Apple put the car in drive and sped out of the driveway like a bat out of hell. She turned the first corner hard—a sharp right— and felt the power steering and the strong handling of the car. She continued speeding toward the highway. She didn’t care about cops or having an accident.
She arrived in Harlem an hour later. The clock on the dashboard read 9:25 p.m. The night was still young. She navigated the McLaren through the Harlem streets, stirring up the people, their eyes lingering on the flashy ride as she passed by, and her tinted windows making it hard for them to see inside.
She slowly drove down 145th Street in the direction of Riverside Drive. There was little bustling going on in the area where she slowed down and parked. She stopped her car in front of a small hole-in-the-wall lounge between two brick brownstones. The entrance to the place was below in the basement, and there was a long, black awning stretching over the front entrance of the slated brownstone that read, “Restaurant & Lounge.”
It was Peon’s place. Peon was a well-respected businessman operating in Harlem for years. In his early forties, he had dabbled in drugs during the eighties, done some jail time during the mid-nineties, and after the new millennium, turned his life around, opening up his restaurant and lounge five years ago. But he had a gambling problem and had acquired a mountain of debt in the past year. He’d heard about Apple’s loan-sharking business and had a sit-down meeting with her. Apple fronted him a ten-thousand-dollar loan with three points added to it, and Peon promised her that he would be able to pay it back within two months. That was six months ago. He was always trying to duck and dodge her.
Apple pulled the stylish black hoodie over her head and tied it tight around her facial disfigurement, the clear medical mask grasping her face, covering her scars. She tried to hide her wounds as best as possible. She looked at herself in the visor mirror and hated herself. It was obvious she was wearing a mask, and the hoodie over her head only protected the view of her partially.
She got out of the car and tried to keep her mind on business, not her appearance. She looked up and down the block. The area was calm and quiet like a sleeping cat. She stared at Peon’s place. Business seemed slow to her, but it was still early. She knew the lounges in Harlem didn’t start to get really busy until midnight or later. She didn’t want to be around a crowd of people and have everyone staring at her like she was a freak or some science experiment, so she arrived early to handle her business with Peon.
She stepped from around her car and walked toward the lounge like a bitch on a mission. She walked down the short concrete steps, opened the door that led into the small foyer, and passed through into the lounge, where Marvin Gaye’s “I Want You” was playing. The inside was quaint and appealing with its laid-back, candlelit atmosphere. The red, brown, and beige combination worked well together to give the place a high-end feel. The bar stretched out from the doorway into the back, and the retro furnishings gave it an eclectic blend.
Apple stood by the doorway and looked around, her eyes scanning every inch of the room. The place was almost empty. An aging gentleman sat on a barstool at the bar with a drink in his hand. He glanced at her when she walked in. He then turned his attention back to the mounted flat-screen TV suspended in the far corner of the bar near the back. Then there was another gentleman seated at one of the tables to her right. He was drinking a beer and looked really rough, wearing a dark hoodie, a do-rag, and baggy jeans.
The male bartender stood behind the bar, polishing glasses and staring at Apple. “Can I help you with something?” he asked her.
Apple moved closer to him, keeping her hoodie over her head, and said, “Yeah, I’m looking for Peon.”
The rough-looking man seated at the table quickly averted his attention to Apple when she mentioned the name. He kept his eyes on her like a hawk.
“What you want with Peon?” the bartender asked.
“I need to talk to him. Tell him Apple is looking for him.”
The bartender continued to shine the glasses. He dryly replied, “Peon ain’t here. I don’t know where he’s at right now.”
Apple wasn’t buying it. “He needs to see me ASAP.”
The bartender shrugged it off.
“Nigga, you hear me talkin’ to you?”
“How old are you anyway?” the man inquired. “And what’s wrong with your face? Why you wearing that mask?”
“It’s none of your fuckin’ business!”
The man sitting at the table quickly stood up. Apple turned to look at him. He was a beastly-looking man, standing over six feet tall and stocky.
