The Cartel Deluxe Edition, Part 2

by Ashley

  “You fucking heartless bitch,” Fabian seethed through gritted teeth as he pulled her head back. She felt the cold kiss of the gun as it met the back of her skull, and tears involuntarily welled in her eyes. Fabian’s finger danced on the trigger. There weren’t many people who could kill without remorse. It was a specialty that Miamor and Mecca had perfected.

  “Put the bitch down and get it over with. I’m bored with this shit,” Mecca stated, his voice sending chills of hatred up and down Miamor’s spine. “Fuck you waiting for, nigga?”

  Fabian looked up at Mecca, the unsteady grip on his pistol giving away his uncertainty as his hand shook slightly.

  “You still scared of this bitch? She’s tied up and you the one with the gun, but she still got you shook? Pull the fucking trigger!” Mecca ordered, shaking his head in disgust.

  Fabian stood, his lean torso shaking as his bottom lip trembled in uncertainty. “I . . . I . . . can’t,” he admitted.

  BOOM!

  Without warning, Mecca sent a bullet through Miamor’s shoulder.

  “Aghh!”

  “Fuck you mean you can’t?” Mecca barked at Fabian. “See, it’s simple.”

  BOOM!

  With precision he sent another shot in Miamor’s direction, this time hitting her midsection.

  “Aghh!” she howled through gritted teeth as she balled her fists tightly. The bullet ripped through her organs, making it feel as though she were on fire.

  Fabian backpedaled until his heel hit the bottom step of the basement. He was in over his head. Fabian dabbled in the streets every now and then, but he wasn’t major. He had never led the lifestyle that Mecca had and knew nothing about this heartless side of the game. Revenge had sounded so sweet, but when it came down to it, Fabian couldn’t put in the work. As Miamor gasped for air, Fabian shook his head back and forth. Jailhouse blues filled his soul as he became overwhelmed by the possible consequences of his actions. Suddenly, he wanted no part of this murderous plot.

  Mecca turned toward Fabian and before he even realized it, Fabian was hightailing it up the steps.

  Mecca smirked as he saw Fabian run out of the basement. “Pussy-ass nigga,” Mecca scoffed, making a mental note to handle Fabian later. Mecca didn’t leave loose ends. Fabian was a liability, and it was imperative that he was removed from the equation. Mecca was leaving zero witnesses, but first Mecca was going to enjoy his final round with Miamor.

  “Now that there are no cowards in the room, the real fun can begin,” he taunted.

  Mecca grabbed the metal chain off the floor and circled Miamor. The chain scratched the floor like nails on a chalkboard, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand. Mecca examined Miamor as she struggled to lift her head. Her eyes followed him back and forth as he paced the concrete floor. He stopped and knelt directly in front of her, waiting to see the fear creep into her eyes. But when he stared at her all he saw was acceptance and regret.

  He wrapped the thick chain around her neck. His heart beat furiously inside of his chest as he thought of avenging the death of his mother. He had waited so long for this moment that it made his dick hard.

  Miamor was like a rare specimen. The Cartel had warred with a thousand armies before her, but somehow she had been able to dismantle their entire operation. One woman had annihilated his entire family. The empire that the Diamond family had built was standing on its last leg. She had destroyed the infamous Miami Cartel. Mecca hated her existence yet envied her efficiency all at the same time. She was thorough and conniving, professional and about her paper. No mark had ever been too big to hit. If the money was right, then she had no problem making it rain bullets. No questions asked. She was the Grim Reaper.

  Mecca lived by the gun and knew that one day he would die by it as well. As he looked at Miamor he realized that she lived by the same creed. If he had been half as calculating as Miamor, his family would not be lined up in metal coffins under the dirt.

  Since the death of his father, Mecca and Miamor had played a deadly game of cat and mouse. There was no prey among them; they were both predators. With no sheep to slaughter they had gone at each other’s throats and it all culminated in this one moment. He pitied the fool who looked at Miamor and underestimated her. Her pretty face had hidden the ugliest of intentions, and it was only by God’s grace that Mecca hadn’t ended up on the other side of her gun.

