All Hail the Queen (22 page)

Naeema felt nervous.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Queen. How may I serve you?” she asked as she came to stand next to Diego's knee.

He looked up at her as he licked his bottom lip.

Naeema kept her face cool but it was fake as hell. She couldn't lie; Diego was sexy as hell.

If
he wasn't hustling dope . . .

If
she wasn't in love with Tank . . .

If
she didn't completely give a fuck . . .

Diego's eyes looked devilish in the seconds just before he reached forward to grab her ass and pull her closer. She fought the urge to slam the tray against his face and completely fuck up his thoughts. She tried to step back but he gripped her closer and then patted his lap with his free hand.

His eyes dared her to deny him.

This motherfucker got me jammed up right now.

She perched her ass on his lap atop his knees.

Diego pressed his face against her neck as his hand massaged her exposed lower back. “You got a hard head, Naeema,” he whispered in her ear.

She stiffened at his use of her name. “So do you,” she said sarcastically as she looked pointedly down at his erection.

He chuckled. “Where my package?” he asked in her ear, his hand moving up under her shirt and against her ribs to palm the side of her breast.

Naeema eyed him like
Are you fucking kidding me?

He kept his eyes locked on her as his hand continued until his finger stroked across her nipple. “Deliver my motherfucking package.”

Naeema's hand came up to pry his fingers from her. She fought against the strength of his hand as his eyes filled with amusement at her.
So I'm a fucking joke.

A different time and place Naeema knew she would straight drop-kick Diego's ass for the disrespect.

“What do you think Murk would do to you now—or in the future—if he knew the wife of the snitch who tried to take him down was working in his club?” Diego whispered in her ear as he palmed her breast.

“How do I know he doesn't already know?” she asked, looking over at the man they were talking about.

Murk's eyes shifted over to them.

Naeema was surprised when Murk's face tightened with anger. She made a move to try to rise from Diego's lap, pleased that her “boss” was upset by it. “He's looking,” she said, not taking her eyes off Murk as he motioned for Tyrai.

“Who gives a fuck,” Diego whispered against her neck, taking a short inhale of her perfume there. “You smell good as fuck. Maybe I will trade the delivery for the pussy.”

Naeema feigned helplessness as Tyrai turned to look over at them as well. She said something to Murk and then disappeared from the room. Murk rose and walked over to them. Naeema couldn't front that she got nervous as hell.

“I bet your pussy smell just as good,” Diego said, pressing a kiss to her neck as he continued to softly roll her nipple between his fingers.

Murk held out his hand to her. Naeema took it.

Diego unburied his face from her neck and tightened his hold on her breast as he glanced up Murk.

She felt caught between the two men. Diego was a hard head with a harder head down below enjoying his hold over her.
What does Murk want?

“Not the waitresses, yo,” Murk bent down to say, still holding Naeema's limp hand in his.

Diego and Murk shared a look.

The door opened and Tyrai led four girls into the room before she closed the door. The women removed their shirts and straddled some of the anxious men's hips as the women on the pole continued to twerk away near the ceiling.

Diego held up his hand releasing her.

Murk let her hand drop as well.

Naeema was free. She jumped to her feet and adjusted her bra to fully cover her breasts again.

Diego motioned for one of the girls to come to him.

“Sorry about that,” Murk said to her, his intense eyes on her. “The waitresses serve drinks not ass.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“No thanks,” Murk said, dismissing her. “It just is what it is.”

Naeema nodded and opened her mouth to say something—anything—not to break the small connection they had, but Murk turned and strolled back to his seat. One of the dancers got off the pole and came over to Murk to climb onto his lap and bury his face between her breasts.

“Queen, take off,” Tyrai said as she passed her.

Naeema looked away from Murk and the dancer but then spotted Diego licking away at one girl's brown nipples as she let her head fall back with a smile.

“Queen,” Tyrai said sharply. “Take off. Go home, your shift is over.”

“I didn't do anything,” she protested, playing the role like she truly gave a fuck.

Tyrai eyed her. “So what you wanna do, argue with the man to let you work or take ya ass the fuck home like he said?” she snapped.

“You act like it's life or death,” Naeema grumbled, still in her role as Queen.

“Bitch, it might be,” Tyrai said, glancing over her shoulder before looking back at Naeema serious as hell.

Naeema pretended to look surprised and afraid. “Mr. Grant seems so nice though,” she lied, playing innocent.

“Don't play like you ain't heard about Murk's past, Queen,” Tyrai said with a tone filled with her desire not to play games.

“A little,” she conceded.

“I've been here since he first opened up and he promised us all he was legit now and we shouldn't worry about our jobs,” Tyrai said, looking down briefly before looking up at Naeema. “Still, it's hard to move on from your past, you know? So just go home tonight. Okay?”

With that she turned and began the hard switch of her hips around the room as she continued to take drink orders.

Naeema headed to the door just as another waitress came in to take her place. With one last glance at what would turn out to be one helluva party, she left.

