Naeema's eyes dipped down to take in the more than comfortable move. It hurt her. The dick had been calling her and she raced her ass across town to get it and there might as well have been a damn OCCUPIED sign hanging from the tip. That shit hurt like a motherfucker.

His good deed from the day before of ensuring her baby-father, Chance, didn't press charges was forgotten.

"I just came for the updated police report," Naeema lied to save face. "You couldn't sit here and wait for number one forever so I understand settling for second . . . or third . . . humph . . . maybe fourth best."

Yes, she was being childish as hell and she knew it.

"Tina, excuse me for a second."

She came around Tank and rolled her eyes at Naeema. "Yes, please do handle that."

Line crossed.

Naeema reached out quick as shit with her right hand and brought it down on the back of the woman's head. She cried out as she fell forward onto the floor. "The police report," she said coldly, ignoring Tank stooping down to help her to her feet.

"Yo, you got a fucking hand problem, Naeema," Tank snapped. His date or whatever stood swaying on her feet as she cupped the back of her head.

"And she got a mouth problem. Let's see who fix their problem first."

Tank came over and grabbed Naeema by her upper arm to steer her back onto the porch. "Why you actin' like this, yo? You left me."

"The police report," she repeated, not even looking at him.

"I told you, I'm not giving you the report to go out there and get yourself killed."

She shook her head as she finally eyed him. "Well, if I'm dead you don't have to worry about a divorce where my childish ass could yank this fucking house we used to live in together . . . where you are now fucking new bitches," she said, holding up both her hands. "So give me the police report."

"Man, go home with that nonsense, Tina," he said.

"Tina!" she snapped, not thinking it was possible for her to feel more hurt and more anger . . . until he called her by the other woman's name.

Tank's face filled with regret. "Na," he began. "I didn't mean to-"

"Fuck you, Tank," she said, turning to walk down the stairs.

He reached out and gripped her wrist. Naeema snatched away from him. At the bottom step she looked back and laughed. "What's so crazy is while she in there tryin' to play my position we both know if I told you to send her ass home you would."

She stormed across the yard and climbed onto her motorcycle.

Tank turned and walked back inside the house.

Naeema climbed her ass right back off the motorcycle and raced down the drive to Tank's garage. She entered her birth date on the keypad to unlock the door and slipped inside using the flashlight on her phone to keep from turning on the lights. In the corner was his desk and she headed straight to it. Right on top of the stacks of papers and receipts was the file.

By the time Tank reached the end of his drive to catch up to her, Naeema was turning her motorcycle and racing away up the street with the file safely tucked in her waistband.

Naeema hopped out of the cab and came up the walkway to the front door. Before she could knock on the front door it opened and Bas's tall figure filled the frame. She flipped her long black weave over her shoulder and opened her wrap dress to show him she was as naked as the day she was born.

"Damn, Queen," Bas said releasing a long-ass breath that had to be him letting off steam.

They'll run right through a pretty girl like you.

Naeema shook her head to clear it. Not now, Grandpa Willie. Not right fucking now.

She smiled as she grabbed the front of his V-neck tee and roughly pushed him up against the wall, then she kissed him deeply and stroked his hardening dick. She'd sworn never to give Bas her all when it came to sex, but it was his lucky night because she figured the very best way to say "fuck you" to Tank and take care of her own needs was to thoroughly fuck the hell out of Bas.

14.

Naeema smoothed some of her jet-black wig behind her ear as she waited for Bas to come around the vehicle and help her out. The wig was twenty-four inches with a natural-looking part down the middle, giving her a Pocahontas vibe, and it was the perfect hair to match the dress she wore.

The Lamborghini door opened and she smiled up at Bas looking fly as he held his hand out to her. She smoothed down the hem of the custom B. Allen bandage dress she wore. The mesh gave away plenty of her brown skin but each three-inch strap of leather was perfectly placed to hide her nipples and the vee above her thighs. It fit her curves like a second skin and she had to admit that although Bas purchased the dress, she loved it.