“What the fuck you gonna do?” she shouted at him.
“You need to leave,” the man said coolly.
“Fuck you!”
The man moved from behind the table and approached Apple, his eyes drilled into her with intensity, but Apple stood her ground. She locked eyes with him and swallowed hard. He towered over her by a foot and outweighed her by over a hundred pounds.
“Little girl, you need to leave right now. This ain’t a place for you,” he said in a stern tone.
Apple hated to be called a little girl. Still, she was too stubborn to back down from him. “I need to see Peon,” she insisted.
“He ain’t here,” the man said.
“Well, I can wait.”
“Not here, you won’t,” he exclaimed.
“You gonna kick me out?”
“I’m gonna fuckin’ toss you out.”
Apple slipped her hand in the front pocket of her hoodie and gripped the small, sharp, five-inch blade she had concealed. She was ready to extract it and put it to good use. As the man came forward, she grasped the blade tightly and was ready to defend herself by any means necessary.
Before he took another step toward her, someone shouted, “Yo, Devon, chill out.”
They both turned to see Peon standing behind them. He was average height, with a long perm and a high-yellow complexion. They used to call him “Light Bright” back in the eighties. He was wearing a snug T-shirt underneath a purple blazer, with a pair of black leather pants and a pair of black Hush Puppies. And he sported spiky hair and piercings on his nose, eyebrows, tongue, and lips. He was unique with his unorthodox style of dressing. Apple always thought he looked like the singer Prince.
She used to hear stories about how Peon was back in the day. He had street smarts, got money, and had lots of women chasing behind him. But his gambling addiction was his curse.
Peon betted on everything—sports, the racetrack, fights, and he’d lost a fortune playing poker. When he was on the verge of losing his business and was one step away from becoming homeless, he asked for Apple’s help when she was at her strongest. He swallowed his pride and took help from a woman, a teenager at that.
Apple glared at the bartender. “I thought he wasn’t here, you fuckin’ jerk!”
“It must have slipped my mind,” the bartender countered nonchalantly.
Peon looked at Apple with contempt. “Why are you here, Apple?” he asked evenly.
“To collect what you owe me.”
“And what is that?”
“Peon, don’t play stupid wit’ me. You know how much you owe me. Ten thousand.”
Peon chuckled. He looked at his bodyguard Devon. “You must be mistaken. My debts are paid.”
“Muthafucka! Don’t fuckin’ play me, you fuckin’ faggot!” she barked.
“Like I said, I owe you nothing. Now, I would appreciate if you would kindly leave my place. Your face is disturbing my customers.”
Apple lunged for Peon, rapidly pulling the blade from her hoodie pocket and raising it over her head, ready to cut him up. But before she could get close and swing it at Peon, his bodyguard charged at her, forcing her against the long bar, and snatching her by the wrist. He overpowered her quickly and twisted the knife from her hand.
Apple, no match for the 270-pound man, gasped from the hit and soon found herself on the floor on her back, with him smirking over her, his foot
against her chest.
“You shoulda left kindly, you little fuckin’ bitch!” Devon said through clenched teeth.
Apple cut her eyes at him, squirming underneath his boot. “Get the fuck off me!”
Peon walked over. Smiling, he stared down at Apple. She was trapped like a rat in a trap, and he was the big, bad, hungry cat slowly walking over to devour his prize. He shook his head.
“Dumb bitch! What were you trying to do? Fuck my face up like someone did yours? I heard about the incident.” He laughed. “Yo, Devon, take off that bitch mask. I wanna see what she looks like.”
Devon was happy to oblige. The bartender came from behind the bar to help pin her down. The old man seated on the barstool continued to sip on his drink, oblivious to what was happening around him. It wasn’t his business.
Apple continued to squirm and fight but was once again overpowered. The bartender positioned himself behind her. He was on his knees and held her arms outstretched with his weight on them, so she wasn’t able to defend herself.