It was a little after twelve when she finally got home. She had left the lights on hoping to fool any other grimy, low-life thieves into thinking she was home. She climbed from the SUV, looking over at the apartment building on the corner. Except for the black wreath on the door nothing else about it looked any different, including the dudes sitting on the stoop blazing as they listened to music blaring from someone's phone.

Tilting her head up, she spotted Mya sitting in the window. She started to wave to her but held back. She wanted to check on her. She wanted to know she was as okay as she could be about killing.

Naeema wanted to protect Mya from any possible suspicion about her stepfather's death. She watched too much of
The First 48
and the ID channel to let the neighbors see the
stepdaughter of the man killed hanging out with the woman who they believed sent his no-good ass to his Maker.
Fuck him.

With one last look back at the window, Naeema made her way to her house and jogged up the stairs. As soon as she unlocked and opened the front door her eyes fell on the large spot on the floor where she had to mop up the blood. Naeema had seen and played a strong role in murder but never inside her home before. It was just a few feet from where she slept.

The AC unit had the living room nice and cool as she pushed back to close the door. She removed her gun from the tote she carried and placed it back where she kept it hidden in the ash trap of the fireplace. Standing upright she eyed the three pieces of paper taped to the wall above it. Her eyes shifted from each one to the next. “Suspect one, suspect two, and suspect three,” she mouthed.

Suspect one was Yani. Had a so-called loyal employee took out his boss?
For what motive though?

Suspect two was Willie. Did his struggling business and envy of Tank lead to him wanting him dead?

Suspect three was Murk. His desire for revenge and why was clear.

On each sheet she had jotted down everything she had discovered about each man. She picked up the Sharpie from the mantel and worked it between her fingers before she wrote on Murk's sheet,
Sticks to the rules he sets for the club
and
Wants to go legit
.

She stepped back and eyed the papers one by one with a shake of her head that increased in intensity. None of it was enough to help her get it altogether.

Murk seemed to be the most evident candidate but she doubted he would accept the unfinished job of killing Tank just like that. Naeema didn't want to make the same mistake she made during the hunt for her son's killer by assuming it was the obvious one. Sometimes it wasn't the person most likely to do something. That was the only thing keeping her from catching Murk alone and sticking the barrel of her gun in his mouth to force him to cop to the shooting. She would have to reveal herself and she didn't want to kill anyone but the person who gunned down Tank—even if they deserved a bullet between the eyes for other dirty shit they got away with.

Naeema reluctantly turned away from the sheets and walked across the room to stick her head in the kitchen just long enough to make sure the back door was still secured. She didn't know if she would ever feel completely comfortable in the house again.
Especially with Sarge up at the hospital and my ass here all alone.

She stripped as she walked down the hall to the first-floor bathroom. She had just turned on the shower when she whipped her head around to look over her shoulder.
You know what . . .

Naeema scurried back into the living room and retrieved her gun carrying it with her to the bathroom to sit on the edge of the sink. She also didn't pull the shower curtain.
Fuck that shit.

As she washed, Naeema continued to run over the facts in her head. She couldn't get over that she felt like something was staring her in the face and she was looking right past it. It was the whole not-seeing-the-forest-for-the-trees
thing.

Yani. Willie. Murk. And truly her gut was telling her Yani was a punk ass but not a killer. So Willie and Murk.

And maybe someone else I don't know about?

Am I wrong and Tank wasn't the true target?

What the fuck am I missing?

She was still wondering about this long after she dried off and pulled on Tank's personalized football jersey. Naeema sat in the middle of the bed watching as much TV as she could with the picture ripped across the middle from the cracked screen and browsing Twitter and Instagram accounts of the celebrities she followed. When she got tired of the majority of them reposting inspirational quotes she dropped her phone and leaned over to open the top drawer of her dresser for her weed box.

Damn my stash is low
.

She twisted up her lips at the thought of having to double back and call Mook. She preferred medicinal weed and although Mook's scandalous ass was not the only one selling it underground, he was the only one she knew. For a second—a hot-ass second—she thought about calling him to bring her a half-ounce of Night Train. It would help her sleep.

She picked up her phone and her thumb hovered over his name in her contacts.
Do I love smoking that much?

She shook her head. Mook was not to be trusted. She deleted his contact before she changed her mind.
Fuck that and fuck him.

Tank would know where to get some weed. He hated that she loved it so much but he loved the way she sexed him when she was blazed. It was during those times that she was her most creative. She smiled thinking of the night she first jacked him off with her breasts as she sucked the tip of
his dick. “Good times,” she said longingly with a shake of her head.

Tank.

A desire to be by his side hit her.

She looked over her shoulder at the sheets of paper on the wall. Was she so busy chasing the shooter that she was missing out on the chance to at least be near him?
When I sought revenge for my son he was dead and gone. Tank is still here.

She wanted to settle the score but at what cost?

Her eyes shifted down to the fireplace where the package of heroin was stashed. Her shoulders slumped.

Just how many lines was she willing to cross?