The Plug's Wife

by Chynna

  “What’s going on boss lady?” Billy asked, his brows puckered.

  “Wait…” Mitch said, attempting to halt Summer’s fury. He was too late.

  Summer walked right up to the crew. None of them saw what was coming next. She raised her weapon and placed it at Scrap’s temple. Everyone was speaking at once. There was an angry hornet’s nest of buzzing in Summer’s ears. She felt like screaming as loud as her voice could go. The gun shook in her hand as it kissed the skin of Scrap’s forehead.

  Chaos erupted.

  “What the fuck you doin?!” Marco barked at her with a two gun salute.

  Billy trained his gun on Scrap too. He was her muscle; he took his lead from his boss as always. Marco’s pointed guns were leveled at Summer’s chest. After all, Scrap was a brother and Summer was just the new bitch who thought she was boss. Doon pointed the crew’s long gun, a shiny, new AR-15 at Billy. He couldn’t understand how the fuck Billy would choose Summer over one of their own.

  “What the fuck!” Scrap growled, his hands up in surrender, weapon dangling off of his pointer finger. Clearly he had no wins.

  “Drop your weapon,” Summer said in a low, embittered whisper. Mitch rushed over with the pictures in his hands.

  “Drop your fucking weapon now!” Summer screamed this time, her voice going so high it itched the back of her throat. She thought about Caralina for a hot minute. The secret Caralina and Scrap harbored between them. She couldn’t help but wonder how much else Caralina had kept from her.

  “Do what she said, man,” Billy told Scrap. Scrap was outgunned. He knew if he made one false move that would be his end.

  “Explain yourself, Scrap!” Mitch said angrily, making the pictures rain down around him. Marco glanced down at the photographs. Doon followed.

  “What the fuck!” Doon’s words seemed to catch in the back of his throat.

  “Is that you, Scrap? You with dudes from Millenia cartel—motherfuckers who tried to put us out of business?” Marco asked, his voice cracking like he was about to cry.

  Doon and Marco turned their guns on Scrap too. Their minds immediately went to thoughts of Jesse’s death. Was it the Millenia cartel commissioned by Scrap who had killed their boss?

  “Listen…I…I can explain,” Scrap stammered. In their line of business, there really wasn’t much more Scrap could say that could help his case. The pictures did not lie.

  “Ya’ll all agreed with me, remember? None of us wanted this bitch to be our boss. Don’t front now! C’mon Doon, remember what you said about how she didn’t cry at the funeral and how she didn’t even go to the burial?! How you thought that shit was suspect. A real ride or die bitch would’ve rode with her man to the dirt. You said that! Marco, remember you saying that she took over too fast and never acted like a grieving wife? Didn’t you think it strange that the shooters didn’t just finish her off when they took JB out?! You even hinted at a set up on her part! I’m not fucking crazy! What the fuck man? Ya’ll not gonna admit to shit now? I wasn’t the only one that wanted to get rid of her. I did this for all of us! Millenia was going to take care of her and be the new supplier. I wasn’t gonna do like JB and keep the supplier a big secret. This was for the fam!” Scrap cried out, snitching on his crew while his voice rose like a straight bitch.

  Summer could believe that she had been the subject of many discussions. It wasn’t lost on her that one of them—if not all of them—wanted to be the next boss in Jesse’s place. She couldn’t let her feelings distract her though. The issue at hand wasn’t about who said what. Summer needed to show them and Cardinale’s men that she was first in command. Her reputation as boss rode on how she handled this very moment.

  “Nobody wanted me as boss? That’s too bad, because I am the fucking boss now and you will all respect my authority,” Summer growled, flames flashing in her eyes. Summer grinded the end of her gun on Scrap’s temple.

  “Please, don’t kill me,” Scrap begged. “That man they got tied up is Pedro Millenia’s son. If they kill him, you will be a dead woman walking.” Scrap knew he only had minutes to live. The warning was the least he could do to make up for his cowardly betrayal.

  “Shut the fuck up! Don’t give me no fucking advice now you fucking Judas!” Summer growled, grinding her gun into Scrap’s head even harder. Scrap closed his eyes…waiting.

