“But anyway, you gonna be a’ight.”
They continued to talk, getting to know more about each other as the hours continued to pass.
Finally, Sassy was called by the C.O. to see the judge. But before she was escorted from her cell, she gave Kola her number and said, “Yo, if you in da area, come see me, Kola. I’m in da Pork & Beans, North West Sixty-Second Street. Chain’ up wit’ me, ya hurr?”
“I’m gonna do that, Sassy. Keep ya head up,” Kola replied.
“You too.”
Kola watched them take Sassy away, and she suddenly felt alone. She knew Sassy was a real bitch, and that there wasn’t anything fake about her. She was going to make it her business to check Sassy and link up with her after her own release.
***
A week had passed, and Kola was heartbroken. Her session with the judge didn’t go too well. The feds were pounding on her hard for that half-kilo they’d found in her trunk.
Kola was remanded back to the county to await her bond hearing in thirty days. Thirty fuckin’ days in this bitch, she thought. Being caught up in Miami was the worst. It felt like hell. Suddenly, she was missing New York.
Six
Apple’s moans echoed throughout the bedroom as her butt cheeks clenched uncontrollably and her hands tightly grasped the bedroom sheets. She felt his long tongue dipping intensely into her pulsating pussy, and his lips sucking on her clit like it was delicate fruit. Naked and vulnerable in his strong hold, she entangled her legs around his masculine frame, squirming. His well-defined arms raised her long legs into the air, exposing her dripping wetness even more, and he went to work on her pussy like it was a full meal, his tongue lapping up the juices.
Apple closed her eyes in the dark room and enjoyed her pussy being sucked dry by this scandalous slice of a thug. The more he ate her out, the wetter she became. His tongue game was brutal; the oral sex performed on her, damn near mind-blowing. The only sound in the room was the slurping of her sweet juices between her legs, her flavor being tasted and swallowed. It felt almost unreal to her.
The passionate oral then stopped, and Apple found her legs being spread wider, giving her lover ample opportunity to take her honey pot any way he wanted. He leaned forward against Apple, positioning himself between her thick, shapely legs.
The thrust was powerful, like a big rig barreling through a tight tunnel, causing her to gasp. His body pressed down on top of hers, making her feel like she was between a hot iron and the ironing board.
Her manicured nails slightly tore into dark sections of flesh, scraping deeply down his back, drawing some blood from the miniature wounds she created. “Fuck me!” she found herself crying out. “Fuck me!”
The sex was concentrated, and the dick tunneling inside of her made her want to melt.
But then, suddenly, the mood changed. She opened her eyes and found his hands wrapped around her neck, and his squeezing against her windpipe grew tighter and tighter. It was hard to breathe.
He continued to fuck her, but it was more forceful—turning into rape. She felt his dick growing more and more inside of her, like a thick bubble expanding.
What the fuck! Apple thought. The mood in the room was spinning out of control.
She looked up at Chico. At first he looked the same, handsome and gifted like always. But then the luxury of the room she was in began to unexpectedly change, transforming into the hell she once found herself captive in—the Mexican brothel.
Chico’s features went from handsome to demonic within the blink of an eye. “You fuckin’ bitch!” his voice boomed.
The rape became more wild and evil. Apple felt herself being pinned down by many arms all of a sudden, and she couldn’t move an inch. The force against her was so strong, she felt like she had become a paraplegic with her naked body glued to the stained, thin mattress.
Suddenly blood was coming from her vagina, and quite a few men stood around watching and laughing.
“Get off me!” Apple screamed. “Get the fuck off me!”
But her screams fell on deaf ears. Chico’s demonic soul continued to torture her in the polluted room connected to the dark brothel. His hands morphed into razor-like claws and started to shred her skin, peeling away flesh and bone.
Apple felt herself being literally torn apart. The eyes in the room were far from welcoming, more like sadistic and evil. The more she screamed, the more they smiled and laughed.
