Brooklyn Bombshells--Part 2

by Erica Hilton

  He didn’t want to see Kym fall victim to that flaw in the justice system. He believed she was being set up—that the detectives had arrested the wrong person.

  “I’m not giving up on you, Kym,” D’Angelo said.

  “Then what’s our next move?” she asked him.

  “My office is working closely with the detectives on the case, and right now, things are looking promising for you. The detectives investigating the homicide believe in your innocence too.”

  “They do?” she asked, her eyebrows going up.

  “The case against you is circumstantial at best, and with your clean record, your family background, and no violent history with the victim, the ADA will have a hard time convincing the jury of a guilty verdict. But this Charlie character, she has a criminal history and a rap sheet longer than the constitution. Hey, if O.J. Simpson can get off, I know I can get you off. So, I’m going to have a talk with the ADA,” he said.

  Kym felt somewhat relieved by those words, but she knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me on the day of your acquittal or when the case against you is dropped,” he replied.

  For D’Angelo, it was a long shot to try and convince the ADA to drop the charges against his client. But it was worth trying.

  The detectives wanted to pull Charlie’s cell phone records to see if it had pinged off any cell phone towers closer to God’s home, but she didn’t have a phone in her name. They assumed that she had a pay-as-you-go disposable phone or a phone in someone else’s name. Charlie was a career criminal. She was smart.

  Finally, Bratcher subpoenaed the recording of the 911 call reporting the murder. You could clearly tell it was a female disguising her voice.

  They were working feverishly on the case. The detectives were also in constant contact with the Bronx detectives regarding the rape of Chanel Brown and attempted murder of Mateo Hernandez. They had even less of a case. Right now, it seemed that Charlie was literally getting away with murder. Now the tide was turning, though, and the more the detectives investigated Charlie, the more they saw she had motive and opportunity to kill God.

  ***

  It was a damp spring evening when Charlie got into Mona’s car. She handed Mona a bulky envelope filled with cash, the organization’s cut from her street profits. Charlie had more money coming in than she could count.

  “Business is good,” Charlie said.

  “I see. You were born to hustle, Charlie.”

  “And y’all need to remember that. That’s why I feel I need y’all to increase my cut,” she said.

  “We’ll vote on it. But there’s something else I need to discuss with you,” said Mona.

  “And what’s that?”

  “New Jersey didn’t find anything connecting you to God’s murder.”

  “Are you fuckin’ wit’ me? Seriously?”

  “Yes. So, the case is now at a standstill.”

  “Standstill? Meaning?”

  “The ADA also decided to drop the murder charges against Kym.”

  Charlie was livid. “What? How is that fuckin’ possible?”

  “It is possible, and it happened. Somehow, the detectives on the case convinced the ADA to drop her charges.”

  Fuck me! Charlie thought. She took it as a loss. She hated losing, and now Kym had somehow managed to untangle herself from the nasty web and was free again. Charlie wanted that bitch to end up like Landy, locked up. Now Kym was placed on her mental payback list as number three, with her sister and Mateo holding the top two slots.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  You look so beautiful, Chanel,” Mecca complimented her friend. “And it still fits!”

  Chanel chuckled. “Thank you, Mecca.”

  Chanel smiled at her image in the large mirror, gazing at the Monique Lhuillier wedding dress she was wearing. It was still beautiful. It was still white too, something that had lost its meaning. She sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Mecca.

  “Nothing. I’m just . . . I’m just nervous.”

  “Girl, this is your best day. You’re only a few minutes away from saying ‘I do’ to the man you love—the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. I can’t wait until Pyro and I get married,” said Mecca.

  Pyro. Chanel didn’t want to think about him. She saw him earlier and, for some reason, she had gotten butterflies in her stomach. She felt that it was best to keep her distance from him although he was Mateo’s best man.