  Doon turned away so no one could see the tears rimming his eyes. He was devastated by Scrap’s betrayal but even more about what he knew would happen next. Marco lowered his head as well.

  “Let this be an example to the next man who tries me,” Summer gritted, putting pressure on the trigger. “Say hello to Jesse, for me.”

  One powerful blast to the dome spun Scrap around in a slow pirouette as a spray of his blood and grey brain matter splashed onto Summer’s face and clothes. The thick, metallic scent of blood mixed with the grit of gunpowder overwhelmed Summer’s senses. It was a familiar smell and taste that left her feeling powerful, almost animalistic.

  With the rush, Summer realized once again, that she was someone who had tried to be good her entire life, but was just as capable of committing murder under the right circumstances as any heinous murderer. Summer gripped her gun and doubled over. Vomit spewed from her lips, just missing her shoes. Summer’s chest heaved like a beast in the wild after a fresh kill. Something inside of her snapped apart. Summer knew all too well how violence could be just as deep and intimate as love. In that moment, something awakened inside of her that she had worked years to suppress.

  *****************************

  She had committed her first murder back in Cuba when she was thirteen years old.

  In the middle of the night, her family was awoken by her sister Carrerra’s shrill screams. Her grandparents rushed from the small room where they slept at the back of their tiny, dirt floor shack. Her grandmother fell to her knees, chanting the same prayer over and over in Spanish. Her grandfather, frail and no match for their intruder, stood on sore, shaky legs, watching helplessly.

  She reacted on instinct, running straight for the shoebox on top of the small icebox that held the little bit of food they had left. She grasped the cold steel inside and approached her sister. Sweat streaked down the sides of her face as she stood in the middle of the dirt floor of her family’s ramshackle home with her knobby knees knocking against one another and her teeth chattering. Out in front of her, she held her grandfather’s long nose, silver .22 caliber Colt revolver. Her hands shook so badly the gun moved around in almost complete small circles. It didn’t matter that tiny drips of urine escaped her bladder because of her nerves. She wasn’t about to back down. She’d seen where backing down had gotten her and her family in the past.

  “¡Vete de aquí! Déjanos en paz!” Get out of here! Leave us alone! she had demanded of the six foot-three inch, hulking perpetrator. Who knew what unimaginable evil act the man had in mind for her sister?

  The brute wasn’t swayed by her bravado or her warnings.

  She shouted another warning at the man, louder this time. Her nerves caused a rush of adrenaline to shoot through her veins that almost made her dizzy. The man laughed at her this time, wickedness glinting in his red-rimmed rat eyes. His deliberate disregard was insulting.

  This incensed her. She knew he saw her as a silly little poor girl, who was probably bluffing.

  From the expensive leather cowboy boats and the amount of gold jewelry the man wore, she could tell he was one of the rare ones in this part of Cuba who had money. She also knew he probably felt he was entitled to anything he wanted. He’d probably made his money from robbing and stealing what little bit others had worked hard to amass. There was a whole band of men that lived like him—robbing from the poor to get rich. Los ladrones ricos malvados is what they called them in Cuba. The Evil Rich Thieves. She didn’t care who he was—she would not let him hurt her family. They had suffered enough hurt and pain over the years. Enough was enough!

  “He dicho que fuera y nos dejen en paz! Salga
n ahora!” I said get out and leave us alone! Get out now! She gave him one more stern warning, the gun pointed steadily at his chest.

  “¿Qué vas a hacer con eso? Nada más que mear fuera de mí!” What are you going to do with that thing? Nothing but piss me off! The evil man spat, licking his lips lasciviously as he moved closer to her little sister. He was calling her bluff. A fire burned all over her body now. More sweat drenched her brow and burned her eyes as it dripped down her face. Her grandmother chanted a prayer behind her.

  “Lourdes! Por favor, no dejes que me lleven!” Lourdes! Please don’t let him take me!” her sister Carrera cried in terror as she cowered against a wall. Hearing her sister cry out only firmed up her resolve.

