Killer Dolls, Part 3

by Nisa Santiago

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Killer Dolls - Part 3. Copyright © 2016 by Melodrama Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Melodrama Publishing, P.O. Box 522, Bellport, NY 11713.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016912061

  eISBN: 978-1620780664

  First Edition: December 2016

  Editor: Brian Sandy

  Model Photo: Frank Antonio

  Cover Model: Nefertiti

  Melodrama Publishing

  www.melodramapublishing.com

  Books By Nisa Santiago

  Cartier Cartel: Part 1

  Return of the Cartier Cartel: Part 2

  Cartier Cartel - South Beach Slaughter: Part 3

  Bad Apple: The Baddest Chick Part 1

  Coca Kola: The Baddest Chick Part 2

  Checkmate: The Baddest Chick Part 3

  Face Off: The Baddest Chick Part 4

  South Beach Cartel

  On the Run: The Baddest Chick Part 5

  Unfinished Business: The Baddest Chick Part 6

  Guard the Throne

  Dirty Money Honey

  Murdergram

  Murdergram 2

  The House That Hustle Built

  The House That Hustle Built 2

  The House That Hustle Built 3

  Killer Dolls

  Killer Dolls 2

  Killer Dolls 3

  Mafioso

  Prologue

  Aoki sat in the driver’s seat of an Infiniti SUV with tinted windows and took everything in. She did her best to blend in, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, her long, silky hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and huge shades that covered most of her tiny face.

  Aoki’s life had always been one crazy event after another. This time she had escaped death. When Oscar’s goons shot her in the chest and left her for dead in the marsh, it felt like the final chapter in her life was coming to a close. Surprisingly, there was more to read. She was saved and put back together like a bionic woman by an organization. They gave her a second chance, but that second chance came with a cost.

  It took her two years to fully recover from her gunshot wound, graduate from The Farm, and make a name for herself. She spent the next three years stalking her target. It’d been a long time, but she was finally back in action and able to locate him. Her nemesis. The pain still burned in her chest. Despite all the betrayal, the lies, and scheming he did, she couldn’t take his life when she had the opportunity. She was determined not to make that mistake again.

  She sat parked across the street admiring the 6,000 sq.-ft. mini-mansion perched atop a small hill on two and a half acres of land. The place sat far enough away from the Jaguars, Lexuses, Beamers, and Benzes that lined the suburban street, and the homes on either side of the mini-mansion were more than a respectable distance away. The circular driveway surrounded a large white porcelain fountain. It was a beautiful home that anyone would be proud to live in with the perfect family and their perfect lives.

  The tree-lined block was picture-perfect with its luxury homes, foreign vehicles, and manicured lawns stretching from one end of the street to the other. The suburb in the Upper Marlboro community was an idyllic scene. The residents were a family-oriented, sophisticated mix of ethnic groups with good careers, promising futures, and well-groomed children. It was a community where families took long summer vacations, threw lavish barbecues in their backyards, and enjoyed in-ground pools and cocktails. The families probably went to church every Sunday and did movie night every Friday. It was the ideal place to raise a family and enjoy the American dream.

  Aoki sighed. She was a bitch from the hardcore streets of Brooklyn who grew up with fucked-up, drug-addicted parents. A place like Upper Marlboro, Maryland might as well have been the Land of Oz, for all she knew. But she wasn’t some white bitch named Dorothy, and she wasn’t from Kansas. She was a ravenous, bloodthirsty killer bent on revenge.

  She sat back in the QX80 with a pair of small binoculars and watched as a father of two loaded his precious kids into the backseat of a black Porsche Cayenne. The children looked to be three and four years old. The man looked proud and happy.

  Moments later, an attractive woman emerged from the million-dollar home, her cell phone attached to her ear, engaged in conversation and joining her family in the driveway. She smiled at her husband and gave him a kiss on the lips. She was tall and leggy, with long, shiny, black hair, fair skin, and hypnotic hazel eyes. She was dressed attractively in a trench coat, burgundy knit dress, and a pair of pumps.

  Aoki frowned as she eyed the woman heavily; she definitely wasn’t his type or his style. In fact, she was surprised to see he was married with kids. So much had changed over the years.

  A mid-November breeze blew hundreds of fallen leaves throughout the street and across the sidewalks. Just weeks earlier the trees were green and alive, and the air was balmy and cozy. Now the fall weather brought about colors, the trees shaded with red, brown, and gold.

  Aoki continued watching the family, and him especially. He looked different and more upbeat, dressed handsomely in an overcoat, blazer, jeans, and brown loafers, sporting a dark goatee and a shaved head. He had changed. He was still handsome, but he looked more sophisticated, shedding his street image to become more of a civilized man—a happily married man. But Aoki knew who he was and what he was about.

  Aoki thought about her own American dream. She’d realized long ago that the life she was spying on from a distance would never be hers. She was damaged goods and too far gone to become anyone’s wife or mother. She had betrayed the man she once loved and who loved her too. It had done something to her—created a vortex of pure hatred and bitterness inside her.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what her life would be like if she had made different choices. What if her parents hadn’t fallen victim to the drugs and despair? What if she and AZ hadn’t fallen out? What if she hadn’t believed AZ’s lie about Emilio? Would she be married with kids? Would she and Emilio have made it? Would they live in Los Angeles?

