “All right, look. I know that we have never really gotten along in the past, but I’m hoping that we can try to let bygones be bygones—especially if we’re going to continue being business partners.”
“Humph. If being the key word.”
The smile melts off Skeet’s face. “So it’s true. You have reached out to the Angels of Mercy to run guns for the Vice Lords.”
Shit. Bishop sold me out.
Skeet storms up to me.
“You really want to deal with those racist fucks?”
“Don’t take it personal. It’s just business. Supply and demand. I have a demand and they can get me my supply.You cut me off. Remember?” I hold my ground while he breathes fire into my face.
“Nah. Nah.You’re tryna cut me.”
“You sound a little paranoid.”
“Don’t fucking play me. Do you know who the fuck you’re dealing with?”
I clamp my mouth shut and indulge him his temper tantrum.
“You think those white muthafuckas are going to do right by the VLs? All they give a fuck about is the money.They don’t give a fuck about the cause.”
I remain silent.
Skeet’s face purples. “Listen here, you bitch. You have another thing coming if you think you can just cut me out. I’ve been the backbone of this organization since before you were swimming around in your daddy’s nut sack. You and half the damn set would be pumped with a bunch of lethal injections if it weren’t for me. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Silence.
I don’t know what color to call his face now, but I can tell he’s itching to go for that gun on his hip.
“Mason and Bishop fucked up with you,” he says, waving a finger in my face. “I always said ‘let a bitch play with men’s toys and suddenly she thinks her ass got balls.’ Well, let me tell you something, little girl. You do not want to fuck with me. Our arrangement stands and for this latest insult an extra fifteen percent has been tacked onto my not-putting-your-ass-in-prison fee.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I tell him.
“Excuuuuuse me?” Cousin Skeet moves in so close that our noses touch.
“You heard me. The arrangement stays as it is—until I decide to change it,” I say evenly. “If you think that you want to go to war with me, then that’s your choice; but I guaran-damn-tee you that the shit ain’t going to end the way that you think it is. And as far as trying to replace me on the throne with Bishop, that shit ain’t going to happen, either. Now, I’m going to walk out of here and pretend that this conversation never happened. For your sake, it’s best.”
We fall into a glaring contest and, about thirty seconds later, Skeet backs the hell out of it.
“All right. We’ll play this shit your way—for now.”
“For now.” I give him my back and head toward the door. “Oh, by the way, how is that bitch holding up in the hospital?”
Skeet pauses. “Still out of commission.”
“You can’t protect her forever.”
“The last damn thing I’m doing is protecting that bitch. Don’t forget that I have a score to settle with her myself for the trauma she and her nigga put my grandson through. He’s seriously fucked up, trembling and pissing on himself all the time. I’m going to be stuck with therapy bills for the rest of my damn life.”
I struggle to hold my tongue. After all, Cousin Skeet’s family issues aren’t my problem or business—not anymore.
“She’s in the system. I gotta give the city something, my neck is still on the line.”
A smile twitches at the corners of my lips.
Cousin Skeet’s eyes narrow. “I wouldn’t be too happy about it if I were you. If I go down, so does VL.”
“You threatening me again?” I square around on him. “You really believe that shit, don’t you?” I laugh. “Nigga, you ain’t nobody. You ain’t putting in no serious work or moving no fuckin’ cause.You want to know why I don’t like you? It’s because I can’t stand muthafuckas who wear two faces. I’m straight up about who I am and what the fuck I do.And in case you done forgot, I’m your worst muthafuckin’ nightmare.” I jab my finger against his chest. “I won’t think twice about slicing your ass like the fucking pig you are and bathe in your goddamn blood. I dream about that shit. So remember that the next time you’re throwing threats around. I. AM. KING. And nobody has bigger balls than I do.”
Cousin Skeet steps back with stunned disbelief.
Now that I’ve gotten that shit off my chest, I relax and flash him a fake smile. “You have a nice night.” I turn and stroll out of the door. Once I’m out of Hemp’s, I stop and suck in the night’s cool air t
o lower my blood pressure. Bishop. Bishop. Bishop.
I don’t know why I don’t immediately hop into the car. Maybe I just need a few more minutes to think—but as I do, I get the distinct feeling that someone else is watching me. I glance around, see a few niggas scattered about, but no one that’s paying me any particular attention . . . and yet, the feeling doesn’t go away.
Tombstone rolls his window down and sticks his head out. “Everything all right, boss?”
I doubt anything will ever be all right again. “Yeah. I’m cool.” I take one last look around and then hop into the SUV. “Swing by the grocery store. I’m craving some ice cream . . . and pickles.”
Chaos
21
Qiana
December…
Profit’s fine ass is a god. His name stays on the lips of every Flower in a thirty-mile radius. We all have caught glimpses of his ass working out in Fat Ace’s old gym. Sweat pours down and glistens all over his body, getting every bitch hot. I have the perfect view from my bedroom window and more than a few times I’ve laid across my bed and stroked my clit while he did his thing. It’s been some of the most powerful orgasms I’ve ever had. I wish there was some way that I could make him mine, but with my fucked-up mug that shit ain’t in the cards for my ass right now.
My dream boo’s dedication has been so strong that other soldiers are now tryna step up their game. Some of them doin’ all right, but all eyes fall on Profit—and it’s causing ripples with the power players. At the moment, Lucifer still has the most juice. Bishop is a close second but is growing bolder every day by openly politicking to dethrone his own sister. There’s no doubt that Bishop has a reputation of being a strong soldier and leader, but the truth of the matter is that niggas ain’t scared of him like they are of his sister. In war mode, Lucifer is just that: the devil with breasts. The few times that we exchanged words, I’ve damn near pissed in my panties. The bitch is that intense. I only question how much more rope she is going to give Bishop before he hangs himself. Some don’t think that she has the balls to smoke her own brother over the shit. I say Bishop is the one who don’t have the balls.
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