  Chanel and Mecca exited the bathroom and went into the Justice of Peace where their wedding ceremony was to be performed by a judge inside the spacious room. The groom was looking handsome in his black suit and white tie, and Pyro looked equally handsome wearing a black suit. Standing near the groom and the best man were Bacardi and Butch. There was also a surprise guest. Mateo’s mother, Silvia, had come down from Boston to attend her son’s impromptu wedding. She was a former drug addict and had just come out of a six-month rehab.

  It was Chanel’s first time meeting Silvia. She was a chubby woman with a massive amount of long, dark hair, and she showed nothing but warmth and kindness toward her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

  “You’re beautiful,” Silvia said to Chanel.

  “Thank you. And I’m so happy to meet you,” Chanel said. “You have a wonderful son, and I promise I’m going to always take care of him.”

  “I know. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you. He told me how you were there for him during his recovery while I was going through my own recovery.” She looked down at the floor, thinking about her drug addiction. “I’ve never seen him so happy. He’s a lucky man to have you.”

  Chanel smiled while Mateo appeared to be blushing. “Okay, stop embarrassing me, Ma,” he said.

  “Boy, let me talk to my daughter-in-law and get to know her better,” Silvia sassed at her son.

  He sighed and groaned. “Oh boy.”

  Chanel and Silvia continued their warm and polite conversation and, surprisingly, Bacardi enjoyed Silvia’s company too. Bacardi and Butch warmly embraced Mateo and were genuinely happy for the couple.

  Everyone was socializing and laughing before the couple was to say their vows in front of the judge. Pyro and Chanel kept their distance from each other and barely said two words to each other. It was odd in light of how close the two had become since Mateo’s shooting and rehabilitation. Now it appeared as if they were complete strangers.

  Mateo sensed some uneasiness in Chanel, but he assumed it was pre-sex jitters. Mecca also could sense that something was off with her fiancé, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  A Spanish couple was up next to see the judge. Bacardi approached Chanel and gently pulled her to the side saying, “I need a word with you.”

  Chanel didn’t resist.

  “What’s up?” she asked her mother.

  “You’re what’s up. Get it together, Chanel, right now, unless you want everyone in here to know that you and Pyro had something goin’ on,” she strongly whispered in her daughter’s ear.

  “I’m fine, Ma.”

  “No, you’re not fine. The way you’re acting toward Pyro right now, it’s clear as day that y’all had something goin’ on. And if I can see it, don’t you think Mateo and Mecca will see it too?”

  Chanel sighed. Her mother was right. She had been acting awkward toward Pyro.

  “I’ll fix it, Ma. Thank you.”

  “Just go in there and marry the man you love and don’t think about your past,” said Bacardi.

  She nodded and smiled.

  They went back into the room, where the judge was waiting for them.

  “Let’s do this, baby,” Mateo said proudly.

  Chanel gazed at her husband-to-be and grinned from ear to ear. Mateo took her hand in his and they approached the judg
e. Judge Harold Cawthan, an old white man in his early sixties, smiled at the couple.

  “Are you two ready?” he asked them.

  “Yes, we are,” Mateo replied.

  “Great. Let’s get started.

  Pyro flanked Mateo and Mecca flanked Chanel, and the judge looked at the young couple with the Bible in his hands and said, “Marriage is a wonderful thing. I’ve been married to my wife for over forty-five years.”

  The judge then got the ceremony started. After Chanel and Mateo exchanged their vows, the judge happily announced, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  Mateo took Chanel in his arms and they kissed passionately with happy tears in their eyes. Everyone applauded, including Pyro.

  “I love you,” Mateo proclaimed with all his heart.

  “And I love you,” Chanel replied with the same conviction.

  The married couple left the Justice of Peace and climbed into the backseat of a sleek, black SUV. They were driven to the JFK airport, where they boarded a first-class flight to Hawaii to enjoy their honeymoon.