  She thought about Tisa and Rihanna. They all had made so many mistakes. There was so much death, betrayal, and agony. The pain of the past swirled inside her head like a revolving door.

  She watched the family pile into the Porsche. AZ got behind the wheel. He seemed so content with the wife and the kids. Most likely his wife had no clue he was on the down-low. Dumb bitch! Aoki had the details on her too: she was an assistant state’s attorney for the city of Baltimore.

  The happy couple pulled away from their home, and Aoki followed behind them at a safe distance. When they arrived at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church, Aoki was taken aback.

  “Him goes to church now, ay,” she said to herself.

  AZ took Randy in his arms while the wife carried their youngest. She watched as dozens of good ol’ church folks strutted into the cathedral for Sunday Mass. Today was the Lord’s day, but Aoki didn’t care about religion or beliefs. She cared about revenge.

  AZ had been allowed to live the good life for too long now. His day was coming. He couldn’t escape her judgment. He couldn’t run or hide from her. Wherever he went, an upgraded and trained Aoki had the skills and the resources to track him down.

  She would allow him to live today, but his clock was ticking. She planned on wiping out his
whole lineage in six months or less. The bitterness consumed her. She would never forget or forgive what he’d done to her. Seeing him living the good life while she had spent years going through hell fueled her rage and hatred even more.

  She was back from the dead—with a short hit list.

  Aoki started her car and peeled away from the church, but as she was watching AZ, someone was closely watching and following her.

  One

  Aoki walked into her Manhattan loft a week after departing Maryland, where she’d been stalking AZ. She had studied his routine and knew about his family. She wanted to toy with him, fuck with his head. Everyone believed she was dead. He wouldn’t even see it coming. It had been a long personal trip for her. Now it was back to business.

  Located in New York City’s Hell’s Kitchen, her amazing 3,600 sq.-ft loft featured parquet flooring with brick walls, a high, vaulted ceiling with steel columns, a kitchen adjacent to the freight elevator, and large windows with a panoramic view of the city. It had an open concept, and it occupied the entire floor. The place had become her fortress for over a year. Aoki had armed the place with top-notch security cameras and motion detectors, and a few booby traps for intruders or unwanted company. She stored extra weaponry and emergency cash in a hidden room tucked behind a faux fireplace.

  Over the years, Aoki had become a deadly and skilled killer and was now one of the best in the business. With a heart as cold as ice, she always got her man or woman, or son or daughter. She didn’t have the luxury of discriminating when it came to killing. If The Commission ordered a hit, you either fulfilled the contract, or you became the contract.

  The Commission paid her lovely and financed her opulent lifestyle. She drove around in nice cars, wore the best outfits and jewelry, and her home was the finest. The respect and fear she’d garnered had gone international. She traveled the world, saw many things and places, and assassinated many faces, some of them powerful men and women. Her list of kills was extensive and ranged from high-end political figures to violent crime lords, shady (or even honest) businessmen, and unfaithful spouses.

  Aoki loved her job. She loved the smell of blood and the power and control. She felt like a god when she was on a mission. They couldn’t escape her. Many had begged for their lives, offering to pay her handsomely for redemption, but she was a product of The Commission, and there were no negotiations. She was a one-way street of death and destruction.

  Aoki walked toward the window and stared out at her Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood. Four stories below her window, the city was buzzing with life. Yellow cabs crowded the streets, and pedestrian traffic strutted everywhere, with the local businesses teeming with commerce. With darkness descending on the city, the local nightclubs were preparing to open their doors for patrons ready to party, dance, and drink their problems away.

  Aoki had become somewhat of a recluse, only leaving her loft when she needed to, mostly to shop for necessities. She had been there and done that. The only time she mingled with the nightlife was when conducting surveillance on a target. She spent most of her time in training, in preparation, studying, and staying focused. She vowed to murder her former friend, AZ, and she planned on achieving her goal by any means necessary.

  She pivoted from the window and started to shed her clothing. She walked toward the bathroom to take a shower. It had been a long day. At the moment, she was on hiatus from a job. It gave her some time to relax.

  She left a trail of clothing on the floor from the window to the bathroom. She turned on the shower and allowed it to get steaming hot. She loved the feel of a heated shower against her skin. In fact she liked it borderline scalding hot. It made her feel alive and strong. One thing her training on The Farm taught her was to tolerate pain. Pain reminded you that you were still alive. Aoki was good at enduring pain; she had been doing so all her life.

  Aoki stepped into the steaming hot shower and slightly cringed at the feel of the water cascading against her skin. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. After a minute, things felt natural to her.

  She sighed deeply. She was proud of the bitch she had become. After The Commission had recruited her, she had to cut off all ties to her former life, which was pretty easy to do, since her former life was forgettable.

