“Damn, ma . . . shit,” he murmured, unable to control the nut peaking. “I’m about to come.”
She was about to come too. They both exploded, swimming in pleasure and a heightened sense of eroticism. Apple turned around to face Touch and rolled a condom onto his still brick dick. She lowered herself on top of him and began a slow grind as her nails dug into his chest.
“You feel so good, baby. Ah . . . Oh shit, your pussy feels so good,” Touch moaned with his eyes closed as he pushed into her more and more. “Oh shit! Damn, Apple!”
Apple arched her body as waves of bliss washed over her.
“Oh, fuck me!” she cried out.
The couple twisted into position after position—reverse cowgirl, doggy-style, and sideways. Touch hit it in multiple positions, enjoying every inch, and every second, he made love to her. He wanted this forever.
“Come for me.”
“I’m gonna come in your tight pussy,” he said breathlessly.
And when he came, she came—their bodies connecting on so many levels.
“Damn, Apple, what you doing to me?”
The SUV slowed to nearly a crawl, like a low-rider cruising in Compton ready to do a drive-by. But Queenie didn’t want a brief drive-by. She wanted the chaos she was about to implement tonight to linger. She wanted bodies to drop, the streets washed red in blood, and Apple’s reign of terror to finally be buried six feet deep.
Apple’s men, per her orders, had finished a day of cooking up coke and bagging up dope and were now ready for war. The click-clacking of guns could be heard throughout the apartment as the shooters checked clips, chambers, and ammunition before going to hunt their target—the L.E.S. Crips and their HBIC at the rumored pool spot. Hood, IG, and four other triggermen rode in the elevator in silence, all focused on the task ahead of them.
The fall air was cold but not brisk as they filed out of the building, all checking their surroundings as they walked toward Hood’s truck. No one gave the burgundy Nissan Murano a second glance as it crept down the block. The windows rolled down, and two shooters, Lord and Rehab, leaned out of the curbside windows. Queenie could be heard screaming from the driver’s seat, “Murda dem!”
Her triggermen lifted their guns, aimed at the crowd with a merciless purpose, and heatedly opened fire.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak!
Instantly, IG was grazed in his face. He spun around like a fidget spinner and then hit the ground. Hood saw this and reached in his waistband and pulled out his ninas. He outstretched both arms and bucked back. Glass shattered wildly, and a gun battle ensued. Hood took two hits; a shotgun blast entered his elbow, nearly splitting his arm into two pieces, and another bullet lodged into his thigh just a couple inches away from his groin. Hood buckled over in pain.
IG recovered, and he and his team chased the SUV a couple blocks until all they saw were brake lights.
35
Apple lay in Touch’s arms stroking his chest as she initiated pillow talk. She could tell something was on his mind. He was distracted.
“Tell me about your relationship with your mother,” she said.
Touch’s mood soured. His mother, Nancy, was off-limits. He remained silent, not wanting to address the question in any capacity, but she pushed.
“Whatever it is, you can trust me.”
Touch exhaled. Could he? Telling secrets was the most idiotic thing a person could do. The secret allowed someone to weaponize the embarrassing fact and later use it against you in any capacity they chose. It left you wide open and susceptible to manipulation, revenge, or blackmail depending on how tawdry the details were. However, if it brought him closer to Apple, he would take that chance. Touch spoke openly of his mother’s betrayal, the shame and humiliation of her act, and how it left him feeling insecure.
“I think it’s time you forgave her and got to know your siblings.”
Touch smirked. “Not gonna happen.”
“You should at least start the process of forgiving her because once she’s gone, you’ll regret not making things right.”
He snapped, “You don’t know anything about it, Apple, so drop it.”
“Why don’t I? My mother paid a crackhead to toss acid in my face,” she said softly. And just in case he didn’t glean what she’d just said, she repeated, “Acid. And I wanted her murdered, but when she was, I lost a part of myself. I’d give anything for her to still be here, for you to meet her. And, I guess, I want to meet your moms too.”
