Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel) (29 page)

“Nia!”

I knew I had to try to scream. I managed to free one of my arms and pushed the flat side of my palm up as hard as I could into his chin. I connected. The man groaned, and when he grabbed his face in pain, I could see tattooed skin on the side of his neck. I screamed as loud as I could and fought back against the man whose face I couldn’t see. Then I heard the footsteps getting closer, and the man jumped up and ran out of the
apartment.

I rolled over on my side, choking and gasping for air. Terrence burst into the apartment and rushed over to me on
the floor.

“Nia! Nia! Talk to me, baby. Are you OK?” He pulled me up off the floor and ont
o his lap.

I clung to his jacket, hot tears streaming down my face as I tried to catch
my breath.

“Oh my God, Nia . . . ,” he whispered in my ear as he stroked my hair. “If that man had killed you, I don’t know what I would have done. Could you see wh
o it was?”

I tried to choke out
the words.

“What did you say, Nia?” Terrence said as he leaned down to hear my hoars
e whisper.

“Diablo,” I said, reaching up to touch the side of Terrence’s neck.
“Tattoo.”

The man who had attacked me, and had killed Sean, had a black tattoo of a devil on his neck, the sign of Dia
blo Negro.

CHAPTER 24

Laila

T
hank God for invisible tape, I thought, as the stylist placed the clear strips along my breasts so that the red-crystal-encrusted Zac Posen bustier would stay up. The matching satin micro miniskirt had a plume of netting down the back like a peacock’s train, which skimmed the back of my neon blue Jimmy Choo ankle-wrap sandals. As I pirouetted in front of the mirror, I noticed that my makeup artist had been successful in reducing the puffiness and splotchy redness on my face from
my tears.

After being humiliated at my own party by Nia Bullock, I had come back to my room in tears. No one had ever gotten the best of me like that. I hadn’t even been able to connect with Miki, so I could only imagine what her reaction was to the magazine cover. Would she cancel my show? Would everything I had worked so hard fo
r be lost?

My attempts to reach Kareem had also gone unanswered, so Darryl said it was time for us to take matters into our own hands. He reached out to DJ Williams, the league’s new bad boy who had a reputation for fighting both on and off the court, making it rain hundred-dollar bills in the strip club he owned in his native Atlanta and being suspended for spitting on a fan who had booed him during a game. Darryl had done business with him in the past, and he asked DJ if he wanted to go to a party with me. Of course, DJ had jumped at the chance and told Darryl he was down for whatever. I agreed with Darryl that DJ would be the perfect escort for this evening’s gra
nd finale.

“Looking good, girl,” Darryl said as he leaned against the doorway to the bathroom while I looked into the mirror and fluffed up my l
ong curls.

“And you know this, man,” I said, turning to pop my lip gloss into my black Chanel clutch. “Let’s
do this.”

As we made our way into the living room, Tanya Peoples and the rest of the Glam Network camera crew began to assemble to head out with us. I guessed that if Miki was intent on canceling my show due to yesterday’s events, she would have told the camera crew to stop filming. Since they were there, it was my duty to give them some footage they would nev
er forget.

DJ’s paws were all over me. I scooted away as far as I could in the stretch Lincoln Navigator limousine, inching closer to the door. Darryl, who sat across from me, was sandwiched between four of DJ’s boys and the Glam Network cameraman and was typing away on his iPhone, so he didn’t see me signaling for help. With the cabin of the truck smelling like reefer and the Hennessy flowing, DJ was clearly in the mood to get acquainted. And seeing as how he was a professional athlete making serious paper, he didn’t have much experience these days with being turned down. As far as he was concerned, everyone was availab
le to him.

“What’s good, Ma?” DJ asked, breath hot in my ear as he put his beefy arm around me and tried to pull me closer to his rock-hard six-
foot-ten frame. He was young with only two years in the league, but the TMZ
poster boy was determined to make a name for himself. Luckily, tonight he had forgone his eponymous denim line and put on an actual black suit like a grown-ass man. A web of interlocking tattoos of crosses, vine
s, and guns snaked down his neck into the collar of his red shirt and across his broad light-brown chest. Unfortunately, it was too late for me to change when I saw that we were color coordinated, looking like we were going to some ghetto-ass prom. DJ’s massive thigh pressed into mine as his hand grazed the edge of my short red skirt. He wore dark sunglasses, but I could tell that his eyes were undressing what he thought was his girl for the night. I didn’t want to have to check this fool for real because I needed him tonight, but he was definitely not getting any of this kitty kat tonigh
t or ever.