Then Shaun appeared in the middle of the rape, becoming the focal point of it all. He seemed to have grown stronger and far more vicious than he was before. Once Chico was finished with her, Shaun savagely attacked her.
Apple screamed. This was not happening. Not again, and not now. She had grown powerful herself, but in the presence of Shaun, she was a tiny fly tangled in steel-like web. The more she struggled, the tighter she felt trapped, and the more it hurt.
Shaun’s wicked apparition was burning heavily into her flesh. “I told you, you fuckin’ bitch, there is no escape from me. From this!”
Shaun’s breath felt like fire, and his stench was overwhelming.
Apple screamed, “Noooo!” Then her voice was suddenly muted. Her pussy was being stretched from her wildly, like a rubber band stretching to its limit and ready to snap.
Her nipples started to melt from the heat of Shaun’s fiery breath, and her looks began to change dramatically. The plastic surgery she had performed on her face over the months began to thaw out. The acid was eating away at her skin again, and the disfigured Apple once again started to break the surface. But this time, it just wasn’t one side of her face that was disfigured. It was spreading fast, and soon her entire face was being eaten away by the acid. Then her body began to mutilate and become contorted with boils and scars.
“You ugly bitch! This is your life from now on! You ugly bitch, there’s no escape! There’s no escape! There’s no escape!” Shaun chanted.
Apple struggled once more, but the more she fought, the uglier she was becoming. She found a mirror, and what she saw staring back at her shook her sanity from its core. Her face looked like a land field, and her body was covered with sores and boils. It hurt, and it was nasty.
“I can’t! Noooo! Noooo! Get off me! Get off me! NOOOOOOOOOO!”
The nightmare jolted Apple awake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and shivering. The room was still, but her cries boomed out like thunder in the sky, and she was breathing heavily. The sheets were wet from a puddle of sweat she’d created.
Apple’s eyes darted around the empty bedroom. She sighed with relief, realizing it was only a nightmare. She removed herself from the bed, her sweat making her skin glisten in the night. She looked at the time.
Apple walked toward the bedroom window and gazed at midtown Manhattan lit up like a Christmas tree. It was three a.m., and the city was still going strong, still alive, unlike Houston, where everything would shut down at a certain hour, and the place would look like a ghost town on some nights.
“It was only a bad dream,” she said to herself, standing by the window naked.
But the nightmare fueled Apple’s anger against Shaun even more. That muthafucka was in her head so much, it was becoming hard for her to sleep. She couldn’t think of anything else but revenge. She had created a hit list, and Shaun was at the very top of it.
Apple went into her handbag and removed a pack of Newports. She lit up a cigarette and took a much-needed drag. She looked at herself in the full body mirror and she was the same. Her figure was still shapely and attractive, and her face normal again from the surgery. She would never be that same-looking Apple when she was a hundred percent, but what she paid for, the transformation, was well worth it. She was able to look at her reflection again and not cringe. The doctors had performed a miracle.
Apple remained awake and stood poised by the floor-to-ceiling windows watching the morning sun gradually come over the city, smoking Newport after Newport. And as the sun invaded the bedroom, bringing about a glorious spring morning, Apple’s mind
bore no light, and no sunny days in her head. Only darkness, hate, and the thirst to see blood spill lived within her.
Later in the day, Apple took the Bentley and went shopping on Fifth and Lexington Avenues, and throughout the midtown area. She went ham with her spending, buying Gucci, Prada, and Chanel outfits, shoes, jewelry, and makeup. The shopping spree bill totaled $15,000, and everything was paid for in cash.
When she was done with shopping, she traveled across the Hudson to the other side, taking the Lincoln Tunnel into New Jersey, to a very important meeting with someone. She sat back in the luxurious vehicle as it sailed through the tunnel and into Union City.
Terri was her companion; he was becoming her number one shadow. He was like the hawk soaring through the skies watching everything. The day was fading fast, and rush-hour traffic into New Jersey was always a bitch, but they pushed through it and headed toward Newark. Terri cruised into Newark while Apple was on the phone talking business.