Devon replaced his foot with his knees against Apple’s chest. It felt like a truck was sitting on top of her. He was heavy, and she was barely able to breathe. He leaned closer, reaching to pull off her mask.
Apple turned her face to the side, trying to prevent it from being removed. But it was hopeless.
Devon gripped the mask, smiled, and snatched it off aggressively. He cringed at the sight of her. “Oh shit!”.
Peon walked over and stared at her like she was some kind of freak.
“Wow! They really fucked you up, Apple. Damn! I ain’t think it was that bad. Shit, at least you still got the other side looking right. You fuckin’ freak!”
Apple screamed and struggled under her attackers’ weight. “Aaaahhh! GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME!”
The mere thought of her looks being exposed in public and then being clowned and laughed at was causing Apple to go mad. Her eyes burned red with rage. She glared at Peon. “I’m gonna kill you, muthafucka!” she yelled.
“Bitch, whatever! Yo, toss this ugly piece of shit out of my lounge. We ain’t having no freaks up in here. Bitch might scare away my customers!”
Devon lifted Apple from off the floor like she was weightless and hoisted her over his shoulder. Apple continued to struggle while Devon carried her to the door. He pushed it open and continued to carry her out, while she yelled, punched, and scratched at him.
Devon tossed her to the sidewalk like she was trash. As Apple landed on her side and skinned her forearm, she cried out.
Devon only laughed. He tossed her mask out afterwards, and it landed near her roughly, but it didn’t break.
Apple slowly lifted herself up from off the ground and tried to hold back her tears. She felt crushed. She had never been so disrespected in her life. If this had happened a few months back, Peon wouldn’t have dared pulled the stunt he just did. His faggot balls would’ve been dangling from her rearview mirror.
Devon continued laughing. He then turned and shut the door behind him, leaving Apple standing in the wind, looking pitiful. She donned her clear mask and then stood alone for a moment thinking about Chico. She wanted him to come home soon. She wanted him to finish killing them all. They all deserved it.
While walking back to her car, Apple stopped suddenly. She caught a chilling feeling that made her skin itch and her stomach turn. She looked around her surroundings frantically, but she didn’t see anything alarming to her. She couldn’t shake the strange feeling that someone was watching her.
Scared, she quickly hopped into her car, started the ignition, and sped away. She passed through Harlem in a hurry and raced her McLaren onto I-87 North, back to her home an hour away upstate.
Chapter 19
Kola straddled Cross, the satin sheets wrinkling underneath them. She felt his hard-on thrusting into her while his hands cupped her soft breasts. Her body lit up with pleasure from his intense strokes. She felt her man bury himself deep inside of her. She leaned forward and pressed against his chest, her pussy throbbing.
They were naked against each other in the dim glow coming from the vanilla-scented candles spread out strategically in the bedroom, where Cross, a gorgeous specimen of a man, was devouring her sex as if he needed it to live. Moaning and squirming on top of him, riding his dick like she was on a horse moving across clear pasture, Kola spiraled into bliss as he penetrated her.
She wanted to forget about that evening with Eduardo. It was a mistake, even though nothing had happened. She wanted to make up for it by fucking the shit out of her man.
She angled her hips and dug her nails into his flesh. She felt a great heat rush through her body as she tried to force his big dick deeper inside of her.
“Oh shit, baby! Ummm! Ummm! You feel so good!” she cried out.
Cross moaned.
She closed her eyes, gyrated her hips into the dick, and tilted her chin upwards toward the ceiling, her hands against Cross’ sweaty chest. She felt her orgasm finally riding its course. “I’ma cum, baby! Oh shit! I’m coming!” she cried out.
Cross gripped her silky-like hips and grunted. Her pussy was so wet and tight, it sent his eyes rolling into the back of his head like he was being possessed by it. He firmly gripped Kola’s ass and felt his nut brewing. The pussy was so good that out of the blue, Cross proclaimed, “I fuckin’ love you, baby!”
“I love you too,” Kola returned, her voice faint from the intensity of the pounding she was enduring.
