Street Divas by De'nesha Diamond Page B

mystery why Ta’Shara fucked with a nigga tied to the streets in the first place. The way I saw the shit, she was set. After growing up in foster care and being bounced around from one foster house to another, she’d landed a loving couple who was doing everything they could to steer her down the right path. A year ago, Ta’Shara was talking about college and getting the hell out of Memphis. What a difference a man makes.
    â€œIs it this one?” Drey points to the two-level beige and gray stone craft bungalow.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œShit. It’s nice out here,” he comments, looking around.
    â€œC’mon. Let’s hurry up and do this.” I tense up again. I can’t believe that I’m about to do this shit.
    Drey hops out of the car and opens the back door. When he pulls Ta’Shara out of the backseat, he almost bangs her head against the door frame.
    â€œHey, watch it,” I snap, crawling out behind him.
    â€œYou stay in the car. The faster we do this shit the better.”
    I want to argue, but I know that he’s right. “Make sure that you ring the door bell,” I remind him.
    Again, he rolls his eyes and then jogs up toward the door with Ta’Shara cradled in his arms.
    I watch him like a hawk while he sets Ta’Shara down on the porch bench. He hesitates a moment but then rings the doorbell and takes off. He’s halfway across the yard when the house lights click on.
    â€œHurry, hurry,” I mumble under my breath. For a moment, I’m really fearful that he will be caught and ID’d for this shit.
    But Drey is nimble as fuck as he jumps and slides across the hood of the car to get to the other side. “We’re out of this bitch,” he hisses, shifting the car into drive.
    My eyes remain glued to the front door. When it opens, Drey jams his foot on the accelerator. Ta’Shara’s foster mother, Tracee, opens the door and we’re able to hear her scream, “REGGIE!” above the squeal of Drey’s tires as we rocket into the night. I close my eyes against the gush of wind rushing through the open window, but it does nothing to brush away my shame. “I’m so sorry, Ta’Shara. I hope that you will forgive me.”

10
Lucifer
    S trolling across the dark hospital parking lot, I’m suddenly hit with the smell of burning oil. To my right, I catch sight of a rusted-out Buick Electra and twist my nose up in disgust. Some niggas really will ride around in any damn thing nowadays. Then something strange happens. A chick in the backseat points at me, and the driver’s eyes get so fucking big that he looks like a goddamn cartoon. Do I know these niggas?
    I stop at the curb and watch the car make an awkward U-turn. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I cast a look at a couple of my flagged brothahs standing guard outside the ER, ready to shut down any potential drive-by bullshit like we had to deal with the last time.
    â€œYo! Go peep that shit out,” I yell.
    Like real soldiers, they take off to follow those shady-looking muthafuckas.
    Satisfied, I resume my stroll toward Mason’s SUV and hop into the passenger’s side, but before I can launch my interrogation about where his ass has been for the past hour, I notice blood seeping through his white T-shirt. “What the fuck?!”
    Mason groans as he tries to shift his massive frame around in his seat. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a scratch.”
    â€œA scratch?” I reach over the dashboard and turn on the interior light. I get in only one quick glance before Mason shuts it back off. “Damn. Chill out, Willow! I said it’s just a fuckin’ scratch. Tell me what’s going on in there with my brother. Is he going to make it?”
    For a few seconds I draw a damn blank, because I want to get to the bottom of what else went down tonight while I was getting my clit sucked at a goddamn club. At my