Bad Apple - the Baddest Chick

by Nisa Santiago

  Supreme slowly lifted her skirt and touched between her legs. He then ripped her panties off and noticed the small blade that fell to the floor. He looked down at it and knew what the sharp tool was meant for. He smiled, knowing that things had turned in a different direction.

  With Apple’s torn panties in his hand and her denim skirt raised to her hips, exposing her shaved vagina, Supreme pushed her forward, bent her over face down into the cushioned bed, and began unzipping his jeans. He pulled out his thick dick and readied it for entry.

  Apple remained frozen in his hold, preparing herself to do the unimaginable. She felt his hand against her thigh, his fingers molesting her insides. She closed her eyes and waited for him to enter her.

  Supreme gripped Apple by her hips and thrust his massive size into her, causing her to shriek briefly and gasp from the raw entry. Then he grabbed her by her neck, trying to keep her stable as he fucked her vigorously. He gripped her waist snugly, pounded his hard dick into her wet walls, and quickly took authority over her like NYPD on a Brooklyn back street.

  Supreme fucked Apple so good, she couldn’t resist the loud moan and quick burst of gasping, as he regulated every inch of her body, cupping her tits and stimulating her clit as he fucked her from the back.

  As Supreme tore her pussy open like a Christmas gift, she clenched the bed sheets and closed her eyes, panting like a marathon runner. “Oh shit!” she cried out. “Ummm, oh shit!”

  Supreme worked his strokes like he was in the porn business, and Apple’s cries of pleasure echoed out into the other room, where Don could hear them. She squirmed and felt her nut brewing, as did Supreme, who was pulling her hair and smacking her ass.

  Surprisingly, Apple loved it.

  “Oh, yes, that pussy is tight, love. Shit, yes!” Supreme cried out, little beads of sweat glistening on his brow.

  Supreme had always dreamed of having one of the twins in his bedroom, and Apple was the primary for him. He’d lusted after the young twin since she was thirteen. He didn’t give a fuck about age.

  Apple moaned as Supreme continued to fuck her doggy-style, her face and tits pressed into the wrinkled bed sheets, ass protruding, and her legs spread open into a downward V. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as his wide, long, steel-pipe dick put her into a different frame of mind. He went in deep, hammering her G-spot with strength.

  Apple’s legs quivered uncontrollably, and she felt herself gasping. “Oh shit! I’m gonna come!” she cried out.

  Supreme continued hammering into her pussy, while Apple’s body constricted from busting her nut all over his dick. She was feeling it run down the inside of her legs. She was spent. It was so good, she felt the urge to climb up on the bed and take a nap.

  But Supreme wasn’t done yet. He held her by her slim, sweaty waist steadily and continued his onslaught, fucking her until he was about to erupt. Then he quickly pulled out and let it shoot across her back. His semen shot out of him like a Super Soaker, and his loud grunting and quaking during and after made it known that he’d enjoyed himself.

  Supreme tossed Apple a towel to clean herself up. She then climbed onto the bed, and was so guilt-ridden by the deed she’d just committed, she curled herself into the fetal position and began crying, but he paid her no mind.

  While putting back on his jeans, Supreme said to Apple, “Now that’s how we work things out. But I keep my promises, love, so I’m gonna take care of you. You see this place? It’s in my cousin’s name, but it’s all mine. You’re welcome to stay if you want. I know things are hard, and you need to chill, escape that bullshit around the way. But I’ma go handle my business. You can chill, though.”

  Supreme walked out the bedroom shirtless and in his jeans, and met back up with his cousin in the kitchen.

  Don winked at him, knowing he took care of business. He gave Supreme dap. “How was she?”

  “It was somethin’ worth the wait.”

  Don smiled.

  “But, look, I need you to handle somethin’ for me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Put the word out on the streets about somethin’,” Supreme replied.

  “Important?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Supreme told him what to put out on the streets, and Don replied, “I’m on it, cuz.”

  Supreme smiled and then returned to his business with Apple in the bedroom. He walked in to find her still lying naked in the fetal position.