  They stared at one another silently and for a brief moment they came to a mutual understanding.

  “Just do it,” she whispered as tears finally came to her. “If anybody had to do it, it may as well be you. You’re just like me.”

  Her words connected with Mecca, digging a hole straight to his heart as he nodded his head. Miamor was tired of fighting him, tired of feeling guilty for being the way that she was. She was ready for this to end.

  “Tell Carter I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely audible.

  Mecca pulled the ends of the chain, cutting off Miamor’s oxygen supply instantly. He pulled so hard that the metal pierced her skin, causing it to become raw as her eyes bulged in distress. Mecca gritted his teeth as he stared at her while choking her to death. The light in her eyes began to dwindle and the sounds around her became muffled as a natural reaction to fight overcame her. Her body jerked violently as her lungs begged for air. The tighter he pulled, the more her body rebelled, but she was helplessly bound to the chair. All she could do was die.

  “Aghh!” Mecca roared as he pulled tighter and tighter on the chain. You’re just like me. Her words replayed in his head, taunting him and reminding him of the evil that lived inside of them both. Mecca stared into her face with anger, with resentment, but when he saw his own face staring back at him he froze. Sympathy poured into his heart as his chest became heavy.

  She’s right, he thought as he backpedaled and put distance between them. Taken aback by the naked truth, he realized that as much as he hated Miamor, he couldn’t condemn her. He was not without sin.

  Her lungs felt like they were on fire as she coughed uncontrollably and sucked in as much air as she could.

  Mecca felt as if he were going insane. For so long he had dreamt of this very day. He had never hesitated to make an example out of a mu’fucka, but with Miamor it was different. Killing her would be like killing himself. They were the same. They both had blood on their hands, and their hate for one another kept them teetering on the edge of insanity.

  “Just do it,” she said with no more fight left in her voice.

  A moment of clarity passed over Mecca as he turned away from her and placed his hands on his head in distress. Something bigger then Mecca’s conscience was coming into play. The universe was intervening. It wasn’t in God’s plans for Miamor to die. Not by Mecca’s doing.

  “I can’t,” he whispered as he lowered his hands to his side and allowed the chain to fall to the ground.

  Miamor was barely conscious as she craned her head to the side and replied, “What?” The blood that fell into her line of sight clouded her vision, and she was so close to giving up that she knew she couldn’t have heard Mecca correctly.

  “I am you,” Mecca whispered with sorrow as his own tears came to his eyes. He quickly pinched the bridge of his nose and shook the emotion away. Mecca was evolving right before Miamor’s eyes, and she was so close to death that she was missing the sight. “I should fucking kill you. You deserve to die,” Mecca stated, larcenous venom lacing his tone. “But something in me won’t allow me to. You need to leave town and stay the fuck away from my family.”

  Miamor’s eyes opened and closed weakly as silent tears flooded down her face.

  “Don’t contact Carter. Don’t even enter the city limits. You need to leave Miami. Disappear. If you don’t, the next time we cross paths I will cut your fucking head off,” Mecca raged.

  Miamor wept as his words pierced her ears. She had never felt more connected to anyone in her life. Mecca was her adversary, but today he chose to be her savior. If he could put his prideful venge
ance aside and leave her with air in her lungs, then he deserved to see her break.

  Miamor lifted her head, her neck bobbling loosely as she felt every broken bone in her body. “I . . . I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Mecca stared at her in hatred while forcing himself to remain composed. “Disappear,” he stated with finality. “Leave and never look back.”

  He was instructing her to do the very thing that he had wished he could do. He was pardoning her and forcing her to start over. All she had to do was pick a place and act as though a girl named Miamor had never existed. Mecca turned and walked up the steps with an agonizing ache in his heart, but a lighter soul. His mind was telling him to put a hollow tip through Miamor’s chest, but his spirit was teaching him the hard lesson of forgiveness. He never looked back as he left Miamor. He was afraid that his rage might change his mind if he ever saw her face again.

