LOVING a Colombian Cartel THUG III
By K’Aliyah Knight
Copyright © 2015 by K’Aliyah Knight
Published by Shan Presents
www.shanpresents.com
All rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales or, is entirely coincidental.
No portion of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without writer permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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NINO
Mi madre's breathing is shallow as my hand goes over her mouth and nose. Her thin arms start to flap. I'm 16 years old, but it’s too easy to hold down my moms in my arms like a muthafucking baby. The speedy breathing against my palm lets me know that she is a survivor. At her attempt to struggle, my hand crushes her face much harder. Shit, the struggle is real, but she ain't that strong. The light in her dark brown eyes fade. When the little warmth from her breath stops, I just lay her lifeless body down on the mattress she’s been on for almost a year. Little cheap ass mattress is so thin. I shake my head. It's time for a come up.
Fuck the Mendoza De Dios Colombian Cartel. Nobody got love for the street pharmacist because the street kings get all the cred. All the hoes. All the money. While the rest of us rub pennies together to survive on a daily. I look at my moms again, the corpse. No more robbing dudes just to pay for medicine to keep her breathing…
Then I had to save Zendaya, the girl I've loved since the beginning of time. She got caught up with that grimy muthafucka Santiago Mendoza and that was the end of it…
(Present Day)
“Yeah, buddy,” Andres says, patting my back. “Classic!”
“Ain’t this the muthafucking life?” I ask.
“Yes, sir,” Andres nods his head.
“We finna getcha haircut, brah.” I pat the top of his nappy ass head. Both of us being Afro-Colombiano, we look like brothers with dark brown skin and matching muscular builds. These days, I keep my hair lined up and in fresh cornrows.
Andres sighs, “Nino, man, you know me. Any bitches tryna get it, gotta take it as is.”
I shake my head. We grew up in the worst part of Colombia, conveniently located a few miles from the best parts; seaside resorts and mansions, all of that. So how the fuck does one live life being a few steps away from it? Ain’t never had shit; didn’t expect to be shit. That was a’ight with me, tho. Then my girl Zendaya… man, my bitch had a dude motivation for revenge up to the max. I had taken Santi’s 78 mil.
Nah, I didn’t keep it all. That shit ain’t me. The hood rained green before I went underground. It’s been over a year since I’ve stole from Santiago. I still stay in Colombia. Santi is still looking high and low for me. He thinks I ran scared; got people in all of South America talking about the Mendoza’s De Dios Cartel is hot for me. Fuck that, they ain’t with God no way.
So I take a look at myself in a cream, tailor-made suit. “Aye, my digs,” I look at the changes to my suit.
“Man, you done got fucking spoiled. Whatcha problem, some thread loose?” Andres asks.
“Nah, the design is different.” I rub my neatly trimmed goatee.
“Been getting your clothing made for almost a year and now you know what this blazer should look like, huh?” Andres smiles, shaking his head. He calls for the tailor.
“Yeah, I know exactly how the fuck I should look.” I nod my head. It ain’t me to puff up my own head, but this shit ain’t me either; or rather, the new me.
“Si?” The tailor removes a measuring tape from around his neck as he steps into the room. “Everything is to your liking, si?”
“These digs,” I tell him, turning the shirt inside out, “You tried something new?”
Hair full of gray and this muthafucka gets to stuttering like he doesn’t know what to say. “I, uh… I got a new assistant. She works on the shirts. I still do the suits myself.” The old man’s eyes waver from left to right. He looks at Andres and at the door. Now we two big muthafuckas, so ain’t nowhere for him to go.
“What’s the name of this new assistant?” I ask.
“Well, she’s young; nice, young chica.” He shrugs. “She works hard, but I don’t even think her documentation is–”
“This young bitch got a muthafucking name, son?”
“Rah… Rah…Rockwell.”
~~~ONE YEAR AGO~~~
ROCKWELL
The sound of a single gunshot rings in my ears as I hop up from the bed in the master suite.