“Now, DJ,” I purred in an ear that had a five-carat stud attached to the lobe and then stroked his bald head, “relax, baby. We’ve got all night.” I made sure to smile for the camera filming us as we rode to the party, and I carefully tugged at the short hemline of my skirt to pul
l it down.

“I know, but for real, girl, you got a brother trippin’ looking all delicious. Let’s skip this party shit and go back to my hotel.” He licked his lips and looked at me over the tops of hi
s glasses.

“Save something for later,” I said, pressing a bloodred nail on his full lips. I had to pull it back quickly when I saw him open his mouth so that his tongue could lick me. “This is a very special evening, baby. And I think you’re really going to enjoy yourself. I g
uarantee.”

“All I need to enjoy myself is your fine ass naked in my bed, for real,” DJ said, his lips nibbling along my neck as he tried to slip a hand between my thighs. “For real, let’s go. I want you
for real.”

“I know you do, baby,” I said, crossing my legs to block the probing fingers that wanted to get to the honeypot and give his boys a freaky little show. “But I have a surprise for you that will make you want me even more. Trust me.” I stared into his eyes, pressed my breast into his chest, and licked my lips to tease him as the Navigator came to a stop in front of the Biltmore Estate. A quick glance at my watch showed it was just past
midnight.

Showtime.

I climbed carefully out of the truck so as not to give DJ’s boys a flash of the goodies and stood next to DJ whose large hand slid down my back and rested on my ass. I knew it would be pointless to move it at this point, but the camera wa
s filming.

“Yo, where we at?” DJ asked, giving my cheek a squeeze, while the production assistant put on his microphone pack. When Darryl had told DJ that the network would be filming our little date, he had been more than up for getting some screen time, because in his mind any press was g
ood press.

“Just a party we were invited to,” I lied as another production assistant
slipped the cold microphone pack down the back of my bustier and then clipped the small black mic on the front of one of the crystals. I reached back to fluff up the plume netting on the back of my skirt. DJ looked back to enjoy the vie
w as well.

“All right now, you know I can’t wait to get up under that skirt tonight,” he said, adjusting the front of his pants. “You got me ready to take off r
ight now.”

“I know you can’t,” I said, trying not to laugh at him. Poor baby, he actually thought he was getting some of thi
s tonight.

Tanya led us, along with DJ’s requisite entourage, into the buildin
g’s lobby.

The building, which had once been a luxury hotel, had been recently
reopened as an event space. Tonight the grand marble and glass foyer was festooned with a purple and green Mardi Gras theme. With the evening’s event in full swing, we could make out the sounds of music and laughter coming from behind the closed ballroom doors. The check-in table was empty. A couple, dressed in black or white as the invitation had requested, had on brightly decorated masks and headed back into the ballroom. As the door opened, we could hear John Legend playing the piano an
d singing.

A large banner hung from the ceiling announcing tonight’s event. The cameraman zoomed in on the logo as DJ read
the words.

“ ‘Welcome to the Marcus and Vanessa King Midnight Mardi Gras Gala. A fund-raiser for Saint Mary’s Children’s H
ospital.’ ”

I managed to refrain from telling DJ “Good job” for reading so well as I saw two Biltmore security guards in black pants and white shirts heading over to us. Darryl cut them off, and with his back to the view of the cameras, took a large stack of cash from his pocket. Peeling off a couple of hundreds, he pressed a few folded bills into both of their hands. Suddenly, the guards realized they were due fo
r a break.

“Yo, son, this is Marcus’s joint?” DJ
asked me.

“Yes,” I said in a clipped tone but trying to smile. “Is that a
problem?”