  Miamor waited until she was sure that Mecca had gone before she lost all composure. The cry that erupted from her battered body reflected years of pain. No one knew the things that she had suppressed, but deep inside she knew that Mecca understood. He did her no favors. She was still bound and beaten near extinction, but he had left her with a tiny chance to survive. He owed her nothing, so that tiny act was a gift. It was ironically the kindest thing that anyone had ever done for her.

  Miamor grunted in excruciating pain as she used her body weight to tip the chair on its side. She wasn’t ready to meet her Maker, and the only thing stopping her from surviving was the rope that bound her. She pulled with all of her might, but the beating she had endured had robbed her of her strength. She was too weak to break free, and as she twisted her wrists, the friction burned into her skin.

  “Aghh!” she screamed out in frustration before finally giving up. The room spun around her as she lapsed in and out of consciousness. “God forgive me,” were the last words to escape her crusted lips before everything faded to black.

  Miamor’s eyes opened slowly and her heartbeat rapidly increased as she awakened from her four-day slumber. She was on full alert as her senses kicked into full gear. Her eyes darted around the foreign room, disoriented and confused. The sterile smell invaded her nose, making her ill instantly. It was so dark that all she could see was the fluorescent light that shined in the hallway, outlining the door to her room. Her pain was so great that it was immeasurable. Bruised and battered, Miamor was beyond repair. What she needed most was time for her body and mind to recuperate from the trauma she had endured.

  How did I get here? she thought as she lay deathly still. I have to get out of here. If Mecca finds me . . .

  The steady tone of the heart monitor and busy sounds of medical staff scurrying about outside of her room gave away her location. She was in a hospital, but she had no idea how she had gotten there. He told me to leave town. If he gets wind that I survived and that I’m here, he’ll come finish the job.

  Panicked, her body temperature began to rise and her pulse raced as fear caused her adrenaline to soar. Mecca had instilled a permanent terror in her heart. She had never been afraid of anyone, until now. Not even God had taught her a lesson so tough. Mecca had given her the craving to live, and in order to do that she had to get out of Miami . . . fast.

  Her panic caused the machines around her to sound off and she cursed herself silently. Miamor knew that the police would undoubtedly have questions for her that she wasn’t prepared to answer.

  She closed her eyes just as the handle on the door twisted open. Playing possum, she listened to the commotion around her.

  “What’s going on with our Jane Doe?” the doctor asked.

  “Blood pressure is up, heart rate is elevated,” a nurse responded. Miamor lay still as they checked her vitals. With her eyes closed and ears open she listened carefully.

  “She is lucky that those kids found her when they did. Another day and she might not have made it,” the nurse said with sympathy in her voice. “I can’t imagine why someone would hurt a young woman this way. With her injuries, I’m surprised she is even alive.”

  The doctor, focused on his job, merely grunted a reply. He had seen much worse in his ten years on the job. He wasn’t emotionally attached to the patients like the young, novice nurse. “Monitor her closely,” he finally said as he jotted notes on Miamor’s chart. “As soon as she wakes up, inform me and call this detective.” The doctor handed the nurse a card. “He would like to speak with her immediately. They’re running her prints now to see if they can gather some information on her.”

  Miamor’s internal alarm sounded off. She was in trouble. If those fingerprints came back, her juvenile records would pop up, giving them her government name. She had committed so many murders over the years that there was no telling how many times she had slipped up. In her mind, she had been so careful, so untouchable when she hit her marks, but all it took was one mistake . . . one partial fingerprint to lead the police directly to her. Every doorknob she had ever touched was now threatening her anonymity. Had she been careful, every time, all the time? Miamor couldn’t be so sure. Miamor tortured herself as she scrolled through her mental Rolodex, recalling every nigga she had ever hit, but the possibilities were endless. If those fingerprints came back, her freedom was in jeopardy.

  She waited until the nurse and doctor left the room before she shot up out of her bed. I’ve got to get out of here, now!

  She reached over and shut off the machines, then ripped the IV out of the front of her hand, wincing as blood tricked down her wrist.

