“Just go, and don’t come back here,” Harlem replied.
“You’re letting me go, just like that?”
“Head isn’t here. He won’t be back for a few hours, so now is your time to finally leave, Cartier.”
“And what about the sister wives?” she asked.
“They won’t stop you.”
“You know the moment I get back to Brooklyn, you and I are back to being enemies. This shit doesn’t change anything.”
“As I stand before you, Cartier—on my parents’ lives—you and I are enemies now.”
Harlem hated Cartier with a passion, and she could no longer take her being there a second longer. Her elaborate plan had backfired. Harlem was young and didn’t fully understand matters of the heart. At her age and with her past, she thought love was black and white, and she was unable to understand the gray areas of it.
Harlem would have bet her life that when she told Head that it was Cartier who had shot at him at his great aunt’s house, she had signed Cartier’s death certificate. The day after she told him, Harlem mailed Cartier the letter with their address on it, knowing she would come. Harlem expected Head would seek revenge and finally see that Cartier didn’t love him as she did. But instead of Head murdering Cartier, he set about making sure she was comfortable and tried to convince her to stay—to join them.
Cartier hurriedly got dressed and took flight out the house. She ran up the steps and bolted through the unlocked basement door. Her eyes scanned for the front door, and she ran as fast as her legs allowed.
Harlem gave her a set of car keys to leave in. Outside was a dark blue Ford Taurus. Cartier got behind the steering wheel and started the car. Her whole body was trembling from fear and adrenaline. She pressed her foot to the pedal and drove away fast. She refused to look back.
The flight to JFK airport rapidly ascended into the air with the landing gear retracting. Cartier was finally able to relax and exhale with the plane being in the air. It felt like she had escaped from Camp Crystal Lake with her husband being Jason Voorhees. Head had broken her heart into tiny pieces, glued it back together with lies, and shattered it again. Cartier was emotionally wrecked and didn’t know if she could ever fully recover.
32
Sana thought she saw a ghost when Cartier walked through the front door.
“Ohmygod, I thought you were dead!” Sana hollered. “I was worried sick about you.”
She attempted to hug Cartier but got pushed away. Cartier was in no mood to have a joyous reunion. She was finally home and had a lot to deal with.
“Cartier, what happened to you? You’ve been gone a month. I called and called and tried to get in contact with you. I really thought you were dead,” Sana repeated.
“It’s a long story,” replied Cartier.
Sana wanted to hear it, but she could tell that Cartier wasn’t in the mood to tell it—not now.
“Did anyone come by here?” she asked Sana.
“Yes, a few people, including some scary looking men that were asking about you. I told them I had no idea where you were,” Sana answered. “And Majestic and Scooter came by several times worried.”
Cartier didn’t need a description of the scary looking men. She already knew who Sana was talking about. For a moment, she didn’t know which direction she was going. It felt like everything was happening too fast. She was stressed out. Her husband had six kids on the way, and she would become baby mama number seven in his sick, twisted new world. Cartier knew she was pregnant; she just hoped that it wasn’t Head’s. Now she hoped it was Caesar’s baby, from that night they had unprotected sex and he came inside her.
Her first priority was to contact Caesar and explain her absence, and then she needed to contact Majestic and Scooter and let them know that she was still alive and see if they were able to hold down her business. While she was locked up in exile with nothing but time, she couldn’t figure out why Majestic never came for her. She kept replaying the events and realized that when she hastily texted him in the cab, she had sent the incorrect address. Instead of texting the abbreviation for highway, she had texted the abbreviation for freeway.
Cartier spent the entire day on her phone trying to pull her life back together. One thing she made sure to do was contact a locksmith to change her locks on the apartment door ASAP. Head had a key, and she didn’t want anything to do with him. When she contacted Caesar, he was upset.
“You rise back from the dead—it must be a miracle. Unfortunately for you, I don’t believe in miracles,” Caesar said.
“He kidnapped me, Caesar,” she blurted out.
“Who kidnapped you?”
“My husband,” she cried out.
Cartier was rambling. Not wanting to talk over the phone, he said to her, “We need to meet . . . soon.”
“Just tell me when and where.”
“I’ll contact you with the time and location,” said Caesar. “I’ll be back in New York sometime next week. Don’t leave town unexpectedly again.”
Their call ended, and Cartier was extremely nervous and upset. She didn’t know if her next meeting with Caesar would be her last meeting with anyone. She didn’t want to panic, but now that she was at odds with her husband and somewhat on Caesar’s bad side because of her sudden disappearance, it felt like she was living on borrowed time.
Since Cartier arrived home, she had been running around the place like a chicken with its head cut off. She made numerous phone calls and removed numerous guns from her bedroom closet to keep at reach. She went pulling everything out of the kitchen drawer and the mysterious cards were spilled onto the table.
“Cartier, please tell me what is going on?” Sana desperately wanted to know.
“I want Head and Harlem dead,” she announced.
Sana was shocked by the crazy statement. “What happened? Did they have something to do with your disappearance?”