Newark was trying to come alive with new businesses that were trying to replace some of the fading ones. The city was hit hard by the recession. Many jobs were lost, and unemployment had soared. Certain gangs had taken over blocks, drugs were always rampant, and towering buildings that were once homes to many residents sat vacant and lifeless, like a decaying corpse, indicating the hard times the city had endured. The locals were lingering on street corners, some enjoying the beautiful spring evening, others conducting their illicit business. Graffiti adorned the walls in the neighborhood and the front of many businesses, and young men were scattered about with their sagging jeans and gang colors.
Terri was familiar with the city. He had cousins in Newark that ran with some of the most vicious gangsters around. Though it had been years since he’d been back, he didn’t miss the city at all. Houston had become more of a financial windfall for him. Dealing with Guy Tony, he was making money in abundance. Newark to him was always going to be a memory. But he didn’t have a problem chauffeuring Apple around the city. She sat in the backseat of the Bentley looking and feeling like a boss bitch. She gazed at the city behind the tinted window on the vehicle. It was easy to see out, but hard to see in. Apple watched as the car turned heads, some looking in awe at the Bentley cruising through their impoverished neighborhood.
Terri made a few turns and traveled a few miles, and then the car came to a stop in front of a two-story condo on Clinton Avenue. While most of the homes on the dilapidated street looked run-down and old, the condo looked brand-new. It was part of the city’s gentrification agenda to help rebuild the community, starting with the restoration of run-down urban areas, and trying to bring back many jobs and more middle- and upper-class residents.
Apple stared at the condo from the backseat of the vehicle.
Terri shut off the car and craned his neck to fix his eyes on Apple. “This is it,” he said to her.
Apple nodded.
Terri stepped out and opened the back door for his employer. Apple stepped out of the car clad in a pair of white Diesel jeans, wedge heels, and a sexy, beige off-shoulder net top.
She gazed up at the condo. “This is it, huh?”
Terri nodded.
“Get the bag out the trunk, and let’s take care of business.”
Terri nodded and walked to the trunk. He opened the back and removed a small, black Nike duffel bag. He closed the trunk and moved toward the condo with Apple following behind him.
The two weren’t worried about trouble. Terri, in his white button-down shirt underneath a grey wool suit, along with his habitual stone-cold demeanor, concealed a holstered Glock 17 under his attire. He was surgical with any pistol in his hand—a sharp shooter, a killing machine.
When they got to the door, Terri pushed the intercom and waited.
A short moment later, there was a reply. “Who this?”
“We here to see Jet,” Terry announced.
“We as in who?” the voice behind the intercom asked.
“Apple and Terri.”
“Hold on.”
The two waited patiently. Terri noticed the small, black bubble-shaped camera watching them from above. There were bars on all the windows, no cars in the driveway, and the door seemed thick, with an iron gate out front.
A short moment later, there was a buzz, and the door was unlocked. Terri swung it open and guided Apple inside. They stepped into the confined foyer, and before they reached the stairs, an armed soldier came trotting down, the 9 mm visible in his hand, but pointed toward the ground. He wore fatigues, dark shades, and army boots. And his image and attitude spelled ex-soldier.
He and Terri locked eyes. “You here to see Jet, right?” the man asked.
“For a business proposition,” Apple chimed.
The soldier was ready to search them both, but Terri wasn’t having it.
Before the soldier could place hands on Terri, he uttered, “I’m already carryin’, playboy, and we’re only here for business, not looking for any trouble.” Terri swung open the flap of his suit jacket, revealing the holstered pistol on his side.
The soldier paused and looked at him. “Jet doesn’t see anyone that’s armed. It’s protocol.”
“Well, it’s my protocol to protect this woman here, so I guess we’re in a little dilemma here, huh?” Terri never took his eyes off the man.
“I guess so.”
“Look, we came too far to get into this bullshit. I can go alone, Terri, and you stay down here and wait for me.”
Terri looked at Apple with uncertainty. “You sure?”