  “Hmm!” she grunted while using all of her might to meander out of the bed and stand to her feet. They instantly gave out underneath her, and she fell hard to the cold tile floor. Miamor gripped the side of the bed, struggling to pull herself to her feet as she kept her eyes trained on the door. What should have been an easy task took all of her effort as perspiration gathered on her forehead. She steadied herself, panting hard as she willed her knees not to buckle. Her legs trembled like leaves in the wind and threatened to give out at any moment. Miamor had never been so weak in her life. The painkillers they had filled her with numbed the pain, but did nothing to erase her fatigue.

  Miamor’s fear was greater than anything she had ever felt. Her back was against a wall, and Mecca had taken all of the fight out of her. She struggled over to the door, using the bedrails as support as she slowly made her way across the room. Her body urged her to quit, but desperation fueled her shaky limbs.

  By the time she made it to the door, she felt as if she had run a marathon. The thin fabric of the hospital gown clung to her sweaty body, and her eyes were wide in alert. Nothing had ever taken so much energy or effort to accomplish.

  The walls of the hospital were the equivalent to death row. She was just waiting around to die . . . waiting for Mecca to get wind of her whereabouts and come finish the job as he had promised. The light in the hallway blinded her as she put her bare feet on the cold tile. Miamor felt the room spin, and she closed her eyes as she leaned against the wall to keep herself upright. Her deep breaths calmed the world around her, and when she opened her eyes a few stray tears slid down her cheeks.

  Overwhelmed, she took a step, avoiding eye contact with everyone around her as she crept along the wall. Nurses and doctors hurriedly bypassed her, too busy to notice that she was out of place. Miamor slid into the first supply closet she found. She rummaged through it silently, taking everything she could possibly need. When she found a pair of nurses’ scrubs folded on the shelf, she immediately changed into them, knowing that they would help her blend in with the other workers.

  Miamor tossed the hospital gown and stuffed gauze, alcohol pads, and a scalpel into her pockets before exiting again. This time, no one noticed her and she fit right in as she made her way slowly to the elevators on her floor. If anyone had looked down, her shoeless feet would have given her away.

  She slid into the elevators and sighed in relief as they shut behind her. Miamor’s body was threatening to shut down, but she kn
ew that if she lost her strength, she was dead.

  DING.

  The elevator doors opened in the lobby and when Miamor saw the entrance to the hospital, her heart fluttered. She was so close to freedom that she could taste it. Miamor walked out into the lobby, but when she saw three uniformed police officers enter the building, she halted. She turned instantly and crept into the stairwell, heading down.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” she whispered as she half ran, half stumbled down the flight of steps. She burst into the basement, but stopped in shock when she saw the dead bodies lying on cold metal slabs. Footsteps behind her resounded as she heard someone descending the steps. There was nowhere to run. Like a fly trapped in a spider’s web, Miamor was stuck, and in her current state she was too weak to fight.

  Miamor rushed over to the wall and fear pulsed through her. The steel wall housed metal drawers where bodies could be stored. Miamor pulled open a drawer, finding a stiff, cold body lying on a slab. She quickly closed it and moved to the next drawer. Another body. She looked back at the door, hearing a man’s voice as it drew near. She rushed to the next drawer. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was empty. She climbed on top of the metal slab and shuddered when she thought of how many lifeless souls had lain there before her. Her stomach turned and she felt as if she would throw up. Doing the unthinkable, she slid the drawer closed.

  The instant drop in temperature caused her to shiver. Her chest heaved as if she had just run a marathon, and her mind played tricks on her as she imagined the bodies around her. It was so cold that her teeth chattered, and she covered her mouth, blowing into her hands to create some warmth.

  The space that she was in was so tight that she could barely move. Claustrophobia set in as Miamor began to feel trapped. She had always been so composed, so strategic, but at this moment she was feeling emotional, irrational, and the death that surrounded her sent chills down her spine. Miamor wasn’t used to being so vulnerable, and if she didn’t get out of there she would crack.