“You okay?”
“I’m not okay,” she replied sadly. “I just wanna be held and loved for the night.”
Mills squeezed her into his masculine hold. Cartier was ready to release herself to him. She needed this night. She was grateful that he’d come.
“Take me away from here,” she said to him.
“Where you wanna go?”
Cartier freed herself from his arms and walked toward the bedroom. The sadness she felt for her family, she’d buried that somewhere deep for the night. She didn’t want those feelings to surface again until she got hers. She was like a crack addict trying to smoke away her troubles. She wanted to travel to a different realm, maybe become lost in some alternative reality.
Mills followed behind her. Once inside the bedroom, he reached for her with his fist clinging to the back of her T-shirt and pulling her back into his arms. Cartier didn’t resist. She sprung upward and thrust her lips against his, locking them into a heated kiss. Her breathing was labored, and her chest was heaving up and down, betraying her arousal.
Mills picked Cartier up in his arms like it was nothing, like she belonged to him, and carried her to the bed. She held on tight, her arms wrapped firmly around his neck. It felt like she was floating on air. She wanted to feel protected, and he gave her that security.
He laid her on the bed. He then pulled out the Glock 17 that was stuffed against the small of his back and laid it on the dresser. He stared at her for a brief moment. The attraction for her had always been there, but Miami wasn’t the place to advance on it. He removed his shirt over his head, revealing his impressive, chiseled frame with a six-pack.
Cartier removed her clothing and stood stark naked in front of him. She was beautiful and smelled delicious. Mills took in every part of her body, savoring her with his eyes. He stood at the foot of the bed and was ready to climb between her legs. He started his sensual assault on her, but there was no need to rush.
The first sensation Cartier felt was so gentle and so imperceptible. Every touch from him was exhilarating. He kissed on her slowly from the stomach up, moving his hands across her brown curves. The way he kissed her breasts, thighs, neck, and stomach was sending erotic stimuli straight to her clit. Who would have thought that a killer like Mills could be so passionate and invigorating? The way his eyes locked onto hers told her he cared about her a lot — more than he should.
Climbing on the bed, he crawled between Cartier’s legs as she spread them. They kissed heavily again, their tongues entwined like vines. She felt exposed and vulnerable, and she was wet like a river. He pressed his body to hers, and Cartier wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer and tighter. His masculine scent was dizzying.
Mills slid his dick between the folds of her beautiful, bloated, slippery lips, and they both let out a guttural groan. The moisture between her thighs provided the right lubrication. She was ready for him, ready to forget her troubles for one night and fuck her brains out.
She got acclimated to his large size, gripping the sheets and him tightly, using them for leverage. The heat was intense. Mills’ lengthy penis size was intoxicating.
As he ground between her legs with rhythm, she groaned, “Ooooh, fuck me! Ooooh, fuck me!”
He pushed her legs back and, inch by inch, dipped his dick deeper into her. She needed this. His strokes were mind-blowing. She dragged her nails down his muscular back and moaned and groaned in his ear, their flesh feeling like it was melting into one. Cartier felt like she couldn’t breathe. It felt like Mills was her breath, her life force.
Fully inside her, Mills grunted. Cartier was out of her mind, panting and moaning, feeling that intense penetration into her. He was focused like a laser, grasping her thighs and pounding fervently into her. Mills went primal inside her pussy as their bodies moved in unison. He continued to push her thighs back to her chest and fuck the shit outta her.
Cartier panted loudly and continued clutching the bed sheets, not knowing what to fully do with herself. His dick was really good, and she felt herself on the verge of having a mighty orgasm.
Mills stared deep into her eyes as Cartier held on and met every thrust inside of her. She wanted more. She cried out, “I’m fuckin’ comin’!” her nails digging into his back repeatedly, her legs still wrapped around his back.
Their breathing became synchronized, as they both were lost in blissful pleasure. They couldn’t fight it any longer, and they came together, crashing into one another, shrouded by a strong lust.
When it was over, Cartier lay spent next to Mills. And for that brief moment, she felt some normalcy. But it was a fleeting feeling.
The pain quickly resurfaced, and the tears started to flow down her cheeks.
Mills looked at her and said, “I got your back. And I’ll make it fuckin’ right, Cartier. I promise you that.”
Cartier didn’t respond. She just got out of bed, walked through the living room, and stepped out onto the balcony butt naked. It was out there that she decided to go back to Janet’s place and do some snooping around. She felt she was missing something. And it was eating away at her about this secret Janet wanted to tell her before her death.
Mills followed her outside, his dick swinging between his legs like a lead pipe. Cartier glanced at him and wiped away her tears, her eyes pleading for his help.
Chapter 25
Cartier stepped out the Cadillac and walked toward the towering project building once again. It was a breezy evening, and the sky was gray and gloomy, the sun nowhere to be found. Cartier could smell rain in the air and didn’t want to get caught up in any downpour. Her life felt heavily drenched already. She hurried toward the building and into the lobby.
By this time, Janet’s apartment had been locked down and considered a crime scene. The coroner had brought out the body, the apartment had been dusted for fingerprints, and an investigation was fully underway.