  Memories rained down on her like a hailstorm. She began to shake even harder. Now tears ran down her face and mixed with the sweat. She sniffled back the snot threatening to escape her nose. She remembered the rape she’d suffered herself when she was eleven years old, the same age as her sister was now. She remembered the pain of being pinned down while her skinny, childlike legs were forced opened. She could still smell the heavy scent of some cheap alcohol on the breath of her attacker as has he forced his thick, pasty, bitter tongue between her lips. She remembered the fire that had engulfed her virginal opening and spread like a wildfire deep into her abdomen as the first man attempted to penetrate her for the first time. The two men, who were from the far southeast region of Cuba near the Sierra Maestra Mountains, took savaged her body repeatedly while her grandparents, sister, and brother all looked on helplessly. This was becoming a common occurrence lately in the lawless, poor villages that were famous for being the place where Fidel Castro and his guerrilla comrades had ignited a revolution years before her birth. Her village was dirt poor and primitive. Farmers still used teams of oxen to plow fields; horsepower meant literally that; and natives survived on whatever they could grow or whatever the government decided to send their way.

  “Dije dejarla sola! O te voy a matar!” I said leave her alone! Or I will kill you! The man let out another shrill maniacal laugh. Ignoring her second warning, in a bold display of defiance, the intruder reached out and grabbed Carrera, tearing her shirt buttons off with one swipe. Carrera screamed as her small budding breasts were exposed.

  “¡Por favor!” Carrera called out for her sister’s help again. With her chest heaving up and down, she stood toe to toe with the clearly inebriated perpetrator that had broken into their small shack to satisfy his sick carnal needs.

  “Esta es tu última oportunidad! ¡Fuera de aquí!” This is your last chance! Get out of here! She said through clenched teeth. The man didn’t listen; instead he pushed her aside, reached out and grabbed a handful of Carrera’s hair, attempting to drag her down to his crotch. He laughed again, clearly amused with the situation.

  She’d had enough. Hearing her sister’s cries. Remembering the pain of her own rape. Seeing the faces of her rapists. Hearing her grandmother’s pleas. She raised the revolver until it was eye level, just like her grandfather had shown her. She closed one eye as more of the man’s laughter filled her ears. Both of her eyes snapped shut as her boney pointer finger tugged back on the trigger. Before she could even think about it, the gun chattered to life. The loud booms forced her eyes back open just in time to see the fruit of her labor—a fireworks display of blood and brains as all six bullets left the gun in rapid succession.

  The force of the shots sent her stumbling backwards, but not before she inhaled the tin-like scent of the man’s blood. The smell traveled up her nostrils and to the back of her throat. Unlike when her father died five years ago, this time she reveled in the scent and taste of the man’s blood. She smirked to herself. It had created something inside of her so deadly that even she couldn’t always control it.

  Chapter 9 Taking the Helm

  Cuban cigar smoke circled her head as she sat behind Jesse’s dark mahogany desk. His black leather chair faced the expansive window behind the desk. Summer inhaled deeply as she lorded over the view of the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges. It was a breathtaking view. She was there taking the helm of yet another of Jesse’s businesses.

  Today was the first time she’d been at Banks and Reid Imports as the boss and not the wife coming for lunch or a quick in-office sexual tryst. A quick memory of one of her last tryst with Jesse flashed through her mind.

  “Dina, I’m busy so whoever it is tell them…” Jesse had started telling his secretary over the intercom when Summer busted in his office. He looked up shocked, but pleasantly surprised.

  “Tell Dina, you always have time for me,” Summer said playfully. She was wearing a long, black, trench coat, a pair of black patent leather Lady Peep Louboutins, fire red lipstick and a long, jet black wig with a Chinese bang.

  Jesse laughed as he took in an eyeful. “Who are you today? Which character?” he asked turned on. That was what he loved about Summer…she always kept him guessing what her next move would be. She was always exciting and over the top with everything she did.

  Summer started towards him and with each sultry step she unbuttoned one button. Jesse’s manhood was already swollen into a rock hard bulge and she hadn’t even touched him. He got up and went to close the blinds on his huge office windows.