  The newlyweds enjoyed champagne and proudly announced to the other passengers that they’d just gotten married this morning and were on their way to Hawaii for their honeymoon. The pilot even made an announcement through the speakers, and the entire plane erupted with clapping and congratulations.

  The resort they had reserved was five stars with breathtaking views of the island and the Pacific Ocean. They had waited so long for this—the Hawaiian music, the warm tropical breezes, and champagne. Because Chanel was underage, she had to sneak drinks, which was fun for them.

  On their wedding night, Mateo couldn’t wait to make love to his new bride. They had the honeymoon suite with a large king size bed, sitting areas, a balcony, a whirlpool, and two flat-screen TV’s.

  Mateo wanted to be extra gentle with his wife. He knew she had a traumatic experience and he didn’t want to do anything to trigger memories of the rape. He was excited to finally be with Chanel, but he was nervous too. While Chanel was in the shower, he popped open a bottle of champagne. To pass the time until Chanel came out the bathroom, he decided to call Pyro.

  Mateo stepped out onto the balcony and gazed out at paradise. The night was tranquil, and the Pacific Ocean was calm and glistening under the moonlit night. Mateo had his phone to his ear and listened to the ringing. Pyro soon answered.

  “I know things must not be going right if you’re calling me on your wedding night,” he joked.

  Mateo laughed. “Nah. Everything’s going good.”

  “And you’re calling me?”

  “I don’t know if it’s just me or what, but I need some advice.”

  “Listen, if you don’t know by now about the birds and the bees, then there isn’t much I can do for you, Mateo,” Pyro continued to joke.

  “Seriously. Chanel’s been through a lot and I don’t want to hurt her,” said Mateo.

  “Man, you’ll be fine.”

  “I just want everything to be special for her. I want her to enjoy tonight.”

  “She will, man. Believe me, things will be fine. Don’t worry; her getting raped and making love to her husband are different. She loves you, so just be confident and stop over thinking shit. It’s your honeymoon, and you already wasted most of it by being on the phone with me,” said Pyro. This phone call was killing him. The last thing he wanted to know was the exact time Chanel and Mateo would make love. However, he had to suck it up. She wasn’t his.

  Mateo felt better with Pyro’s reassurance. “Yo, you’re right. Thanks.”

  “You know I always got your back.”

  “You do, and I got yours. One, my nigga.”

  “One.”

  Mateo went back inside to see Chanel coming out of the bathroom in a sheer pink teddy and sexy panties. Mateo stood there in awe and thought, Damn, I’m glad I married you.

  “How do I look?” she asked him.

  He was almost speechless. “You . . . you look so damn beautiful.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  He sighed and she continued to smile. He felt twelve again—eager and excited like he was having sex for the first time.

  “C’mere, you,” he said.

  Chanel sauntered to her husband, who picked her petite frame up and walked her to the bed that was decorated with rose petals. Gently, he laid her down and drank in her beauty for a moment.

  Mateo started at her small feet, sucking her toes and slowly working his way up. He took his time, peeling off her lingerie and positioning his body between her curvy thighs. He began nibbling and sucking on her clit and started to taste her juices. Chanel’s hips subtly began to gyrate as he inserted his index finger into her warm pussy. She was so wet and so turned on as her husband tasted her.

  “Ohhhhhh….Oooooh,” she moaned. Her sweet voice was turning him on. He wanted to please her.

  His tongue swirled around inside of her until he was confident that she was ready for more. There wasn’t an inch of her body that wouldn’t get his attention. His strong hands massaged her thick thighs, tracing her sexy silhouette as he planted wet kisses against her flat stomach. Her large, perky breasts were explored as his mouth sucked her areolas until her nipples were at full attention.

  Mateo maneuvered himself on top of his wife in the missionary position, for now. He was still apprehensive about entering her and triggering any negative feelings.

  “You ready?” he whispered.

  “I am,” she sweetly answered.