“Junior!” I scream as Janyca’s father’s eyes flash in my mind. The guilt of Chuey murdering his daughter is still so fresh. How the fuck did I put myself in that situation with my husband’s cousin? Asking Chuey to help get rid of Janyca was the worst thing I could have ever done. Then again, that pregnant bitch… She’d taunted me with the ring, telling me that Renzo was leaving me for her, and their baby. Damn, I can hardly stand to glance at the twelve-carat diamond weighing down my wedding finger.
This ring once belonged to her…
“Rocky…” The double doors to my bedroom open up. In steps Lakitha, Lorenzo’s 20 year old sister. “You had a bad dream.”
His mom, Rita is not far behind. She’s been a second mom to me since I was 12 years old. Rita sits at the edge of the bed as Lakitha tells me I slept for almost 24 hours.
“Junior is downstairs, it's dinner time,” Rita advises, rubbing my hair.
“Lisa? Lola?” I ask.
“You already know those chubby babies are asleep,” Blu assures as she steps into the room. Her beautiful face contorts with anger. She looks so much like her older brother Lorenzo when he's angry. Being half black and Colombian, they both have a dark caramel skin tone and thick black hair that would make anyone sigh with desire. Lorenzo and Blu can easily transform, from dark eyes to wickedly thick lashes. They owned it all well. “Rocky, tell us who the fuck tried to snatch you up yesterday morning!”
“C’mon now, Pretty Blu,” Lakitha slips in with a therapeutic tone. “Chuey was around to save Rockwell. Everything is okay.”
“The fuck you mean everything is okay? Rockwell was running along the beach,” Blu continues to rant.
At first, I question her motive, or maybe it’s my paranoia from the lie. As Blu goes off, I consider what I’ve told them. Janyca’s father was dressed as an unknown man wearing his hoodie low on his face. He tried to abduct me a few miles from the mansion. I had already run too hard and quick for my husband’s goons to guard me. And Chuey just so happened to stop the “nameless” dude from abducting me? Yeah, it's bullshit, but I can’t explain Janyca’s father taking me to a hotel room, then adding Chuey into that equation.
“What if the dude tries to come back, Rocky? I need to know what the muthafucka looks like,” Blu snaps. She begins to pull out the Glock from under her wife beater. Blu’s chest rises and falls in anger as she imagines the worst. It isn’t her unbelief in my story that’s pushing her. I know it's the memories of those evil ass Jamaicans and her own abduction that she recalls.
“I can’t remember what the man looks like.” I grab a pillow and continue to sob. This shit is eating me alive. Everything about Janyca’s father is engrained in my memory. Though I was tied in the hotel room as Chuey came to the door, I could hear their tussle. The sound of death seems to be as bad as the sight of it…
“Where’s L
orenzo, y’all?” I miss my nigga. Renzo, Popeye, who is married to Blu, and a few of my dude’s closest goons went to make a big drop in Miami. Shoulda been a turn around. Renzo should be heading home now. He doesn’t usually do phone conversations while he’s away, unless it’s an emergency—which should never be the case when family is working together. But Lorenzo would sooth my broken soul right now. Damn, maybe I should have told Renzo about the Janyca situation from jump. Just the thought of him knowing that I knew he really wanted to marry that bitch still kills me…
BLU
“Whose finna tell Rocky the truth, huh?” I shake my head, my chest feeling weighed down. I fight my weariness as walking pneumonia tries to kill me. “The fuck is wrong with y’all? That girl is as sensitive as she was before we even went through puberty,” I laugh at that as I look at my moms, and my sister Lakitha. We’re in a house full of bitches. Don’t get me twisted. This mansion has more than enough room, but the emotions are to the max in this piece.
Lorenzo is the oldest, next me, and then Lakitha. Toi… Man, I won’t even go there. The baby is our eleven-year-old sister, Lorenza. Not to mention, Lorenzo and Rocky’s 8-month-old daughters, Lila and Lisa.
The thugs that Lorenzo have keeping the place on lock are conveniently located outside. So the only other niggas in the house, don’t even level out all the hormones. Six-year-old Lorenzo Junior and my son Phillip are watching T.V. in the den. But moms keeps trying to give her grandbaby Junior incognito counseling sessions about seeing Rockwell come home in disarray, with Chuey.