Cartier went up to the apartment, but this time the door was locked. She needed access to the apartment. Her gut was telling her there was something inside that she and the police had missed. She figured that a local locksmith could get her in. She drove to Nostrand Avenue to and got the owner of the shop to send one of his employees to her location. The owner scribbled the alias she gave him and address on a piece of paper and told her a service tech would meet her there within an hour. It took more like two.
Cartier watched as the old company vehicle pulled up with Johnny’s Locksmith painted on the drivers said door. The older man, with tan leathery skin, climbed out with his tool belt. He was immediately met by Cartier.
She extended her hand, “Hello, I’m Maria Goode. I called about my lock.”
“Lewis,” he replied and gave a weak smile. His social skills were rusty and almost nonexistent from years of working at a job he hated and was underpaid for. “I’ll follow behind you.”
Cartier smiled. She spun on her heels and let her ass sway from side to side as she walked toward the stairway, her blue jeans accentuating her thick hips.
As they approached the door, tattered with the yellow police tape and trespassing notice posted over its peephole, his steps slowed up.
Cartier stopped and whispered, “I need my apartment opened. Quickly. No questions. You do this for me and I will make it worth your while.”
“Are you crazy?” he asked. His voice rising to an unnatural tone. “I can’t get you in there. I’d go to jail.”
Cartier pulled him back toward the elevator just in case someone came on the floor while they were negotiating.
“Nobody’s going to jail. It won’t take you long to get me in and I said that you will be paid, handsomely.”
Lewis pulled a worn handkerchief out his back pocket and began wiping his forehead. He knew what she was asking him to do was wrong. “What if someone sees me and calls the police?”
“Do you really think people here make a habit out of calling five-oh? And even if they did, you would be long gone. Look, I wouldn’t put you in a ba
d situation. I swear. I just need to get inside my apartment.”
“What happened in there? Why the police lock you out?”
Cartier was becoming impatient. She thought that as soon as she mentioned money he would have jumped at the chance. All this talking — she could have already been inside.
“All that’s not important. Either you’re gonna help me or not. I can just call someone else.”
He thought again. His eyes drifted down the hall toward the door. “How much you talking?”
Cartier had two pockets. Had he made it easier for her she would have gladly offered him five large. Instead, she discounted the price for making her grovel. “Three thousand dollars.”
His eyes said what his mouth didn’t. He began to dab his forehead and she could see his hands trembling. He looked around again and then said, “I get the money up front.”
“Okay, just hurry up. How long will it take you to get in?”
They walked back toward the door as he observed. “Oh this is just a standard deadbolt. Only a couple minutes.”
“Well make it happen.” Cartier’s voice was sterner than it had been the past five minutes. He immediately noticed her mood shift.
“Money first.”
Cartier paid him, and within a couple minutes the door popped open. Before Cartier could thank him, he was heading for the elevator. She walked inside and flipped on the lights. The NYPD had already done their job; now it was time to do hers. After completing certain tasks, most officers didn’t give the crime scene another thought.
Cartier started to look around the living room for clues about what really happened to Janet. She went into the bedroom and started snooping around. She went into the closet first, looked underneath the bed, and she checked the drawers last.
She went through Janet’s drawers methodically, one by one, removing article after article, but she found nothing but clothing, some old documents, perfumes, some junk, and a few pictures. She started going through the pictures. There seemed to be hundreds of them. Some of them were of Janet and Trina back in their heyday, others of Monya and herself. Cartier sat on the bed and looked at each one of them. As she flipped through them, it brought her back to a time when she was surrounded by love and family, when she, Monya, Li’l Mama, Bam, and Shanine ran Brooklyn. And that yearning for more— wanting power, money, and respect—made her form the Cartier Cartel. This was her family, and now she was the last one left. It was tragic.
Cartier remembered how Monya loved the boys, clothes, and money, and how she’d gotten tired of the petty boosting to keep a few dollars in her pockets. She remembered the corner boys on the block who were always hustling their drugs, and how they always flirted with her and her girls. Some boys got lucky and got the cookies though. But as they came up in the drug game, things suddenly changed. And Cartier was doing a lot of crying. If she could do it all over again, would she do it different? There was that perpetual agony rooted inside of her, that reflective feeling. And after she implemented her revenge, what next? She had nothing left, no family, and no friends.
Going through the pictures, Cartier found a few inside an envelope. She removed the six pictures and gazed at them. They were of Janet and some Hispanic male. He was tall and remarkably handsome. Janet was nestled and hugged up against him like they were lovers. And from the background and his khaki jumpsuit, the pictures appeared to have been taken in a prison. Cartier noticed the DOC Sing Sing stamp on the front of his clothing. She had never seen this guy before, and Janet had never mentioned him. She didn’t even think Trina knew about him. Who was this mystery man Janet was seeing in Sing Sing prison?
Cartier beyond doubt felt she should find this person. Perhaps Janet confided in him this news. And if not, he deserved to know what had happened to her. She took the pictures. Her next move was to see Head, who was in the same prison the photos were taken in. He had to know who this person was. And if he didn’t know, he could surely find out.