The couple was unaware that Edge was secretly watching from a short distance through the bedroom door that was slightly ajar. His eyes were fixated on Kola’s backside as she rode Cross in a heat of passion. He wanted to know that feeling. Jealousy began stirring up inside of him. He wanted what Cross had.
His eyes narrowed in on the way Kola was positioned on top of her man—the way she straddled him against the mattress—and he slowly touched himself, her fervent moans echoing in his mind.
Edge and Cross had come in late that evening, and Cross gave him permission to crash on their couch. Edge was too tipsy to drive back to his home, so he’d plopped down on the soft couch and closed his eyes. He was supposed to be sleeping on the couch. But he took it upon himself to slowly ease up the stairs and catch an eyeful of his friend fucking.
Kola felt her legs quiver as she came. She pressed her thighs against Cross’ sides and felt a surge of relief spread throughout her as between her legs became creamy and her body started to feel spent. She panted, feeling like she was in seventh heaven.
She suddenly turned around with that eerie feeling of someone watching them. She stared at the doorway for a moment, but there wasn’t anybody there. She covered up.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Cross asked.
“I just got this creepy feeling that we’re being watched.”
“We good, baby. Edge is probably passed out on the couch.”
“He’s here?” She was waiting for her man in the bedroom upstairs and was unaware that they had company.
“The nigga was tired. I told him he could crash here for the night.”
With the sheets covering her tits, Kola removed herself from off of Cross and quickly closed the bedroom door. She regretted they had left it slightly open, but she’d assumed they were alone in their home.
She looked over at Cross and asked, “Why you have him staying the night? Oh my God, Cross! I could’ve walked out of here naked and ran into him, thinking we were alone. Don’t be doin’ that.”
“The nigga’s ’sleep, baby. He ain’t tryin’ to watch us. The nigga got his own bitch at home.”
Kola sucked her teeth and rejoined her man in the bed. She nestled against him, loving the way he caressed her in his strong arms.
“Besides, that nigga knows better,” Cross added.
With the candles still burning and Kola feeling content, she looked into her man’s eyes as the dim light shimmered on them like a Caribbean sunset. She positioned herself on top of him and pressed her tits again
st his chest. She kissed his neck soothingly and felt him squeeze her ass like it was soft fruit in his hands. She smiled.
As Kola lay in Cross’ arms, he was drifting off to sleep, but she remained awake and naked in her man’s arms. Her mind turned unexpectedly to Eduardo. The room was still. The scented candles continued to glow and dim the room. Her pussy was tingling. She sighed heavily.
Kola tried not to think about Eduardo, but she was worried about the next time she had to re-up. She began to wonder what would happen. Would he try to pull another stunt like before? Would his attempts to try and get into her panties become even stronger? Would he exert his authority upon her, giving her an alternative—some pussy in exchange for the ki’s?
Kola didn’t want any problems with the two most important men in her life. Business was too good. They were making money hand over fist with Eduardo’s potent product, and she didn’t want to chance losing such a good connect. She had her sister’s man’s empire crumbling, and word on the streets was that Chico had been missing in action for over a week now.
What if Eduardo continued to push up on her and she didn’t fuck him? Then their business together would dissolve. It was something she tried not to dwell on. She wondered, would she fuck Eduardo just to keep a good thing going? It would probably be her dirty little secret. Eduardo was fine, and she was definitely attracted to him on so many levels. She admitted to herself that it probably would be worth the fuck. It would be some good dick and she would keep a good thing going—solidifying their business connection. But what would be the risk if she were to take things to the next level with him?
Kola looked over at Cross and thought about their future, if there would be any. His gun trial was looming. Edge refused to take the charge for her man, and that infuriated her. Their lawyer had been very successful in postponing the case for as long as he could, but they knew an indictment and trial would be approaching soon. The DA was trying to burn them, and the prosecution was putting together their discovery for the case to incriminate both men on full charges.
Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick Page 15