  Slowly he penetrated her and started to make love to his beautiful wife. As his girth spread Chanel’s tight walls, she moaned her pleasure. Their bodies connected intimately as Mateo inched deeper and deeper until he had almost fully entered her. He tried to be gentle with her, but Chanel grabbed his ass and guided him farther and faster—helping him pick up the pace.

  “Fuck me,” she cooed. And he did.

  In fact, she wanted to switch positions. She got on top and wanted to ride him. Mateo was caught off guard. She started to ride his dick like a pro—she even reached down for his hands and made them cup and squeeze her tits as her ass gyrated against him. Mateo’s big dick had Chanel forgetting about her fling.

  Whoa! What the fuck! Mateo mouthed. He wanted to make passionate love to her tonight, but it looked like Chanel wanted to fuck—hardcore too. She began responding in ways that kind of shocked him.

  “Ooooh, fuck me, baby,” she cooed. “Fuck me!”

  Mateo didn’t know what to think.

  The next morning, as they were lounging by the pool that overlooked the ocean, Mateo was trying to focus on the positive. Yet, something about last night was bugging him. The sex was great—maybe too great. He started to replay her moves in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d had sex before. There was something seasoned about the way she moved that gave him pause. Mateo had been with plenty of women—none of them inexperienced—and not many could take all of his dick the first time he fucked them. But Chanel wanted it—all of it—in different positions and repeatedly. Was she truly a virgin before she was raped? Was she with someone else while he was down and out in the rehabilitation center? What was it she wanted to tell him that day before he stopped her?

  Something was off, but he couldn’t confront his sweet wife and insult her. He felt if he was wrong, then it would traumatize Chanel forever and she would think that the rape had tainted her in some way. So Mateo kept his suspicion to himself.

  Chanel emerged from the pool with her long hair flowing off her face and hanging low down her back. Her skimpy yellow bikini had many men doing double takes. Slowly she approached her husband with a distinctive walk—a walk only a long night of fucking could trigger. Mateo knew the walk well.

  She flung her wet body on top of his and nibbled on his ear. Instantly his dick grew hard. Chan
el then whispered, “Let’s go back to the room.”

  He smiled at his wife, and life went on.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The arrest, spending time in jail until her parents could make her bail, and then fighting for her life in the court system had hardened Kym. She was fired from her job, she lost her apartment because her parents couldn’t pay the bills, and God was killed while owing her five thousand dollars. She looked and felt like shit. Her life had been snatched from her because of a fraudulent murder charge.

  As far as she was concerned, there would always be a shadow of suspicion hovering over her. Her case was dismissed without prejudice, meaning the prosecutor could reopen it and bring it back to the courts. Kym knew she wasn’t completely off the hook, because if any new evidence against her came to light, then it was back to hell in the court systems. She also knew that neither she nor her parents could afford to go through that ordeal again. The situation had nearly bankrupted them.

  Kym felt that there was one person responsible for everything she had been through. Charlie. She wanted that bitch to suffer, and she wanted it to be painful and slow.

  Being homeless, Kym was going from spending the night on one friend’s couch to another. And being jobless, she had to beg and borrow money. She found herself at rock-bottom, trying to claw her way out of a hole while Charlie was walking free and living it up.

  Night after night, Kym would cry and cry until there were no more tears left. She had nothing left, not even her dignity, and she found herself having sex with an ex-boyfriend just to have somewhere to stay for a few nights.

  She felt it was time to go after Charlie. She didn’t have to look far to find someone who would help her accomplish her task of revenge.

  Kym got out of the cab on the rough-looking street. It was twilight and balmy, and the neighborhood she found herself in was the South Bronx. There was a group of guys lingering in front of the bodega across the street from the projects on Rosedale Avenue and a slowly passing cop car. She stared at the brick projects and felt some apprehension, but she continued toward the six-story building. She made her way into the grungy lobby, got into the elevator, and pushed for the sixth floor. Alone with her thoughts and worries, she wondered, Am I doing the right thing by going to him?