That story doesn’t even make sense. Rocky had gone on her usual morning run. Man, they said the dude that tried to attack her had gotten got away. Neither of them got any information on the muthafucka. Just that thought has me alternating from biting my trigger finger to placing it on the gat.
I lean against the marble counter in the kitchen.
Lakitha gives a heavy sigh as does Moms.
“Lemme see where Chuey is?” Rita says. She rubs the back of her neck, mentioning her nephew, my big cuzzo. Hating on her brother, Santiago, has finally taken the backburner, especially since he miraculously saved and brought Rockwell home yesterday. This father, the Lord of the Mendoza De Dios Cartel is somewhere in mourning himself. I heard two days ago a nigga named Nino had taken my Tio Santiago’s dinero. The cocky dude had it raining inland. Now, the coast of Colombia always stays wet. But raining green just in the inland won’t even allow me to imagine the type of death Santiago has for a nobody named Nino.
Tio Santi is sitting on weight. He’s still about his money. Just the thought of somebody pinching even a dollar from Santi would have the dude heated. So I know he’s scheming and plotting. And while my brah, Lorenzo works for him, Uncle ain’t worried about getting Lorenzo out of jail right now. Nope. Just some stolen cash. So we decide to call Santiago Junior, aka Chuey. Just this morning moms got the call from Lorenzo that the feds brought him in.
Lakitha pulls out her iPhone and dials Chuey’s number on speaker. She sighs, “Our cousin is supposed to be taking care of Tia Mayté. Now we have to add to his plate.”
I fold my arms. Fuck that, Santiago needs to take care of his wife. In Colombia, the firstborn has a duty, yet Mayté’s husband ain’t dead. So… Tio Santi should be helping. Chuey should be caring for his mom, Mayté. But right now, with my big bro locked down, the fuck I care about my Tia Mayté? She has been dying for years.
“Mayté is prolly gonna live longer than all of us if bullets keep flying.” Rita shrugs. There’s hope for her oldest friend, and undertones of faith for us too.
I just keep my mouth closed about Santiago’s wife Mayté as Lakitha’s phone begins to connect.
“Chuey, aye,” I shout soon as he answers. Moms gives me the eye, wanting me to simmer down.
“Girl, is it time for you to lie down?” she says of my pneumonia.
“Hello, Santiago Junior,” Lakitha says in her a voice. Her chubby cheeks begin to puff up even more as she sighs, “We need you.”
CHUEY
Damn… So you think I’ma simp for falling for my cuzzo’s wife? Rockwell is worth more than Lorenzo could ever offer her, no matter how much that nigga slang for my father, Santi. I set up my favorite cuzzo Lorenzo for Santiago. The Feds wanted to take down somebody, any drug lord would do. Santiago is good friends with the FBI since I’ve been living as Special Agent Caesar Cruz. The only three that know my identity as Santiago Luis Medina Mendoza Junior, Special Agent Emerald and Hernandez, who helped me fuck over Lorenzo. My padre, Santi, orchestrated the entire event.
I step out the office of the New York headquarters of the FBI. Emerald and Hernandez are fucking pissed. My breath fogs out in front of me, as I start toward my brand new work car, an unmarked Impala. I pull my leather gloves out of my Armani pea coat.
These dudes were talking about letting Lorenzo out, since the funds Santi had provided were gone. Some lil nigga named Nino has fucked it up for all of us. The Feds and I would look good in taking down The Phantom–aka Lorenzo Medina. Santi would still be the head of the entire drug system in Colombia. And I would finally get my girl.
Rocky loves me.
I get into the car, pull out and weave through traffic on my way to the loft I share with my fiancée, Special Agent Yvonda Jones.
The phone rings, I answer.
“Sup Lakitha.”
As Blu says Chuey in the background, the smartest Medina sister, calls me by the name I hate, “Santiago Junior.” She begins to plead a case about how they need me. Blu is in the background cussing and arguing about her husband, Popeye, and brah getting out of the pen. She goes on about how I bet’ hurry the fuck up and get these dues out of jail.
