Gangsta Divas by De'nesha Diamond

and shakes his head. “Yo, man. All this shit feels fuckin’ surreal. Big man gone . . . I just . . . fuck!” He runs a hand through his low-shaved head. “It ain’t supposed to be like this.”
    â€œIt is what it is,” I say, tryna hide behind a brave face.
    â€œDon’t do that shit,” Bishop warns. “Not now. Not about our boy.”
    My gaze cuts back up at him. “Let me guess.You rather we sit around in this muthafucka and throw ourselves a pity party while Python and his roaches are out there preparing Armageddon. C’mon, Juvon. We ain’t got time for tears.”
    Bishop’s gaze rakes me. I probably look a sight with two casts and my chest wrapped like a fuckin’ mummy.
    â€œYou’re cold, Willow. Always have been.” He takes another long drag.
    â€œI’ma gangsta bitch.”
    â€œSo you keep reminding me,” he says, looking disappointed. “I thought that after you and Mason hooked up—”
    â€œDon’t.” I want to shut this shit down now. “My business is my business. I thought that was something you understood a long time ago.”
    â€œWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    â€œMason told me about your cock-blockin’.”
    â€œSheeeeiiit.” Bishop exhales another long stream of smoke. “You’re going to blame all that shit on me? Hell, I tried to stop your ass from doing a whole lot of shit. I don’t recall none of that stopping you from doing whatever fucked up shit that crosses your mind. Don’t put that bullshit on me.”
    â€œWhatever.”
    â€œYeah. Whatever.” He takes a couple of more tokes. “Since you want to discuss business, I sent Tombstone and Red to the hospital to pick up Profit. We need everybody close to home. NahwhatImean?”
    â€œWhat—you’re giving out orders now?” I force myself to sit up in the bed, grateful that the drugs continue to dull my pain.
    Bishop tosses up his hands. “Here we go.”
    â€œWhat? I’m just asking a question.”
    â€œNo. You’re ego trippin’. Ain’t nobody tryna cross your toes.You weren’t up to making decisions at the time and the shit needed to be done. End of story.”
    I stare him down.
    â€œWhat?”
    I shake my head. “You forget. Just like you claim to know me, I know you.” That shuts him up while we engage in another staring contest.
    KNOCK. KNOCK.
    â€œCome in,” I bark.
    Red opens the door and pokes his head inside. “Yo, man. We’re back.”
    â€œYou got Profit with you?”
    Red nods.
    Despite my gangster act, my heart drops clear down to my knees. Am I ready to deal with this emotional shit with Mason’s little brother? No.
    â€œBring him in,” Bishop says.
    I cut him another look.
    â€œIf that’s all right with you,” he adds.
    â€œWe’ll continue this conversation later,” I promise Bishop and then shift my attention back to Red who was waiting for my say-so. “Bring him in.”
    Red disappears behind the door and then, a second later, he rolls Profit and his wheelchair into the room.
    The tension in the room vanishes and is replaced with a sad awkwardness. I have a hard time meeting Profit’s large, caramel-brown eyes, but when I do, I see that he already heard the news.
    â€œBishop, give us a few minutes.”
    Instead of moving, my brother twists up his face.
    This shit is confirmation that my ass ain’t paranoid. Bishop is calculating how he’s going to make a play for the throne. Fuck. I can hear the wheels squeaking in his head. “Are you waiting for me to ask you again?”
    Clamping his jaw tight, Bishop shuffles toward the door but stops for a few seconds to squeeze one of Profit’s large shoulders in solidarity.
    My brows stretch while I wonder whether he has a hearing problem.
    â€œI’ll be outside,” he says, and then takes