  “No! Leave them!” Summer demanded. “I am excited by the possibility of somebody seeing us.” Jesse did as he was told. He flopped back down in his leather, swivel chair and let out a long, hot, excited breath. He had a full view of what was under Summer’s coat now—perfect C cups, flat four pack abs, a perfectly trimmed triangle and thick, luscious thighs. Jesse sucked on his bottom lip as Summer pulled her coat to her shoulders and let it drop. She lifted her leg and used it to push his chair aside.

  “You like-a what you see-a,” Summer said seductively, faking an Asian accent. Jesse grunted as his blood rushed like raging water rapids through his veins. Summer climbed up on his desk in front of him, her heels accentuating her thick, muscular calves.

  “Come closer…but stay seated,” she whispered as she trailed her hand down her stomach to her dripping wet hot box. Jesse inched the chair towards her. Summer put her legs on his shoulders and inched her ass all the way to the edge of the desk. Jesse could see the pink, velvet of her vagina with its needle eye seemingly winking at him.

  Summer drove one of her middle fingers into her center and pulled it out slowly. “Oh shit,” Jesse grunted. Summer held her finger out he opened his mouth.

  “Taste me,” she said; her voice throaty and heavy. Jesse sucked her finger like a baby trying to get the last bits of milk from its mother. “Taste me,” Summer growled, guiding his head to the right spot. Jesse obeyed her command. He pushed the chair back slightly so he could get the right angle. He lowered his head and the scent of her perfume mixed with her natural juices drove him wild. Jesse forced his tongue into her center and then back out again. He mustache, beard and chin were dripping with her juices. They both startled when his phone began ringing.

  “You wanna take care of business or me?” Summer asked in a husky whisper. Jesse ignored her and the phone. He was licking and sucking her like a hungry dog. He did until she exploded. Before she could fully finish, he pushed her a little further back on his desk, sending his box of cigars, his rolodex and a few other items crashing to the floor. Summer giggled. Jesse stood up and hurriedly took his dress pants halfway down.

  “I love to see him!” Summer giggled excitedly as Jesse’s ample manhood jumped free from its cotton confinement.

  “Let’s see how much,” Jesse wheezed, pulling her back towards him.

  “Dayuumm!” Summer wolfed as Jesse filled her. Jesse pulled her up off the desk, gripping her tight ass for leverage. With her straddling him and her legs locked around his back, Jesse moved over to the windows. He put her back against the huge center window and began pounding into her pelvis.

  Summer was excited. She fantasized that the entire city of New York could see them making love.

  “My world is
your world!” Jesse huffed as she had an explosion of his own.

  Summer shook off the memory. She had business to handle. Summer learned quickly that being a female boss wasn’t going to be easy. She looked down at her gold Rolex with its mother of pearl face and diamond bezel as she blew another cloud of smoke from the Cohiba. The sweet flavored smoke exited her lungs slowly. Jesse had an entire box of cigars on the end of his desk. Summer only smoked them because it reminded her of home.

  Stubbing out the cigar, she sat down to review all of Jesse’s accounting records for the past five years. She sent a stern warning to his accountant that she was interested in viewing all the “off the record” transactions as well. Summer also wanted to track down some of his foreign accounts to see if those had been frozen as well. Summer was concerned about her financial bottom-line. She needed to make a payment to those she owed very soon.

  Summer picked up a couple of files from the tall stack of neatly organized and labeled folders. The first five paper intensive files were all for legitimate business expenses. Summer tossed those aside, uninterested. She reviewed five more files, stashed between three legitimate files, one of which was labeled “Tanya.”

  Summer took a deep breath before she opened the file. Blood rushed to her head and it immediately began pounding. The first piece of paper inside was an itemized receipt for a place called Passages Drug Rehabilitation Center. The receipt totaled $260,000 for in-patient care for Tanya Rodgers. Jesse’s signature was scribbled across the bottom of a cancelled check for the full payment amount. The receipt was dated just last year.