“Hold up,” I say, turning the wheel with one hand. “Blu, calm the fuck down. I am trying to get them out of jail.” Again, I solidify how I saved Rockwell just yesterday. Though it’s the truth, this allows me the chance to exert myself as a helpful influence in their lives right now. Or maybe it numbs my guilty conscious from fucking over Lorenzo.
“Yeah, we know you’re here to help Mayté. We just…” Lakitha again beings with a thought-provoking tone.
Damn, I’m still supposed to be in Colombia. But I think quickly, interjecting with, “It’s all right, Lala. I just left my moms, to come to New York to speak with the attorney–”
Blu cuts in the speaker with, “Attorney? Fuck an attorney! I know Santi got a whole law firm on the payroll. Nigga, getcha mind right! Oh, I guess what–”
“Blu, calm down,” I begin, turning down the radio-Bluetooth connection. My prima is going to have me using some of the de-escalation techniques that I learned as a rookie. “I’m getting ready to speak with the attorney right now.”
“It’s damn near 9 pm. Where y’all is?” Blu shouts. Damn. I know Lakitha was always the smart one. Before they moved to Colombia, my cousin was on her way to New York University. Blu was always the hot headed one like Lorenzo, but even crazier because the bitch doesn’t have a dick. She acts like she has big muthafucking grande cojones. Damn, Blu must really be thinking tonight.
Fuck…
“We meeting over… I’m meeting the attorney over dinner.”
“No, negative. Fuck an attorney like I said. I want a whole fleet of them getting my husband and Lorenzo out of jail! Rockwell is going crazy, she doesn’t even know Lorenzo is…”
A frown creases my cheeks as Blu makes it seem like Rockwell can’t even breathe without that muthafucka. I turn the wheel and allow her to continue.
“Rocky needs him. Lorenzo’s been down for her since they were twelve, Chuey. Phillip needs his daddy; I can’t take care of Phillip without Popeye…” she bursts out crying.
Dang, Blu is taking this shit to heart. Usually she would cuss, threaten, cuss, and bust off a few rounds.
“Trust me, Blu. You’re my lil prima right?”
“Yeah…”
“I’ma have Lorenzo and them home soon.” This is the first time I’ve ever made a
promise that I hope would never come true…
~~~
After I hang up with them, I pull up to valet at my girl’s crib.
“Mr. Cruz,” the doorman calls out as I start inside, “It’s been a while.”
It took a while to become Caesar Cruz. Shoulda been a neurosurgeon, but Santi wanted me to go New York University and gather the skills that would catch attention from the Feds. My father is smart. Might be scary as fuck, but this paranoid muthafucka knew what was up. It was around the time that his own father’s link to the FEDS began to die out, so Santi needed his own way into the system.
Santiago wanted more than just a friend or an associate, or even just Colombian blood on the payroll. He wanted blood. So, I went away to college, thinking my bitch ass father would finally acknowledge me Three years for a bachelors, worked on grad school and got into the feds as Caesar Cruz when I met Yvonda Jones. Lil mama was a beast on the task force before being promoted.
Dang, besides cleaning up in a coal gray Tom Ford suit, I have nothing to offer my girl. No flowers, no candy, nada.
“Caesar,” Yvonda says as I come through the door. Yvonda walks down the charcoal gray hallways. God, she is fucking beautiful. Her skin is ebony; black satin, thick thighs and hips fill out a short silk robe. Then she squawks, covering the mask on her face and starting for the bathroom.
“Ma, come here,” I chuckle, following after her. We’ve been living together off and on for three years since I got a graduate degree at NYU. I’ve seen her in a beauty mask a few times.
“No. Hold on a sec,” Yvonda says from behind the bathroom door. I lean against the light blue wall in the hallway with a half-smile on my face. Damn, I was ready to let my fiancée go for Rockwell. When I’m here, I’m all for my chick. When I’m gone, whether in Hoover working for Lorenzo or in Colombia with Rocky, there’s nothing I want more than lil Rocky with her hazel eyes, big ass booty and… I love everything about her.
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 3 Page 1