“I’m a big girl, Terri.”
Terri nodded.
“You okay with that reasoning, soldier?” Apple asked.
The man nodded.
Terri handed Apple the duffel bag and remained in the foyer while she followed the man up the stairs. Terri kept his eyes on them until they rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and disappeared into a side room.
Apple didn’t know what to expect when she saw the man called Jet. The only thing she knew about him was, he was an ex-marine turned mercenary, a highly decorated soldier with a dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corps because of wicked acts of violence he’d committed overseas.
During his second tour in Afghanistan, he took aggression toward his enemies, including al-Qaeda and rival soldiers, to a completely twisted and sadistic level. Jet would cut the head off of an al-Qaeda man, chop off his dick, and stuff it into his own rectum. Jet would gouge out these men’s eyes and cut out their tongues.
This sadistic action went on for months, until he was finally reported by one of his own men. The military did an investigation and found Jet guilty of war crimes. Jet was the best soldier in his unit, and he was good at tracking down his foes and killing. He thought it was a plus to his country, getting rid of evil, and doing onto them as they were doing onto us, but the Marines thought differently. He was deemed no longer fit to serve his country and was charged with crimes against humanity. It angered Jet, feeling his country and his unit had turned their backs on him—betrayed him.
Jet ended up doing some time in Leavenworth, and when he was released, he vowed to continue putting his deadly skills to use and became a mercenary. He would get paid for his adept services—like the A-Team, just deadlier and more vicious.
Apple entered the room behind the man, and it was like she’d stepped through a portal and entered an arsenal filled with weapons of all kinds. The room was painted black, had military insignias decorating the walls, and displayed prominently was the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor. Written in red and blue bold letters on the opposite side of the Marine insignia was “Peace is for bitches. Only men respect War!”
Apple saw arms and ammunition of all kinds displayed across numerous stainless steel tables in the room—assault rifles, AK-47s, M-16s, grenades and grenades launchers, rocket launchers, Glocks of all calibers, .45s, 9 mms. This man and his team were ready for any kind of war that came their way. And the surveillance was high-tech, with monitors watching every
corner of the building, motion lights for the dark, and the steel doors secured with a magnetic lock.
It seemed like Jet was paranoid about something.
And a room like this, filled with high-tech military weapons in the middle of the ghettos of Newark, seemed far-fetched.
Jet stepped out of a back room, and Apple fixed her eyes on his powerful structure. He stood six three and was framed with muscles from head to toe. His arms were well-defined—biceps and triceps expanding—and his chest protruded like two large lumps. He was shirtless and swathed with tattoos and scars. It looked like he could crush anything with his bare hands. His eyes were dark—like onyx embedded into his skull. His bald head gleamed, and his chocolate-covered skin made him almost lickable in Apple’s eyes. It was easy to see why they called him Jet.
“I heard you have some business for me,” Jet said to Apple, his voice raspy and stern.
“Yes, I do.”
“Have a seat. Let’s talk.” Jet gestured to the black leather couches cattycornered in the room.
Apple took a seat, and Jet followed behind her. They sat opposite each other. Jet leaned back into the cushion, spreading both his arms behind him, and across the back of the couch and gazed at Apple with intensity.
“I need someone found and taken care of immediately,” Apple said.
“I like that, straight to business. Who is this person you need to be found?”
“His name is Shaun, and the last I heard, he was living in Mexico. I hear you’re the best in tracking people down, no matter where or how far they run.”
“I am. I have a team of killers that are thirsty for the hunt,” Jet stated with smugness.
“Well, I need for your dogs to hunt. And I’m willing to pay handsomely.” She pushed the duffel bag near Jet, who leaned forward and unzipped the bag and stared at the stacks of bills bonded together inside.
“That’s a hundred thousand in payment for your services to be rendered.”
Jet smiled. “Nice. And how do you want me and my men to bring him back to you?”
“I want him brought back to me piece by piece. And I want his head separately and last.”
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