  By this time, Apple had dried her tears. She looked up at Supreme and asked, “Is this really your place?”

  “For now, mi casa, su casa,” he said with a welcoming smile.

  When Apple smiled back, Supreme knew he had broken her. It was one of his greatest accomplishments—seeing one of the twins smiling in his bed.

  CHAPTER 16

  It was late evening when a few squad cars went racing down Fifth Avenue, sirens blaring.

  “Shots fired! Shots fired!” crackled over the police radio.

  Two cop cars made a sharp right onto 132nd Street and came across the body of a male sprawled out across the hard concrete near the overpass on Park Avenue. The victim was suffering from three gunshot wounds that hit him center mass.

  Three officers first arrived on the scene, and by the look of things, they knew the victim was critical. The homeless man, his eyes lifeless, was lying face up, and blood was spilling out from his back. It wasn’t long before the man shot dead on the streets was identified by onlookers as Lil’ Meek.

  A small crowd gathered around, most showing little interest for the victim, but curious to see the police action in progress. They watched from a short distance as officers taped off the scene and detectives began investigating the murder. Lil’ Meek wasn’t known to have any enemies, and he didn’t have much family around, except an elderly grandmother, who rarely left her apartment but kept in contact with her grandson.

  The hood soon started buzzing about Lil’ Meek’s murder. A majority didn’t care, and thought he was just another crackhead shot dead in the streets. The body was covered and transported to the morgue, while everyone else continued on with their evening activities, with little gossip about the murder after the police left the scene.

  *****

  The sun had just set, and the balmy night was slowly developing over the projects. Kola sat in the passenger seat of the dark Tahoe listening to Danny inform her about news she needed to hear.

  “Yo, Kola, from what I’m hearing on the streets, it was that nigga J-Dogg that bodied ya little sister,” Danny said.

  Kola was seething with anger and wanted to snap J-Dogg’s neck. She knew he had just come home right before spring from doing an eighteen-month bid upstate. An independent thug with a violent attitude and a rap sheet longer than her arm, J-Dogg was always trouble. He was also known to be a gun-for-hire and would do anything for a few dollars. Kola wanted him dead, but not before she got to torture him for more information. She wanted every breathing soul behind her sister’s murder to suffer greatly. She wanted justice and knew she was the only one in the family capable of exacting it, since she thought Apple was just too weak and naïve at times, and her mother was just a stupid bitch.

  *****

  Kola wasn’t able to rest. She had met up with Mike-Mike at his crib a few hours earlier, needing his support. She wanted him to put as many guns as he could on the streets and do what they did best—Get information by brutal force and then murder everything that moved—but Mike-Mike was against it.

  He had looked at Kola seriously and stated, “Nah, we can’t do that right now, Kola. Shit is too hot out there.”

  “What the fuck you talkin’ ’bout, Mike-Mike?”

  “You heard me. We at war right now wit’ this upcoming drug crew that’s tryin’ to step on our toes, make a name for themselves. Cross and me, we hot right now. Feds is on us, you hear me? We get involved wit’ this shit wit’ you, and we fuckin’ ourselves.”

  With teary eyes, Kola returned with, “So, it’s like th
at now, Mike-Mike? They body my little sister, and I’m supposed to let that shit ride like that?”

  “Kola, you know it ain’t nothin’ personal. It’s just too many bodies right now attracting fucked-up attention on our operation. It’s just niggas is hot and need to chill from the body count. You know it ain’t no disrespect wit’ you. I got love for you, Kola, but you don’t even know who did the shit yet. Niggas just talkin’, that’s all.”

  “Fuck you, Mike-Mike!” Kola barked.

  Kola quickly stood from her chair, not believing what she’d heard. She never thought she would see the day when Mike-Mike and his peoples would turn away from her or act like some scared bitches. She’d been around them for years and witnessed the many murders and other violent acts they’d committed, and had proven time and time again that she was a ride-or-die bitch. She was the baddest chick around who always had their backs, and this was how they repaid her?

