Street Divas Read Online Free Page A

kind of bullshit is the main muthafuckin’ reason he doesn’t trust me. Me! After all these damn years of jumping when he says jump, fucking when he says fuck, and blasting when his ass says blast. Now here comes your tired and dumb ass fucking up everything.”
    Silence.
    I draw in another deep breath. “Python is already out fucking everything that’s not nailed down. I got bitches and babies turning up like cockroaches.” A lump clogs in my throat. Coughing, I strain to get the sucker back down while tears burn like acid at the backs of my eyes. I love my nigga. That’s my first damn problem. In this crazy street game, love can only bring you disappointment and pain. I’ve played wifey to Python’s ass for damn near four years. Still, my position as the leader of the Queen Gs feels just as slippery as the day my man moved my ass into his crib on Shotgun Row, the heart of the Black Gangster Disciples. I have some bitch cop on the scene and that retarded bitch Yo-Yo he got stashed somewhere in this shitty city, feeling herself and thinking that she’s gonna replace me.
    â€œI’m not going to let you fuck me,” I hiss, making up my mind. “You got me twisted if you thought that shit. I’ve been through too much to lose it because you ain’t got a lick of sense.” My gaze slices back over to Ta’ Shara. “I bet you’d like that shit, huh? Me back on the streets without a pot to piss in or a window to throw the shit out of.” My glare hardens at the thought of the years Ta’Shara had been nestled up in her foster parents’ nice little crib over in midtown while I was hustlin’ on the streets like a gutter rat. We may be sisters, but our lives couldn’t be more different.
    We were brought up in foster care. Back in the old days, Ta’Shara and I were like two peas in a pod. There wasn’t a damn thing that we wouldn’t do for each other. Had to. Nobody else gave a damn about us, especially not any of the sorry muthafuckas who took us in just for that little paycheck that came with us. The real nightmare began when I got tits and ass. Suddenly my foster daddies and play uncles wanted to play with my small nipples and hairless pussy.
    Muthafuckas used to split my shit wide open on the regular, leaving me crying and bleeding all over the place. Being two years older, I’ve always believed that it was my responsibility to look after Ta’Shara—that is, until my baby sister flipped the script and started thinking that she was better than me, just because some Huxtable-wannabe couple was pumping her head with college bullshit. Since Ta’Shara’s been living with them, they’ve been treating me like I’m something that is stuck to the bottom of their shoes. The sacrifices I’ve made over the years suddenly no longer matter, even the night I sliced one of our foster fathers up for eyeballing Ta’Shara’s young titties. That shit landed me in a group home for two years.
    At first I thought I fucked up. Getting separated from my sister meant that I could no longer look out for her. I had to toss that shit up to the man above and hope for the best. Meanwhile, I got educated into the street life quick, fast, and in a hurry. Ain’t no sense in lying and saying that I didn’t want this life. I did. After seeing all the power some of the girls had up in there. Those bitches said jump and everybody got their bounce on. What got me was how hard everybody was flossing. They were boosting shit and getting paid like a muthafucka. A bitch like me who ain’t never had nothing was down with that shit.
    The price? I got my ass beat and raped by a couple of carpet munchers. Most of us did in that group home. The shit has been well worth it. I got cliqued up with a real family—a family that has my back and I definitely have theirs. We’re together until the world blows up. That shit is a