Memphis Streets 3: Revenge

Chapter 42- Shaniqua

What the fuck am I gonna do? My head has been scrambling for an excuse for the past hour and I haven't come up with a damn thing despite my ass having months.

"I should have tossed that muthafucka in the trash a long time ago," I mutter underneath my breath.

The moment the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.

"Tossed who into the trash?" Diesel asks, interrupting my thoughts from behind the driver's seat.

Cutting a quick glance at him, I see his attention is more on me than on what he should be doing. "Watch the road," I bark.

Diesel cranks up a single brow. "How about I pull over and you walk your ass back to the hood?" He ain't playing.

If it was any other nigga and I didn't already have enough to deal with right now, I might have set it off up in here. Instead, I cross my arms and roll my eyes to emphasize he's riding my last nerve.

"Whatever."

Diesel sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head with another warning. "Little girl . . ."

"Dammit. How many times do I have tell you that I ain't no little girl?"

Bam!

Pain explodes across my face a few seconds before I realize that I've been hit. Hard.

"I'm tired of you talking to me like I'm one of your nappy-headed stick-up boys," Diesel growls. "I'm a grown man and your ass needs to recognize that shit." I turn toward him, holding my jaw and staring at him like he's done lost his damn mind.

But this muthafucka has completely flipped the script on my ass.There are so many muscles twitching on his face that he looks like a beast spat out of hell. Muthafucka, do you know who I am? Do you know that I can rock-a-bye your ass for this shit? Despite these questions racing through my mind and the instant fantasy of my ramming my gat down his throat, the actual words that tumble out of my throat are,

"I'm sorry." Only two muscles stop flexing against his temple.

Diesel still looks pissed as shit. I have the distinct feeling that if and when he drops my ass off at my crib that it will be the last time that I see them. That shit got my heart tripping up in my chest. It ain't like I got a line of niggas that look at me the way he does or tryna get at me.

Once he rolls out how long will it be before that curvy bitch be back cheesing in his face? Fuck him, then. I shift my attention out of the window and pretend that I don't give a shit, but then I think about how good he straightened out my back and I get to missing his ass before he's even gone.

"Look. Seriously," I say, turning in my seat to try again.

"I mean it. I shouldn't have popped off like that. I—it's just I got a lot of shit on my mind right now and it's all fucked up. I shouldn't have tried to take it out on you." Inwardly, I cringe at hearing myself beg this nigga that I haven't known for forty-eight hours to forgive me. Hell, I even hold my breath while waiting for his response.

"Look, I like a rude mouth from time to time, but I don't like it when females take shit too far."

"Does that mean that you don't forgive me?" I give him my best puppy dog expression while I wait with my heart in my throat. He shoots another look at me, but I see the muscles in his face have smoothed out before his sexy lips expand into a smile.

"Get over here, Scar." I unlock my seatbelt without hesitation and scramble over into his lap, careful not to hit the gearshift or steering wheel.