“It ain’t no problem for me. For real, though. But it might be a problem for King,” DJ snorted as he gave his boys some dap. DJ was an ideal escort for this evening because he and Marcus got into it on the court two weeks ago when DJ got ejected from the game for a flagrant foul on Marcus. The league had suspended him for three games, which included playing in the All-Star game. Ever since, he’d been barking at Marcus on Twitter, but Marcus, of course, hadn’t responded. Marcus was the king of the league and didn’t have to address this kid. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have addressed this kid, either, but I knew seeing me with DJ would get under Marcus’s skin. It probably wouldn’t help relations between the two players that Marcus had won the All-Star MVP title for the second year
in a row.

I slipped on my silver crystal-studded mask. When the producer tried to hand DJ a black one, he pushe
d it away.

“I ain’t wearing that bullshit. Let that muthafucka see my pre
tty face.”

Whatever
, I thought.
You’re cute and all, but no one will be looking at y
ou anyway
.

John Legend was wrapping up his set when we walked into the darkened ballroom and those in the audience were on their feet clapping. Huge masks, flowers, and beads decorated the large space, and the hundred tables were laced with Mardi Gras beads and flowers. As we walked down the center aisle of the room, I could feel the hot stares of people as they saw me in my bright red dress in clear violation of the evening’s dress code. There were murmurs and gasps as people began to recognize me. I could see out of the corner of my eye that some of the event’s organizers were scurrying around in the corner, trying to figure out w
hat to do.

An efficient-looking woman in a black suit and glasses rushed up to us, waving her clipboard i
n my face.

“I’m sorry, but you all have to leave,” she said, trying to block our path. The band on the stage played as John Legend made his way offstage while the audience continued to applaud. I pointed at my ear and pretended I couldn’t hear her over the music and the crowd, and I pushed past her with one camera in front of us and one behind us. The producer scurried ahead and began to scout around for two seats at the front of the room as if we were being escorted to our assigned seats.
Brilliant.

I could see that DJ had his eyes fixed on a table at the front of the room. The hosts for the evenings had their backs to the room as they applauded John Legend’s performance, so they didn’t see us making our way down the aisle. Marcus wore a black custom-fit tuxedo with a black shirt and bow tie, and Vanessa, the lady of the evening until I arrived, of course, had on a long strapless red sequined gown with her black hair blown out sleek and straight with a center part. Marcus put an arm around his wife’s waist and drew her close to him as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head, and I nearly stumbled on the carpet as my stomach tightened at
the sight.

That was my man. And that should be our baby we were celebrating. She had ruined everything we had. He didn’t love her. I knew he didn’t love her. He couldn’t. He loved me and we were supposed to be together. If it weren’t for that baby, he wouldn’t even be trying to reconcile with his wife. I knew that, and she knew that, too. It would be a PR disaster for Marcus to leave his pregnant wife for me, but I had to let him know that I’d wait for him. No matter how lon
g it took.

More guests in the room began to turn and look at us as the
applause died down and the sound of shocked chatter filled the room. As Marcus and Vanessa turned to take their seats, the frazzled woman in the black suit scurried over to their table and whispered something in Vanessa’s ear. That was when she looked up and saw me. I saw her eyes narrow through her black velvet and diamond-stu
dded mask.

Bring it
on, bitch.

DJ’s boys were laughing loudly as they walked behind us. There were only two seats at the table the producer identified, so they would have to stand. As we got closer to the table, Marcus and Vanessa rushed over, both of their expressions tight with controlled rage. DJ palmed my ass and pulled me closer as he removed his shades and tucked them into the breast pocket of h
is jacket.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Marcus hissed. The Glam Network cameras jockeyed for position as they encircled us. DJ’s boys filled in the gaps between the camera and sound techs, locking the four of us inside the tense circle just a few feet away from each other. Each of us, I imagined, wanted to rip the other apart. As I sized up Vanessa through my mask, my gaze unconsciously raked down her body to her stomach. Reflexively she put her left hand with her wedding ring over the small roundness barely visible in the sequined dress. But I saw the bump in her dress, and she knew it. I looked back up at her eyes, which were flashing with anger and something els
e—triumph.