Wearing it was supposed to be a part of her role as Queen but the fit was everything she loved as Naeema.

"Can I get a repeat of last night?" Bas whispered in her ear as they walked inside Club Platinum Plus in Manhattan.

"You couldn't handle it," she teased, smiling off the uneasy she felt.

She had most definitely given Bas too big of a peek into her freaky side. She'd tried to go home but he insisted she stay. They fell asleep together and he tried to spoon all night. They had breakfast at a diner in Maplewood and then he took her on a birthday shopping spree.

She couldn't deny that a part of the reason she went so wild was him putting in work as well. Still, she had no intention of keeping any of what he told her to "throw in the bag" like Fabolous. Her affiliation with him had nothing to do with that-or the good sex, really.

The walls and floor of the club were painted dark blue but everything else was silver (or platinum as they were trying to insinuate) and the place radiated. The music was loud as ever and people seemed to be in modes of either chilling or partying.

Naeema had to admit she liked the upscale vibe. Maybe I'll come back on my real birthday in a few weeks.

Bas spoke briefly to the bouncer, who then said something in low tones on his headset before he directed them away from the flow of traffic in and out of the two-story club to a small lounge area to the left of the door.

"I know I'm'a have to kill a fool behind your ass in that dress," he said, reaching over to press his palm to her thigh as they sat on one of the silver banquettes lining the wall.

Naeema only smiled because she doubted he was playing.

A double door on the other side of the small area opened and a petite Latina with reddish blond hair came to stand before them in a white bodysuit.

"Hello, Mr. Jones, and happy birthday, Queen, I'm Ashia, your personal hostess for the evening," she said. "Right this way." She waved them into the elevator first.

Naeema wasn't used to this shit. Not even when she partied hard had she hit the door of a club on this level. The elevator was glass and they were able to look down at the large club and the partygoers as they reached the second level, which was strictly VIP. My my, damn.

As Ashia led them to their section, Naeema's eyes widened when she spotted rappers, singers, and popular radio dj's she recognized, all enjoying their bottle service and special treatment. She felt like she was filming an episode on a reality TV show because that's the only time she came even close to something as dope as Club Platinum Plus. Fucking Lifestyles of the Fly and Fabulous or some shit.

She wouldn't doubt there was a minimum just to book a VIP station. Bas spent a grip for this shit.

"Happy birthday, Queen!"

She held her hands over her gloss-coated lips at the sight of the crew plus a few more all seated around a cake in the shape of a royal crown with tall sparkles surrounding it.

"Happy birthday," Bas said with a press of his warm lips against the corner of her mouth before he pulled her closer to the semicircular booth to sit.

"Thank you," she said.

She didn't have time to feel even half a second of guilt about her lies to these people. Her son's murderer sat among them. She knew it in her gut.

Her eyes shifted from Bas's profile. To Hammer. Nelson. Red. And Vivica.

Party or no party. Gifts or no gifts. She was not Queen. She was Naeema. Brandon was her son. One of them was going to die.

Period.

Over the rim of her flute of Armand de Brignac (or Ace of Spades) champagne, as they overlooked the crowd below, Naeema eyed Hammer dancing behind his date. She didn't know if the cute girl with a spiky short hairdo was one of his babymamas, one of his girlfriends, or a brand-new recruit, but Naeema was ready to chat it up with the playboy.

"Queen, you are slaying us with that dress, bitch. It's everythang on that body."

Naeema set her flute down and smiled at Vivica looking Rainbow Bright as ever in a multicolored bodysuit and matching Chinese bob weave. "Thank you," she said.

"Bas did it baller status for you, girl," Vivica said, reaching for the gold opaque champagne bottle in the bucket of ice to refill her glass before she moved from her seat across the table next to a solemn-looking Red to sit beside Naeema.

"I guess he making up for his girl catching us in their house."

Vivica side-eyed her. "I heard about it," she mouthed before she took a sip.