  The only consequence to the deal was that it separated her from her friend Rihanna. She and Ri-Ri were once tighter than shoelaces; they were like sisters. After Gena’s and Tisa’s murders, Ri-Ri lost it, becoming disheveled and a danger to herself. Her sanity started to fade. First, she was placed in Kings County Hospital’s psychiatric facility for a 72-hour hold. When the staff saw no improvement, she was transferred to Creedmoor in Queens.

  Aoki lingered in the shower with thoughts of her past. Her time on The Farm in upstate New York was an experience she would never forget. It molded her into the perfect killing machine. She had gone through intense training. The Farm’s purpose was to transform young minds and bodies into heartless killers for profit.

  Aoki remembered when she laughed at the word assassin. She wanted to be referred to as a triggerman. Now assassin/triggerman was synonymous with job/career. It was all just work. The Farm had brainwashed her, making her devoid of empathy and caring. The first two weeks were the hardest—the grueling 24/7 training, the intense conditioning, and the mind control. After the first few weeks, the training started to become natural for her. Her old identity gradually slipped away, and a new person emerged with a perfect athletic body.

  The Farm bred some of the most dangerous men and women. There were times when Aoki went days without sleep and food. It was boot camp on steroids. She endured ten- to fifteen-mile runs, bloody hand-to-hand combat, and strenuous exercise that could make the hardest Marine cry like a baby.

  She became the best on The Farm, and The Commission took notice. She was passing everything with flying colors, and her combat skills and gun handling were off the chart. She was a quick learner, but there was also a switch inside her that made her a killer already. She had the strength, the endurance, and the will to survive. Along with combat training there was language, voice, and diction. That heavy Jamaican accent of hers had to go. In her field you couldn’t have any distinguishing traits. Though, when she wasn’t working, her native tongue flipped back on like a switch.

  Lingering in the shower for an hour, she thought about her first kill—well, her first assignment for The Commission.

  *

  Bingo was a violent drug dealer on the rise in the streets of West Philadelphia, and his rivals wanted him gone. The Commission received the request, and Aoki was given the low-level contract to pop her cherry. Bingo was a serious player with an intimidating physique—six three, two hundred and thirty pounds of muscles. The Commission wanted to see how thoroughly she could handle herself.

  She observed Bingo closely for a week without him even noticing and learned his routine. He was an unpredictable man who never did the same thing twice, so it was difficult for her to find a pattern, but she did.

  Bingo found comfort in Norristown, P.A., a town north of West Philly, six miles outside Philadelphia city limits. There, he stayed with a trusted, long-term girlfriend, a white woman who was both pretty and pregnant. When possible, Bingo would lay his head and find intimacy there. Bingo was a private and shrewd man, so none of his crew knew about his pregnant white girlfriend.

  After keeping a close watch on the two-story home, Aoki made her way inside one night to execute the contract. Dressed in black and gripping a pistol with a silencer and a hand-forged steel dagger, she entered the home effortlessly and made her way upstairs. She moved like a shadow inside the home, like she was taught.

  The pregnant girlfriend was in the master bedroom watching TV, lotioning her protruding belly, and Bingo was in the shower.

  Aoki slyly moved into the bathroom. The shower curtain obstructed Bingo’s view of the door, but he was still a careful man, judging by the 9mm
on the sink countertop.

  She had the element of surprise and used it. Quickly, she drew back the curtain and fired a shot between Bingo’s eyes. The silencer and television muffled the sound of gunfire. Before he could drop and make noise, she caught the body and placed him carefully inside the tub with the shower still running. She then drove her dagger into his rib cage just because she wanted to. It happened that quickly—like lightning striking.

  Aoki then hurriedly, but craftily, removed herself from the scene, the girlfriend still unaware of what had just happened. When Aoki exited the house, she could hear the pregnant girlfriend’s blood-curdling scream.

  Aoki was on her way to becoming one of the best, rising up in the ranks quickly with kill after kill, and soon, her skills took her abroad.

  Two

  Aoki climbed out of her BMW 650i coupe and walked toward the towering Creedmoor Psychiatric Center in Queens Village, right off Union Turnpike and Cross Island Parkway. Creedmoor provided inpatient, outpatient, and residential services for severely mentally ill patients, and had been Ri-Ri’s residence for five years. It sat on more than 300 acres of land and included more than fifty buildings, some of which had been long abandoned.

  Aoki strutted toward the front entrance looking classy in a mink coat, curve-skimming dress, and six-inch Christian Louboutin boots, her long black hair flowing.

  Aoki knew she was violating The Commission’s rules by seeing a friend, but she didn’t think it was right to cut off all ties to someone she had been through hell and back with. She had been visiting Ri-Ri in secret since she left training on The Farm.

  Aoki waited in a bland room with bar-covered windows while staff patrolled the area like it was the visiting room at Rikers Island. She sat at a table and peered out the window.

  Ten minutes later, Aoki spotted Ri-Ri escorted into the room by a female staff member. Dressed in a long white robe, slippers, with hair looking like it hadn’t been done since two birthdays ago, Ri-Ri looked out of touch. Besides the death of her mother and sister, the murders they’d committed for AZ and Oscar had taken a lot out of her. Ri-Ri’s spirit wasn’t strong enough to handle the pressure and had gone 7:30.