As Cartier was talking and crying out, the cards on the table caught Sana’s interest, with her love for word puzzles. She went to the table and started to mess around with the cards. There were so many to try and decipher. After a couple of minutes, Sana uttered to herself mostly, “If there was an O, this would read, ‘You’re dead.’”
Cartier stopped what she was doing and stared at Sana. “What did you say?”
“I said if there was an O, then it would read, ‘You’re dead,’” Sana repeated.
Now Sana had Cartier’s undivided attention. Sana had the letters spelled out on the table and had written the letter O on a blank piece of paper. Cartier was shocked. Her mouth dropped. What type of head games is someone playing?
“There was an O that I tossed away—I think when I was at the cemetery,” Cartier admitted.
She would have never figured it out. She wondered who the fuck was behind this.
“Congratulations, you are definitely pregnant,” the doctor told her.
Cartier wanted to be thrilled by the news. Previously she wanted to have a baby by Head, but now things done changed and she felt regret more than joy.
“How many weeks?” she asked him.
“Eleven weeks.”
The time frame of her conceiving meant that the baby was a maybe baby—maybe it was Head’s and maybe it was Caesar’s. She placed her hand against her stomach and sighed. Her life was changing and she didn’t know if it was going to be for the better or the worse.
“So far, everything looks healthy. We can schedule your first ultrasound to make sure,” the doctor said.
His name was Allen Smith. He was thirty-five, handsome and he was polite with a bright smile. Dr. Smith had that personable touch that good doctors possess. He had a warm vibe, and Cartier trusted him to deliver her baby.
“Okay,” she faintly replied.
“I know the father is going to be happy,” Allen said. “Does he know?”
> The mention of the baby’s father unexpectedly made Cartier burst into tears. She was supposed to be happy and strong, but her emotions were all over the place. Though she was a hardcore bitch about her business, at the end of the day, she was still a woman with feelings. She wanted love and happiness, and she had none right now.
“I’m sorry, did I say something to upset you?” he asked her.
She continued to sob.
Allen approached closer and kindly placed his hand on her shoulder. He said, “Whatever is bothering you, I’m sure everything will work itself out. Just have faith.”
“Everything is so fucked up,” Cartier said between sobs and sniffles.
“If you’re having this baby alone, there are plenty of women who are single mothers. But you seem strong enough to raise this baby on your own should that be the case,” he stated.
He handed her some tissue to wipe the tears from her eyes. Allen had no idea who Cartier was. In his eyes, she was a single woman who was pregnant.
He took her hand and said, “My mother was a single mother and I turned out okay. I think.”
The small joke made Cartier smile and chuckle a little.
“You see? There’s that smile I’ve been waiting for,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”
His words offered her some comfort. She appreciated his sharing and trying to make her feel better.
She left the OB-GYN in a lighter mood, but her problems weren’t going to go away because some doctor made a few jokes. Cartier had issues that weren’t common to the everyday pregnant woman. One of those issues was the death threat Sana had figured out. Cartier was convinced that Citi was behind the notes because although Kola described her as critically injured, her death was never confirmed. She and Apple both felt that Kola should have finished the bitch off.
Cartier thought about reaching out to Apple to tell her about her suspicion, but she decided against it. Cartier knew that Apple and her insatiable thirst for revenge would have her stressed more, and she didn’t want to lose her baby like Kola lost hers. Besides, Citi was a punk bitch hiding behind some idle threats.
Cartier climbed into her car and sighed again. Eleven weeks pregnant—the biggest question was, who was the father of her baby?
33
A full moon hovered in the sky on the late, cold winter night. Cartier brought her Beamer to a stop on the dead-end block in a part of Brooklyn she didn’t want to be in at the moment—Red Hook. She climbed out of her vehicle dressed warmly in her winter coat. Directly in front of her was a large parking lot once known as “Graving Dock One” located at the Vigor Shipyard. During its heyday, the dock was regarded as making Red Hook the center of the shipping industry in New York. But Cartier knew she wasn’t there to receive a history lesson. Caesar had returned from his trip to Puerto Rico early and demanded they meet immediately. This was the place he requested to meet, and he wanted her to come alone.
Eyeing the two black SUV’s parked near the warehouse, Cartier knew she was the last to join the party. Releasing a cavernous sigh, she cautiously approached the warehouse. She had no idea if she would come out alive.
It felt like she was in some kind of horror movie. The setting was extra creepy. Every step she took felt heavy. Her mind was racing with concerns, and she wondered if Caesar would kill a pregnant woman.
She knocked a few times on the steel door and it opened immediately with one of Caesar’s thugs on the other side. The moment Cartier stepped into the sprawling warehouse, she heard screaming. It was a sharp and agonizing scream, and it echoed from deep within the building to where she stood.
“Wait here. He’ll be with you shortly,” said the armed goon.
The screaming continued, and Cartier could only imagine what was happening. It definitely was a man she heard screaming out in absolute agony. She waited there for ten minutes before the torturous screams came to a dramatic stop and Caesar emerged from the shadows in the warehouse with his hands and some of his clothes coated with blood. He seemed unfazed by the blood on him as he approached Cartier and slightly smiled.
