Hustlin' Divas Read Online Free PDF Page B

I know that shit ain’t fair. Other bitches started moving up the ranks faster than me, and they didn’t do half the shit I did.
    My gaze cut across Momma Peaches’s living room to where LeShelle is doing her old stripper pole routine all up and down Python’s leg. I can’t stand that bitch, always flossing shit Python laces her with, thinking that all the Queen Gs are here just to lick her ass. The bitch thinks she’s the shit just because she looks half Indian. So? Most of us niggas up in here are mixed with some other shit. Hell, I know my ass is rounder and can clap harder than hers. Ain’t that all a bitch needs to lock down a nigga—that and to know they way around the kitchen?
    Sure, Python is a little hard on the eyes, and he does freak me out with all those damn snakes, but being with his ugly ass means money, power, and respect. There isn’t a bitch up in here who isn’t feeling that.
    He also has a slew of rug rats running around Memphis, and all his baby mommas are laced up nice, rocking Chanel this and Gucci that even if they are still living in different projects. Everybody keeps waiting for her ass to drop another seed, but it’s been three years and LeShelle’s belly remains empty. Word on the street is that she might be wifey, but she will never be wife with a rotten-ass belly. That’s why I’m looking to get in where I fit in.
    â€œDamn, girl. You keep staring at LeShelle, she’s going to come over here and smack the taste out your mouth.”
    I glance over my shoulder to see KyJuan, one of Python’s old road dawgs, flashing his platinum grillz.
    â€œYou got a big-ass sign that says ‘HATER’ flashing on your forehead. Better turn that shit off before you embarrass yourself,” he jokes above Jay-Z’s latest joint while puffing on a blunt so fat it looks like a Cuban cigar.
    I calmly reach over and remove the blunt from his mouth and toke on it for a few puffs. “I just don’t see what she got that I ain’t got. That’s all.”
    â€œShe keeps the nigga happy. That’s all that matters, ain’t it?” KyJuan looks down my white, mesh, see-through top, drooling over my large ebony-tipped nipples. “Damn, you believe in advertising your shit, huh?”
    â€œWhen you got it, you flaunt it, right?”
    His gaze roams as he smacks his lips. “Sheeit, girl. How did you get all that ass into those booty shorts?”
    â€œOne cheek at a time.” I puff out a ring of smoke and smile into his chocolate eyes. I can tell by how low his eyelids are that he’s already fucked up, but I also know that he’s higher up the food chain than the wildin’ out foot soldiers I usually deal with.
    â€œIs that blood in my carpet?” Momma Peaches harps, squinting down at the floor.
    KyJuan props one hand on the wall above my head and continues talking to my titties. “Looky here, are you rolling with anybody here?”
    I brush my braided blond extensions back from my face. “No. Why?”
    â€œâ€™Cause I’m thinking about raping your fine ass,” he says, smiling. “Damn titties got my dick hard.” He takes a swig from his beer bottle. “For real, those muthafuckas are staring me straight in my eyes. Hypnotizing a muthafucka.”
    I smile. I’m used to getting this kind of reaction from niggas. “You ain’t got to do all that, Daddy,” I say in my best seductive schoolgirl voice, which I’ve perfected. “I’m feeling you, too.”
    â€œFor real?” He smacks his lips some more and then glances around. Every inch of the place is crawling with muthafuckas. A few card tables have been propped up, and serious dominoes and poker games are under way. In between those, soldiers are grabbing Queen Gs left and right and are rocking the same two-step no matter what’s spitting out the speakers. “Let me holler at you