Naeema eyed Nelson asking their hostess a question when she brought a new round of drinks and glasses to their table. She followed where Ashia pointed something out for him. The restrooms. Young dude gotta pee-pee.

"I'll be back," Naeema whispered to Bas before Nelson could even make his move. She picked up her black ostrich feather clutch and shimmied by Vivica to make her way past each VIP station to the restrooms.

Her jam, "Drop It Low" by Ester Dean was blaring and people were getting off. Naeema had to fight the urge to "drop, drop, drop" right in front of a famous New York rap icon and his whole entourage.

Before she walked into the bathroom she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Nelson wasn't strolling his behind over. She entered but kept the door cracked to catch him just before he pushed open the men's bathroom door across from her. "Hey, Nelson," she said, stepping out into the short hall and pretending to air-dry her hands.

"Whaddup, birthday girl," he said, smiling and causing his already tiny eyes to seem to disappear behind his chubby cheeks.

The smell of weed was heavy as hell around his short and thick figure, like the dirt cloud around Pig-Pen from the Charlie Brown cartoons. "Yo, you stay faded. You got something on you?"

"You know that," he said, patting the pocket of his pink and gray paisley print shirt he wore with dark denims.

"Shit, let's blaze," she said, turning to push back against the men's bathroom door.

Naeema just laughed when he tried to stop her. She checked each stall before sitting up on the granite countertop of the sinks. Nelson eased in as she crossed her legs and set her clutch on her lap.

"We can't smoke in here," he said, reaching in his pocket for a box of Newports. He pulled out a blunt. "It'll set off the smoke detectors and shit. You keep that."

Naeema took it and slid it inside her clutch. "What was up with that kid Brandon?" she asked, pulling out her lip gloss and playing with it nonchalantly as she turned on the counter to put it on in the mirror running along the entire length of the wall.

Nelson looked down at the floor, pressed his thick lips closed, and shook his head.

"Y'all was cool, right, or . . ."

"Nah, we were straight," Nelson said, motioning with his pudgy hands. "We was the closest in age so it feel like I lost a little brother."

She rolled the cap back on the tube. "The way he got killed it's like somebody was mad at him like . . . yo."

Nelson frowned. "You heard about it?"

"Bas told me," she lied.

"Bas talked to you about Brandon?" he asked, sounding disbelieving.

Naeema nodded. "Yeah, he told me all about how the little boy was tossing rocks at the window in the church when he first met him," she said, glad for the tidbit of truth to feed back to him to ease his doubts.

Nelson visibly relaxed. "Yeah, Bas took him under his wing and shit. Just like he did me. You know?"

"I'm surprised anybody could be that mad to risk pissing off Bas to hurt him. Right?" she asked, meaning to sound naive and nosy instead of calculating.

"Nah. Bas woulda fucked somebody up behind Brandon," Nelson said.

If not Bas, then who? Maybe you?

"Yeah, but he must've pissed somebody off," she said with a shrug. "I mean, he couldn't have been perfect, you know? He had to work somebody's damn nerve. He ain't never pissed you off?"

"Dude was fourteen, maybe fifteen," Nelson said.

Fourteen, you fat fuck.

"What could he possibly do to make somebody wanna kill him?"

"Your girl is cute," Naeema said, meaning to change shit up on him.

Nelson strolled over to the urinals. "She just some bitch who got lucky for the night," he said before he unzipped.

Naeema hopped down off the counter and left the bathroom. She crossed over to the women's bathroom and walked into one of the stalls to flush the blunt he gave her.

I don't smoke shit I ain't seen rolled, motherfucker.

People were lacing their weed with dope, crushed pills, or coke-if they could afford it. She'd heard too many stories about dudes popping Xanax and straight passing the fuck out while they were walking. OxyContin, Percs, dippies, sticks. Fuck all that. Naeema wasn't interested in shit but her semi-government-regulated marijuana.

"Naeema . . . you still in here?"

Inside the stall she rolled her eyes at the sound of Vivica's voice echoing in the large bathroom. "Yeah," she called out, turning so her toes pointed forward toward the stall door.