Tears filled Sydney’s eyes as she looked to her friends. All of them seemed to sense the presence of the Grim Reaper, and no one could look at her directly as she was ushered into the car.
As she was driven away, Chase lowered his voice and stepped close to Indie. “I take it she isn’t going home,” he said.
“Unfortunately not,” Indie confirmed. He looked Chase square in the eyes. “It’s that serious for all of us, fam. No weak links.”
He buried his conscience, forcing himself not to think of the young girl’s life that he had snuffed out before it even began.
YaYa sat behind the tint of the second truck, her identity protected as she looked at Indie speaking to their crew. She would need more than three soldiers to command, but she knew that she had to keep her inner circle petite. They knew her. They had love for her. She trusted them, and that was something that couldn’t be bought. She was saddened to see Sydney choose to leave, but she knew that she had to develop a thick skin. In this game she would lose a lot of people she held dear. It was all a part of it; it all came with the territory.
YaYa’s hands shook as she thought of what she had taken on. Zya had no idea exactly how much of an amateur YaYa was. She had moved those bricks before because her back was against the wall. She only hoped that she could pull it off again and again without being caught.
She reached into her clutch for the pill bottle. The prescription drugs had become her crutch. It was like a miracle drug that took away all her worries. She felt nothing when she took it, and although the pain of her surgeries was minimal now, she still took it. YaYa needed it to get by day to day. She popped three of the potent pills into her mouth and grabbed the bottled water that sat in the cup holder. She washed them down quickly and closed her eyes. When she stepped out of that truck, she had to exude power. No one wanted to follow a leader that was lost, and everything was at stake. If she was going to do this, she would have to bury “vulnerable YaYa” and step into her own.
Indie walked over to the truck and opened the back door. A pair of Armani stilettos appeared beneath the open door, revealing a perfect pedicure.
“Who is that?” Trina asked as she and Miesha stepped forward, trying to get a better view.
“That’s the connect,” Chase whispered knowingly, more to himself than to the girls. He looked on curiously as Indie closed the door and revealed the mystery woman that had been sitting behind the tinted windows of the SUV.
“YaYa?” Trina called out in shock as her mouth fell open in an O of surprise.
Miesha was speechless, and Chase chose to keep his questions to himself as his mind spun.
“Hello, guys. It’s nice to see you too,” she said with a confident yet brief smile. No one would have ever suspected that she had just doubted herself five minutes before. She was calm, collected, in control as she addressed her crew.
“How?” Miesha asked. “We thought you were—”
“It doesn’t matter,” YaYa interrupted. “Details are irrelevant at this point. All you need to know is what we’ve already told you. Anything else would put you in a compromising position. You can’t tell a story that you haven’t heard before,” she said, knowing that they couldn’t snitch or implicate Zya if they knew nothing about her.
“We’ll be moving two hundred fifty kilos per month from overseas. Once it gets here, we’ll disperse it throughout the States, starting in the South. Once everybody finds their footing, we’ll move east and eventually west. We’re going to corner every market and build a team along the way.
“The DEA has cracked down on the main seaports in the country. Everything coming through Miami, L.A., even Houston is being seized. If it’s on a ship, the feds are taking it . . . so we’re not doing that. We’re moving it through the airports, and we’re never taking our eyes off the product, because we’ll be wearing it,” she said.
“What?” Chase blurted out. He looked at YaYa like she was insane. “With all that high-tech security shit at the checkpoints, there is no way we’ll get on a plane with that.”
“I just did it,” YaYa confirmed.
She stepped out of her expensive shoes and held them up for everyone to see. “There is a brick of cocaine in the platform of these shoes. A little old man in Italy ensured that they were taken apart, the product was tucked safely inside, and then welded back.”
“A pair of shoes moves what? One, two keys at the most,” Trina said. “It’ll take us forever to get any real weight across the border.”
“So I’ll need more women, but these women won’t even know what they’re involved in. I’m starting a modeling agency. They will go on international shoots and casting calls, come back with the shoes on their feet. They won’t even know. They’ll be paid for their services and we’ll get rich.
“Trina and Miesha, I will need you to help find the ladies. Chase, I’ll need you to put together a crew to help you distribute the work once it gets here. We’re not breaking anything down. We’re moving weight, not pieces. All wholesale,” YaYa said.
Indie played the back, watching YaYa as she broke down her plan. He had to admit that it was genius. He didn’t even know YaYa was capable of orchestrating something so elaborate. Where the fuck this shit come from? he thought, finding this new side to her incredibly sexy.
The first trip would be the hardest to make because they would have to work out all the kinks, but once they found their rhythm and knew the ins and outs of TSA, not even the sky would be the limit. She was about to ready her troops to make sure that they could handle anything they encountered. YaYa stepped back as Indie stepped forward.
“No one knows that YaYa is alive. Let’s keep it that way. The feds can’t arrest a ghost, and the streets can’t touch who they can’t see,” Indie said. “We’ll set up shop at this plant, put shooters on the rooftops, at every entrance. Keep this location to yourselves as well. Everybody has a position to play. Play it correctly and everybody gets rich.”