Touch lifted his eyebrow. “You do?”
“Of course I do. She’s your mother; she gave birth to you. I would like to meet the woman who helped co-create all of this,” Apple said and stroked his penis, which instantly responded. Touch smiled wide, and the two lovers went for round three.
Apple played sleep when Touch snuck back into her bedroom at six in the morning, got dressed, kissed her on her forehead, and left. Where the fuck was he going? She wanted to cook breakfast, maybe do something with Peaches this morning, all of them like a family. All types of thoughts bombarded her as she lay in bed. Was he married? Was he sneaking around like Kamel had done to Kola? Was his plain-Jane apartment really his smash house? Apple stared up at her ceiling for hours feeling insecure, and then she got angry. She hopped out of bed, showered, dressed in her best garments, and went to confront Touch on his territory with her 9mm tucked snugly in her clutch.
Touch needed to speak with his father alone, so he called and asked Jorge to come to his house.
“What do you want, Malcolm?” Jorge asked. “You know I hate traveling to your apartment. It takes forever on mass transit.”
“Take a cab, Pops,” he suggested. “You know it’s not a problem for me to pay the fare.”
“No! No,” Jorge opposed. “That won’t be necessary. I don’t know where your money comes from. I’ll take the train.”
“Here we go again,” Touch admonished. “Just hurry up.”
Jorge arrived at his son’s apartment, dressed down in his leisure sportswear, two hours later. He was in a foul mood from being summoned, but he showed up, because that’s what they did. Both father and son always showed up for each other.
“You want something to drink?” Touch asked.
“I do not.”
Touch nodded and got to the point. “I know who you are, and I know what you’ve done, and I want you to stop.”
Jorge snorted. “What is it that you know, son?”
“Don’t make me say it out loud. Just stop, Pops. Stop what you’re doing and grow old. You’ve been doing this shit for too long.”
Jorge turned the tables. He took a few steps closer to his son. His eyes were pools of darkness, his voice laced with outrage and embarrassment. “I can say the same about you. My very own son—a bottom feeder. You have no code. You have no honor. You’re just like them.”
Touch was visibly shocked. What did Jorge know? “What are you talking about, old man? This shit ain’t about me! It’s about how a thirteen-year-old kid followed his father one day and found out that the man he loved and trusted was The Huntsman.”
Jorge shrugged nonchalantly. He removed the hood from his head and appeared to stand up straighter. “I’d rather be a vigilante than an assassin working for assassins. You’re a lowlife, the exact type of individual that usually meets the tip of my knife. You better be grateful that you’re my son or—”
“Or what?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Malcolm! Or would you rather I call you Touch? Your assassin’s name!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Touch lied. “All I know is that you better stop stalking Apple. I know it’s you and I ain’t fuckin’ around. I love that woman, and I’d do anything to keep her safe.”
“You know she’s behind the dope that’s killing our
people, and you take her side over mine?” Jorge was incredulous.
“I don’t know what she’s done or hasn’t done. All I know is that you better not lay a muthafuckin’ finger on her! Stop your menacing, stalking, killing, insanity ’fore I stop you.”
Jorge snorted, and then chuckled, and finally let out a hearty laugh. He was amused. Years of murdering without reproach had made him cocky. He turned his back toward his son and walked to the front door. “I won’t hurt her, but The Huntsman will kill that bitch!”
Jorge unlocked the front door and proceeded to leave when Touch reached out and grabbed his father by his collar. Jorge was yanked two steps backward when he spun around and stabbed his son repeatedly in his gut. Jorge’s movements were lightning-fast and deliberate.
The blows had taken Touch by surprise; his eyes widened in shock and fear. He released his grip from his father’s collar, and his hand instantly touched his open wound. Touch looked at his hand now covered in blood and pushed his father away.