  Mike-Mike remained seated in his cushioned La-Z-Boy recliner and looked up at Kola with cold eyes. He knew she was upset, but the streets were hot at the moment, and Cross had warned everyone to lay low and chill. He knew Kola was hurting over her sister’s death deeply, and he wanted nothing more than to kill those behind it, but it was going to entail too great a risk, especially since the feds were investigating and watching them. Kola was emotional and not thinking rationally, seeing only revenge and not the aftermath.

  Mike-Mike watched Kola storm out of his apartment ranting and cursing. After she slammed the door shut, he could still hear her mouth in the hallway. He lit up a Black & Mild and leaned back in his chair. Mike-Mike wanted to relax that morning and think about his chances on the streets. Donny B’s murder a few days earlier had him a little spooked. Word on the streets was, he was an informant and working with the police.

  Mike-Mike was the one who had snatched Donny B’s life away violently. It was both personal and business, but now he had to lay low and allow things to smooth over.

  But the abrupt kicking in of his front door an hour after Kola had left, and a dozen armed and suited tactical officers rushing in and screaming out, “Police! NYPD! NYPD!” made it clearly known that he had fucked up somewhere.

  Mike-Mike rushed from his chair and tried to make his escape out the bedroom window, ready to leap from two floors up, but he was quickly subdued by a half-dozen officers, thrown forcefully to the floor, and pinned face down, where he was crushed against the floor by the boots and strong arms of several cops, and his arms forced behind his back.

  He was read his rights and led out of the building shirtless, barefoot, and in his sagging jeans by the army of officers. It was a spectacle for everyone to see—the notorious drug dealer finally captured for Donny B’s murder.

  *****

  Kola was heartbroken when she received the news about Mike-Mike. It felt like her world was falling apart—her sister was dead, Apple was MIA, and now Mike-Mike, her longtime friend and lover, was incarcerated. Still, she was determined to get her revenge.

  She plotted with Danny about going after J-Dogg and shooting him down like a dog. But then again, she wanted to kidnap him and put such a hurting on him, he would want to die. She tried to block out Mike-Mike’s arrest from her mind. She knew he would do some time. Word was out on the streets that he was the one that killed Donny B, shooting him down in cold blood in front of his friends. Kola knew Mike-Mike was heartless like that, and his arrest was a great loss to her because, before the bullshit, he did anything she asked.

  *****

  Kola gripped the .380 that Danny had given to her as the two rode around Harlem looking for J-Dogg with an obsession. They asked around for him relentlessly, but no one had seen their target. Danny pushed his truck up and down Fifth, Seventh, and Eighth Avenues from 110th Street to 145th Street, but there wasn’t any sign of him. Kola was becoming frustrated but didn’t want to give up the search. She ached in every part of her body to find him before the police or anyone else did.

  However, as the evening progressed, and the search proved fruitless, the two grew tired. The frustration clearly showed on Kola’s face. She didn’t want to go home without someone paying for their sins against her family, but it seemed like J-Dogg had probably gotten wind that he was being hunted and skipped town. It was one in the morning when they finally called it quits and went their separate ways until the following day.

  Kola walked into the apartment and went straight to her bedroom, closing her door. She removed the .380 from her Prada bag and placed it on the dresser. She looked at the gun for a moment, fantasizing about putting it to good use, spilling out the blood of her sister’s killer and watching his life drain from him with pleasure. Every day since Nichols’ murder, Kola found herself becoming angrier. She was becoming mad at herself and at the world, seething with disgust at the betrayal. She was ready to react, but it seemed like everyone was vanishing from her sights.

  She hadn’t seen Apple in a day or two, but she didn’t care about her twin sister. In her eyes, Apple was the one responsible for Nichols’ death also, and Kola wanted to make her sister pay for her stupidity too.

  Kola slowly undressed and took a seat on her bed butt naked. She looked around her room and suddenly felt an uncontrollable rage. She started to destroy a few things in her bedroom, turning over her bed, shredding the bed sheets, and snatching the clothes out of her closet and tossing them wildly. She then smashed her mirror with the butt of the gun and kicked holes in the wall with the heel of her foot. Her frantic screams caused her mother to enter the bedroom to see what the commotion was about.