“Cartier, it’s good to see you back in town,” he said.
She knew not to ask his business, although she wanted to know who was screaming in the next room.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“Yes. We do.”
Before she could say another word, she noticed two men behind Caesar carrying something in a large trash bag. It appeared to be a body inside; blood was dripping onto the floor, leaving a small trail. Caesar noticed her fixed gaze.
“Oh that,” he said about the body being carried out. “Just a problem I needed to take care of. His answers to my questions were not to my liking, so I gave him some initiative to think rationally and clearly. But that is not your concern. From our last conversation, you said you were kidnapped and by your husband.”
“I know it sounds far-fetched, Caesar.”
“I’ve heard it all, Cartier, and I don’t put anything past anyone,” he replied. “And I’ve also spoken to your two men, Majestic and Scooter.”
Cartier raised an eyebrow.
“And if you’re wondering, they are still alive,” he added. Caesar had stopped short of murdering her two men while she went missing because he believed she was avoiding him.
It was a relief to hear for Cartier, but she wasn’t out of hot water yet.
“I’m going to need you to elaborate on this kidnapping situation.”
It was cold in the warehouse, but Cartier felt hot like the temperature in the room had rocketed to 110 degrees. She unzipped her coat to show him her stomach. He was taken aback.
“You’re pregnant.”
“Yes, as you can see.”
“Is the baby mine?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
She didn’t understand why she couldn’t lie to him. It would have been easier. But Caesar was like a human lie detector, and besides, she was in enough shit with him already.
The announcement changed the vibe inside the room. He moved closer to Cartier and placed his hand against her stomach. He wanted to feel the life growing inside of her—the chances of it being his seed she was carrying. It was heartfelt. He wasn’t getting any younger, and Cartier made him feel alive.
“Of course I demand a DNA test to see,” he told her.
She nodded.
“I will know either way because I only make sons.”
She chuckled. “Is that so?”
“It is so. And if the baby is mine, then this definitely changes things,” he stated.
“How?” Cartier wanted to know.
“My wife Lena, she needs to go, and your husband too,” he said unemotionally. “It can all be done the easy way.”
“You wanna kill my husband?” she asked incredulously.
“He is a distraction, as is my wife. And if what you’re telling me is true—that he kidnapped you for a month, then—”
“No!” she yelled.
“You still love him, after he kidnapped you?”
“It’s not that . . . I just don’t want him dead right now. What you do with your wife, that’s your business, but Head is my personal business, and I can handle it.”
Cartier didn’t know what came over her. A few minutes ago she was worried about being murdered by Caesar, and now she was defying him for some reason. Though Head kidnapped her, lied to her, betrayed her, and mistreated her, it didn’t sit right with her to have him killed—at least not right now. And it was evident that he felt that same way toward her. He could have easily retaliated against her once Harlem snitched about the alleged hit. But he didn’t. And for some reason she thought about all those children he had fathered with his stable of needy women. They would all be born and never know who their father was. Cartier couldn’t have that on her conscience. Besides, she didn’t know whose baby was in
side of her.
“You are a brave woman, Cartier. And I keep reminding you of it, but sometimes bravery does have its consequences.”
She stared him directly in his eyes and responded, “I know.”
“It’s good that you know.”
“Are we done here?” she asked, zipping her coat back up.
“I guess we are.”
He smiled at Cartier and left the building. He would temporarily spare her husband’s life. If he murdered Head against her wishes, then Cartier wouldn’t give him her heart. He wanted her love—her undivided affection. He truly loved her, but he had to be a patient man. He didn’t want to force her hand. He figured Cartier was a smart woman and she would wise up eventually and understand what was best for her—for her future.
But his patience with Lena was up. He would ask her for a divorce, and she would quickly agree.
34
Cartier’s nerves felt like they were about to jump off a cliff. The air around her felt stifling. She wanted to breathe again and relax—even escape somewhere. Last night felt surreal, because it was an encounter with Caesar she thought she wouldn’t survive.
The past few months of her life had been chaotic and melodramatic, but Cartier could only remember a few times when she experienced short-lived peace and tranquility. Thinking about her life—the whirlwind of drama and loss—could easily thrust her into depression. Her husband kidnapped her, got Harlem pregnant along with several other women, and he wanted her to join his cult. She was pregnant and wasn’t sure whether the father was her trifling husband or a murderous drug kingpin. Everyone she ever loved was dead, including her mother and daughter. She couldn’t help but to feel like she would be next. It was starting to feel like the grim reaper was sitting on her shoulders, mocking her. Speaking of her husband, he hadn’t tried to contact her in any way since Harlem had let her go.
Her mood started to feel like the weather outside; cold and gloomy. Cartier took a good look at herself in the mirror. What she saw was something she suddenly wasn’t proud of. Where is my life going? she asked herself. What’s my purpose?
Cartier Cartel--Part 4 Page 21