Chapter 10
Leah sat in the courtroom, and she could feel the stares as she sat with her back to the crowd, facing the judge. It was as if everyone’s eyes were burning a hole through her gray two-piece jail suit. Bitterness filled her as she kept her eyes glued to the wooden table that she sat behind. Her obsession with YaYa had led her to this moment of judgment, and she felt trapped. Her body was in a terrible state, and she was disgusted with the way that she looked. With no surgery in her future, Leah was forced to live in her current skin. Her life was ruined. She couldn’t manipulate anyone looking the way that she did. A part of her appeal had always been her beauty; without that, her gift of gab had disappeared.
The bailiff entered the room. “All rise.”
She stood to her feet, next to her court-appointed representation. The sight of his poorly pressed, cheap polyester suit caused her to sneer. There was no way she could win her case with an inexperienced joker sitting next to her. She needed a shark to get out of the web that she was stuck in.
“The Fifty-ninth US District Court is now in session. Honorable Judge Meredith Peaks presiding. All having business before this honorable court draw near, give attention, and you shall be heard. You may be seated.”
A white middle-aged woman entered the room, cloaked in a black robe. She sat down and looked out over the attendees. “Leah Richards, please approach the podium with your representation,” she ordered. “You are hereby charged with kidnapping, first-degree murder, and conspiracy to commit murder. How do you plead?”
Leah leaned into the microphone and replied, “Not guilty.”
“Let the record note that the defendant has entered a plea of not guilty,” the judge told the transcriptionist. “Bail is set at two hundred thousand dollars.” She banged her gavel. “Let’s move on.”
Leah had waited all morning for a five-minute arraignment.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“Well, I think you should consider a plea,” the young attorney said.
“I’
m not considering shit. I need to get out of this, and I need you to help me do it,” she said. An officer came behind her and grabbed her handcuffed arms. “Get me off!” she yelled as she snatched away from the officer. “Get me off!” she screamed at her lawyer. “Or find me someone who can!” She was dragged away kicking and screaming.
YaYa sat in the courtroom with her large Fendi hat tilted over her eyes. Leah didn’t even notice that she had walked right past her. There was no way that YaYa could forget to cook that beef. Her hatred for Leah had done nothing but grown. Her anger was out of control, and YaYa knew that she would have to settle things in order to take back her own life. A better woman would have wanted to move on and never look back. She would let Leah’s karma catch up to her, but YaYa wasn’t that woman. She wanted Leah to feel her pain. YaYa was out for blood, and it was only a matter of time before her wish came true.
She stood and tucked her crocodile-skin clutch bag under her armpit. Her five-inch heels played a sexy rhythm on the tiled floor as she made her exit. She walked right past a shackled Leah on the way out, bumping her hard as she made her way out the door.
With Leah in custody, YaYa wasn’t able to exact the type of revenge that she wanted to. YaYa would pay anything to be put in a room with Leah with nothing but space and opportunity, but that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Just because Leah was behind bars, however, didn’t mean that she couldn’t be touched. Prison time wouldn’t be a cakewalk for Leah; YaYa would make sure of it. She had a vendetta against Leah, and no amount of time would make her ill will dissolve. She would never let bygones be bygones. YaYa wanted Leah’s head on a silver platter, and she would go through anything and pay any amount to get it. Get the money . . . get the power . . . get the woman.
As soon as Leah was thrown back on the cellblock, the hecklers began. The other inmates were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to get their hands on Leah. Her burns made her seem vulnerable, and on top of being the new girl on lock, she was fresh meat. The other women saw her as weak, and it was only a matter of time before she encountered problems on the inside. Leah needed out of there as soon as possible, or she would lose what little sanity she had left.
Her vendetta against YaYa had made her lose her grip on reality, and for the first time she realized that she had taken it too far. Leah had pushed it to the point of no return. In order to hurt YaYa, she didn’t care that she had hurt herself as well.
Her head spun as she entered her cell. She was grateful for the solitude that it provided. Because her case had been such a high profile one, she had walked into the jail with a target on her back. The news had reported Skylar’s kidnapping every day for weeks, gaining sympathy from everyone in the city. The D.A. wanted justice for the little girl, not street revenge. He arranged to keep her as safe as possible while inside by assigning her to a single cell.
Leah was one of the few inmates without a bunkmate, which was exactly the way that she preferred it. It gave her time alone with her thoughts. All she had ever wanted was to be loved like YaYa. She couldn’t understand why God would choose to give so much to YaYa while she sat in need of so many things. Jealousy had branded her heart for so long that even now as she was locked up, she felt that YaYa had gotten the better deal. She had no clue that YaYa was very much alive, and she figured that death had to be better than living through hell.
Leah couldn’t spend the rest of her days caged like a dog, but what she didn’t realize was that she was rabid. Her uncontrollable rage toward YaYa had pushed her to do the most unthinkable things. She knew that she should feel some type of remorse, but it wasn’t an emotion that she had come equipped with. She couldn’t even portray it on the stand to save her own behind, because she had no idea what the words “I’m sorry” truly meant.