  With a sharp glare, Kola turned toward her mother, gun still in her hand, and shouted, “Get the fuck outta my room!” She raised the .380 and pointed it at her mother’s head.

  Visibly startled, Denise stood there wide-eyed. She dared not challenge her daughter, because the look in Kola’s eyes said that she was crazy. It was Denise’s home, but at that moment, her daughter had the authority.

  “Bitch, you done lost your fuckin’ mind.” Denise slowly turned toward the direction of her bedroom to get away from her daughter.

  Kola stood there for a moment before finally lowering the gun. She then plopped down on the bed and felt the urge to just shoot off the .380. She wanted to empty the clip and release her aggravation on something close. She gripped the weapon tightly and looked down at it, and for that fraction of a second, thought about suicide. But she quickly rid her mind of such idiotic feelings and vowed to make things right.

  Kola put the gun in the bottom of the drawer and then went to her bedroom window. She peered outside at the dark. Though it was quiet outside, her heart was raging and disturbed, and she couldn’t sleep.

  *****

  J-Dogg sat behind the wheel of a dark blue Durango waiting for Supreme to return his phone call. Parked on the Bronx side of the 207th Street bridge near Fordham Road, close to the overpass on the Major Deegan Expressway that connected Washington Heights to the Bronx, he watched the light traffic pass by on the three-lane highway at two o’clock in the morning, his .45 within reach and a keen eye on his surroundings.

  He had gotten word that Kola and a male stranger were looking for him and knew that someone probably had snitched on him about Nichols’ murder. Now, the word was out on the streets that he was one of the men responsible for the murder. He was nervous and ready to leave town as soon as possible, knowing it wouldn’t be long before the police started sniffing around for him. J-Dogg refused to go back to prison and would die before they put him back in a cell. This time, he knew he would be sentenced to life or put on death row for Nichols’ murder.

  J-Dogg sat impatiently in his ride, jumping at everything that moved in the dark. Earlier, he had hollered at Supreme, who’d promised him a ride out of town, a place to stay, and the much-needed cash that was owed to him. Things were too hot to stick around Harlem, and he knew someone could come gunning for him at anytime. J-Dogg felt if Supreme crossed him by not helping or paying the money he had asked for,
he wasn’t going to rest until Supreme got a bullet in his head, but Supreme had given J-Dogg his word.

  J-Dogg trusted Supreme because he had worked for him before. Supreme had sounded really assuring over the phone that he would come through with the support. J-Dogg knew Supreme couldn’t risk his capture, because he knew too much about everything on this high-profile rape and murder case, Nichols’ death having been aired on every news station in the city.

  J-Dogg’s cell phone rang, and he quickly picked up. “Yeah.”

  “You at the location?” Supreme asked.

  J-Dogg was relieved to hear Supreme’s voice. “Yeah, I been here for at least fifteen minutes. Where you at?”

  “I’ll be there in ten. Just hang tight. I got you.”

  “Just hurry the fuck up, Supreme. I ain’t got all night.”

  The call ended, and J-Dogg continued to wait. Ten minutes later, he noticed headlights heading in his direction. He rose up and grabbed his gun, cocking it back and readying himself for anything. He kept an intense eye on the car approaching him in the short distance and took a deep breath.

  The white Cadillac STS came to a stop in front of the Durango, and Guy Tony stepped out from the driver’s side carrying a small bag, which J-Dogg assumed was the money and items he needed to leave town.

  J-Dogg was upset that Supreme sent one of his henchmen instead of coming himself. “Yo, where the fuck is Supreme?” he shouted.

  “He got caught up in somethin’ and sent me,” Guy Tony said.

  “Nah, fuck that! He told me he would be here.” J-Dogg had the gun near his side with the safety off. If Guy Tony was to flinch wrong, he was ready to put a few hot bullets in him. “But that’s my money?”

  Guy Tony kept his cool and acted casual while taking a few careful steps closer to J-Dogg. “I’m just the messenger,” he exclaimed calmly.