Read Online Gangsta Divas by De'nesha Diamond - Free Book Online

People can’t even step out of their front door no more in fear of these kids out here shootin’ all the time. I’m sick of it. We got buildings blowing up, car chases and bullets flying into people’s house. Somebody got to do somethin’ about this.” She shakes her head as her mouth curls in disgust. “You can’t tell me we ain’t living in the last days. People have just gone damn crazy.”
    The camera returns to the news reporter and Captain Johnson’s picture is replaced with a face I know very well. My son,Terrell. I turn up the volume.
    We have yet to confirm that Terrell Carver is the driver of this ’77 Monte Carlo. The Federal Bureau of Investigation remains on a citywide manhunt for him. If you have information about Mr. Carver’s whereabouts, please call . . .
    I shut off the television and try to make sense of what I’d just heard. Now don’t get me wrong, I ain’t one of those clueless mommas who think her baby is some kind of angel—but kidnapping and shooting some little boy? What the fuck did Maybelline teach his ass? I block out my own failings as a mother to my other little boy, Mason. They say I sold him for a few rocks, but I don’t buy that. I would never be that fucked up to do something like that. Never. Maybelline was behind that shit, I know it. Her trifling ass couldn’t stand the fact that I could have babies and she couldn’t. That’s why all her niggas found their way to my bed.
    I shut off the television and try to digest the news, but it’s all too much. I got questions—a lot of questions, but after escaping the crazy house, I can’t just stroll my ass into a police station for a one-on-one with Melvin’s crooked ass.
    â€œThe FBI,” my boo says, coming up behind me and shaking his head. “I hate to say it, but Python is always in the middle of some shit.”
    I give him the shut-the-fuck-up look.
    â€œWhat?” He shrugs. “What did I say?”
    â€œThat’s my baby you’re talking about.” I mean-mug his ass and mush his face. “Have some fuckin’ respect.” Just because this nigga can throw some good dick around don’t mean that he can talk out the side of his neck.
    He smirks but tosses up his hands. “A’ight. Whatever.”
    I catch an attitude. “What are you trying to say?”
    â€œI didn’t say shit. I just came out here to see what you were cooking for breakfast.”
    â€œCooking?” I look him up and down. “Is there something wrong with your hands? I don’t fuck and feed niggas. If you’re hungry then go and fix you something to eat.”
    He stares at me like I’d slapped the shit out of him. When he sees that my shit is for real, he backs up. “Damn. It’s like that?”
    My expression doesn’t change. What the fuck do I look like?
    Shaking his head, he turns and walks away, but not without adding, “That shit’s foul. You could at least make a nigga a sandwich . . . or some flapjacks.”
    Flapjacks? “What the fuck did you just say?”
    He keeps marching toward the kitchen.
    â€œNigga, you hear me.” I rush after him into the kitchen and get in his face. “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?” Boo stares at me, looking stupid. “All right then, roll your mute ass up out of here.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œOh, now your ass can speak?” I rock my head and then jab a finger in the center of his chest. “Then tell me this: how the fuck do you know Maybelline?”
    He blinks.
    â€œAnd think real hard before you spit out a lie. My ass ain’t stupid.”
    He blinks faster.
    â€œYou’ve fucked her,” I answer for him.
    â€œWhat?” He tries to laugh the shit off. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    â€œMaybelline fixes flapjacks for niggas after she finishes fuckin’ them. Now here you are, asking me for