***
Sing Sing Correctional Facility
Ossining, New York
Cartier strutted toward the prison entrance in her conventional attire, wearing denim jeans, a fresh pair of white Nikes and a T-shirt, nothing sexy, tight or too revealing. She already knew Sing Sing’s rules and regulations, especially when it came to women’s outfits. They had the right to deny and turn anyone away from their visit if they felt their clothing wasn’t proper.
Cartier walked behind the stream of ladies, some girlfriends and wives, mothers and sisters to some inmates, and young mothers clutching babies and young children. They were all going into the gateway and moving toward the booking office, which was adjacent to the entrance to the main visit hall.
Sing Sing sat on the scenic banks of the Hudson River, thirty miles north of New York City. As Cartier waited on line, she could see the calm of the Hudson River underneath the morning sun. The glare from the sun on the water was infiltrating the booking office. It was ironic seeing the convergence of nature’s beauty and prison confinement.
Cartier stood behind a young mother clutching her two-year-old son. The line was long, and the child seemed restless and moody. Every minute or so he was crying about something. The young mother had the boy perched in her arm and tried disciplining him a few times, but to no avail.
“I wanna go home, Mommy! I wanna go home!” the boy shouted.
The mother and son caught the attention of the correction officers. Cartier remained nonchalant. She eyed the boy and smiled. He flared up in a temper tantrum and started to raise hell for his mother, punching, kicking, and screaming at her.
Now they had everyone’s full attention. It was sure denial for them both if the boy didn’t behave himself.
The boy’s mother looked embarrassed. She yelled, “Stop it, Danny!”
“No!” he screamed. “I wanna go home! Leave me alone! I wanna go home!”
From the corner of her eye, Cartier saw the female correction officer approaching them. Even though the child was young and didn’t know better, the inevitable was coming.
The chubby black woman said nicely, “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask that you and your child step off the line for a moment.”
“But I’m here to see his father,” the mother returned.
“I understand. But your child is becoming a problem and a safety threat.”
“My baby is not a threat. He’s just a boy.”
The correction officer raised her voice a bit. “Ma’am, this is not an option. We will deny you this visit if you do not cooperate.”
The mother huffed and puffed, immediately catching an attitude, and stomped off the line with her screaming boy.
Cartier couldn’t help but think it couldn’t be her. Christian had been a well-behaved child. It was obvious that Christian was going to be something much more in her life. But that future was gone. Christian was going to be buried tomorrow.
Cartier moved forward and approached the reception desk, where two COs were processing the visitors’ information. She gave them her driver’s license and provided sufficient information for them prior to her entry. She got nervous every time, because she was an ex-inmate herself, having served a few years upstate for manslaughter. She didn’t want to be red-flagged and sent back home. But everything went through okay, and she was allowed to move on.
The main visiting room was inundated with inmates spending time with their family and loved ones. It was loud, but organized and heavily watched by correction officers posted tactically around the square room. The correction officers stood tall and remained keen. Inmates were seated facing the correction officers posted near the entrance, the green khaki prison jumpsuits room singling out the inmates from visitors. Hard-core gangsters and killers displayed pining smiles on their faces as they hugged and kissed their kids and women.
The guard gave Cartier a number and instructed her where to sit. She walked over to the seating arrangement with a short metal table and sat with her back to the guards at the entran
ce gate. She was nervous about seeing Head. It’d been a long time. Maybe too long. She constantly looked over to where they were escorting additional inmates into the visiting room. They came inside in single file, anticipation displayed on their faces. Black, white, Latino, Asian, it didn’t matter; each man showed the same expression once he saw a face or faces he recognized.
A few minutes passed as Cartier waited patiently. She turned to look at the inmate entrance area for the umpteenth time and finally saw Head being escorted inside. She smiled somewhat. Head was the last one on the line. The prison overalls clung to his masculine frame nicely, and for a man in his early forties, he looked good.
One by one, the inmates started to depart from the line and make their way over to their visitors. Head looked around for his visitor. Cartier stood up and waved, and he nodded and walked over. He walked through the room with authority, his tattoos showing from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his green khaki jumpsuit. Despite the stone and metal surrounding them, he still seemed in control.
Cartier hugged him and gave him a wet kiss. Their affectionate greeting had to be brief though, because there couldn’t be any excessive display of affection during visits. It was a blessing and a curse for many of the men — to be able to touch and feel their women, but not intimately.
“Hey, baby,” she greeted warmly.
“How you holdin’ up?” Cartier knew Head would have gotten the news about Christian.
“I’m burying her tomorrow.”
A profound sadness set in Cartier’s eyes and in her soul. She was maintaining by a miracle.
Head gazed at Cartier with his cold, black eyes. He saw that she was tired and worn out, but he could still see the determination in her eyes. She would always have his heart. And he wanted nothing more than to be by her side in the streets and to hunt down Christian’s and her family’s killers.
Cartier Cartel, Part 3 Page 18