Jorge rebounded and charged his son, and they both stumbled and fell on the hardwood floor. With Touch laying face up, Jorge straddled him and brought his survival knife as far back as possible. With force he slammed it down, aiming for his son’s eyes. Jorge needed to gouge out his son’s eyes so the world would know that he was a menace to society, just like his other kills. Touch blocked the blow, and the knife lodged in his wrist bone.
With his free hand, Touch pulled his burner from his waist and fired once. Poot! The bullet slammed into Jorge’s temple and he keeled over, collapsing on his side. Touch needed his cell phone to call for help, but he was quickly losing consciousness. He grasped his phone, and before he could make a call, everything went dark.
Apple arrived at Touch’s apartment ready to confront him and whatever jump-off he was with. She felt slutted out, walking to his front door still feeling the pressure from their lovemaking between her legs. Apple went to bang on the door and noticed that it was slightly ajar. Instantly she pulled out her gun and slowly stepped farther inside to a horrific scene.
Touch was bleeding out on his living room floor with an older male dead, shot once in the head. Girlie was lying by Touch’s head whimpering. Her feet had trampled in the blood and she was visibly upset. Apple paused only to take in the situation and then immediately sprang into action. She locked his door and ran to her man. Apple pulled off his belt and grabbed a couple rags. She placed the rags over his abdomen and tightened the cloths with his belt to slow the bleeding. Next, she pulled out the knife that was wedged into his wrist and tied a cloth around that wound too. She was about to call an ambulance when she noticed the gun was only inches from Touch. Fuck, he would do time for murder.
Apple didn’t know what to do. He was running out of time. She needed to get him away from the body and into a hospital. Her brain wasn’t functioning with her man dying in front of her.
“God, please, don’t let me lose him too,” she prayed. “Help me!”
Apple was about to call Hood when Touch opened his eyes. He thought he was seeing an angel.
“Touch, stay with me, baby,” Apple cried. “I’m gonna call for help.”
“No,” he whispered when Apple pulled out her cell phone. “Pass me my phone.”
Apple handed him his phone and listened intently as he spoke to someone on the other line in code. When he hung up, he said, “I hope I can trust you.”
Apple nodded.
“Unlock the front door, sit in a chair facing the wall with your hands behind your back in plain sight. If you have a weapon on you, remove it. Place a blindfold over your face and don’t move until you’re told to do so. Don’t ask any questions. Stay silent until we’re alone.”
“What’s—”
“Now, Apple. I need you.”
Apple nodded again.
“If I don’t make it out of this alive, I want you to know that I love you.”
IG tried contacting Apple all night to no avail. He needed her to know what had happened at Lincoln Houses and also for her to be alert. Right now, he was in the hospital, getting his face stitched up and also waiting to hear how his man was doing. Hood’s right arm looked chewed up; it appeared to be attached by skin and veins. The screams coming from Hood as they rushed to the hospital were ear-piercing sounds of pain.
IG felt fucked up. He could still see the smirks on Rehab’s and Lord’s smug faces as they let those things go—bullets mercilessly ripping into them. He left one more voice message for Apple.
“El Jefe, we got hit tonight. Hood took two rounds, but he’ll live. He’s getting stitched up. Hit me back when you get this. One.”
With Apple not returning his calls and Hood in surgery for the next few hours, IG felt he was left in charge. He would not let this shit linger. If the bullet meant for his head had drifted an eighth of an inch to the right, he would be dead. The thought of being outlined in white chalk on his territory had him seething. With two carloads of the most thorough killers Harlem knew, he set out to end L.E.S Crips’s reign once and for all.