In the back of her mind she still found the sweetest satisfaction in the fact that she had ruined YaYa. She had come into her life like a wrecking ball, knocking down every support system that YaYa had ever relied on. Her actions had come with a price to pay, but if she had to do it all over again, she wouldn’t change a thing.
Leah had no clue that she was the only one who had suffered. YaYa was alive, and with Zya’s affiliation, she held more pull than Leah would ever possess. Soon she would pay for the things that she had done. She had no wins against YaYa, because she couldn’t even see her enemy coming. She was fighting a ghost, and now her own actions were about to come back to haunt her.
Chapter 11
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound of the semi-automatic pistols firing was dulled by the earmuffs that protected Chase’s ears. He sat back, watching Trina and Miesha as they became acquainted with their guns. They were amateurs when it came to street beefs, but in their new positions they had to move as if they were seasoned and expected the unexpected at all times. Their aim game had to be on point.
When their clips were empty, they turned to him in excitement. “Look at that. Tell me my aim not nice,” Trina said as she hit the button that moved her target toward her. She pulled down the paper and smiled slyly as Chase saw that she had hit it dead in the middle repeatedly.
“Bitch, bye. You aiming at a target that don’t move. It’s a lot different hitting a nigga with legs,” Miesha said, raining on Trina’s parade.
Chase nodded. “She’s right. Shooting through flesh and shooting through paper is two different things. I need your aim to be on point, but you’ve got to be able to pop a nigga without thinking twice about it. Trust me when I say that they won’t think twice about putting something hot in either of you,” Chase schooled.
“Leave that feminine shit at home. Y’all wanna ball like bosses, then you have to behave like bosses. You draw on a nigga then you had better be Picasso,” Chase said.
“The best at the draw,” Miesha said as she finished reloading her clip and popped it back into the gun. She refocused on the target and popped off. Trina followed suit.
There was no way that Chase was going to send them into battle with no weapons. They had to be nice with it. Their gun game had to be official. Even though YaYa was putting a team of certified goons around them, Chase had learned long ago that when it counted, the only hired hand he could count on was his own. So he trained Miesha and Trina the way that Indie had trained him. That way they would be prepared for anything.
“Next!” Trina yelled loudly as she dismissed the model that had just strutted onto the club’s stage. They were at Oasis, Houston’s most popular strip club, scouting for talent. YaYa had told them to recruit fifty models that she would use for the overseas “shoots.”
“Damn, T, you hard on a bitch, ain’t you?” Miesha joked as she pulled out more dollar bills.
Chase shook his head and sat back, silently enjoying the show as the girls had their fun.
“That bitch had hella stretch marks. Don’t nobody want to look at her ass. Ho got three kids,” Trina cracked.
Chase shook his head. Trina and Miesha were having too much fun. They forgot that they were there on business. The task at hand required them to remain focused. Although the agency was fake, the girls still had to look the part. YaYa wanted real models so that to the outside eye, her operation would appear legit.
“Hey, let’s get serious. This is cool and all, but let’s pick ’em and get out of here. Time is money,” Chase said.
YaYa sat behind her glass and steel desk as she personally interrogated every girl that had been chosen. Her new business, Mona Modeling Inc., had been named in memory of her late best friend. There was no doubt in her mind that she would have been riding shotgun with YaYa to the top if she were still alive. So she honored her in death.
The prospective models were from all walks of life. There were hood chicks, college students, white girls, black girls, Asian broads. YaYa’s team had gone all out to get her the diverse group of “models” that she needed to get the job done. She sat back and took notes on each one she encountered. YaYa wanted to know it all. Legal name, social security numbers,
addresses, number of children, names of the baby daddies . . . She was thorough. If she had to reach out and touch one of the girls, they would have nowhere to hide. They had already given her total access to their lives. They didn’t know that if things went south, YaYa would send people to their doorsteps. The girls were eager to be signed to her “agency,” so they divulged whatever she needed them to without question.
YaYa weeded through them strategically until she had a solid stable. If she wasn’t Buchanan Slim’s daughter, she had definitely seen him work his magic enough to have the gift of persuasion run through her blood. Her tongue was reminiscent of the slickest pimp. The only difference was that YaYa wasn’t selling ass. She was selling dreams.
YaYa was smart. She wasn’t running a sorority. No friendships would be established under her watch. The girls didn’t know one another. They would simply be strangers in an airport. No nerves were involved, so each girl would travel with confidence and without suspicion. What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.
Each girl received a roundtrip ticket to Milan, where a dummy shoot was set up. They would receive a package to carry back to YaYa. A gift from the photographer, a package from the designer, and without even knowing it, they would carry enough cocaine into the US to get them buried under the prison. Surely the girls would open the box, and inside they would find a pair of shoes. The shoes would go inside a suitcase and become checked baggage until they were hand delivered back to YaYa. It was the perfect plan.
YaYa was moving like the wind, felt, but unseen. There was no way that any bureau could come for her head. She was aligning every stone up to perfection so that there was no crack in her foundation. Any D.A. coming for her head would undoubtedly lose because YaYa was leaving nothing to chance. She wouldn’t give anyone leverage to build a case against her. YaYa was untouchable.
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