36
Apple sat with her back facing the door feeling the most vulnerable she had in years. She had put her life and trust in a man she barely knew; the dead man and pistol lying at Touch’s side were a testament to that fact. The blindfold had heightened her senses, and she heard and felt everything—the front door creaking open, footsteps, the clanking of items, and an overwhelming presence filling the room. Antiseptic smells mixed with cleaning products wafted throughout the apartment. Apple heard wheels being pulled and felt someone brush past her repeatedly. If she had to guess, she’d say there was more than one person who had entered the apartment. The front door opened frequently, and yet no one had said one word. Hours passed. Apple had to use the bathroom but adhered to her man’s strict instructions: stay blindfolded, don’t move, and don’t turn around until told to do so.
Sporadically, Girlie would sit at her feet comforting her, and Apple could tell that someone had walked her more than once. She could hear her feet pitter-patter across the floor to exit and enter.
She knew that the sun had long ago faded, and Apple estimated that she had been sitting in the same position pushing thirteen hours. Her body had stiffened, her back felt sore, and her legs had fallen asleep throughout the day, but she was still alive.
Apple drifted off to sleep and only realized this when her body tilted and she slid off the chair, crashing to the floor. The pain jolted through her body and instant anger surged through her veins. Apple no longer cared about rules, threats, or compliance. She ripped the blindfold from her eyes, ready to confront the unknown. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the lighting. The living room was dark; only the moonlight filtered through the blinds. Apple could make out that she was alone. She looked to her left where Touch and the unknown dead body had lain, and both were gone.
Apple ran and turned on the lights, and all signs of a struggle—blood, gun, knife, bodies, were gone. She panicked. This was a total mind fuck. Where was he? Did they take him, and if so, who were they?
Apple ran into the bedroom and walked into a fully equipped hospital room. Touch was lying in his bed, hooked up to machines and an I.V. Several bottles of medication were on the nightstand, and his stab wounds had been stitched up and dressed with gauze. Apple stepped farther into the room, looking to see if they were alone; they were. She picked up the medicine, and the bottles were nameless. Apple read off words like Vicodin, Percocet, and Penicillin. There were also typed instructions left for her, which included changing his I.V., making sure he took his pain medication, and cleaning his wounds.
Whatever Touch was into, Apple knew this right here was uncharted territory for her. Her mouth was gaped open in awe—mind blown from this level of sophistication and organization. Her poker player had some explaining to do.
IG and his three carloads of henchmen laid in the cut on a side
block adjacent the twenty-four-hour pool hall. It was a long shot but all they had. IG knew how killers think—he was one. After most kills, they either wanted to go out to be seen for potential alibis or go out to celebrate the successful murder they had just committed. It was nearing dawn when Lord’s Range came to a rolling stop with Rehab in the passenger’s seat. As Lord placed the ignition in reverse so he could parallel park, IG exited his Range and nodded toward his men. Each goon had smirks on their faces that personified their inner thoughts—death and destruction.
Time had stopped ticking for Alonzo “Lord” Bivens and Sean “Rehab” Jackson. IG sprayed the front of the SUV with an onslaught of hollow-point bullets from his automatic weapon. Their bodies popped up and down like popcorn as each bullet smashed through their flesh. When the other L.E.S. Crips gang members heard the commotion, they came out, only to be mowed down by Apple’s triggermen.
IG and his soldiers took flight, racing back to their vehicles to evade capture. IG figured that most of the gang members wouldn’t survive their injuries and those that did make it would be out of commission for a long time.
Apple slept a few hours before she was up attending to Touch’s situation. He kept going in and out of consciousness, and her biggest fear was that his wounds would get infected. Apple monitored him closely for fever and kept a keen eye on his stitches, making sure there were no irregularities or telltale signs of infection like pus or swelling.
To compound matters, she finally had a moment to call IG back. He explained that Hood had gotten shot but that he had finally put Lord and Rehab to sleep. Apple wished that Queenie was inside that vehicle, but the fact that she wasn’t told Apple that Queenie was hers to kill. It started with these two women, and she would end it. Just not right now. Touch was her current priority, and Apple would put her house in order once she was sure his condition had stabilized.
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