They exited Nick’s SUV simultaneously, and with their guns in hands and their eyes fixed on Citi and Scar approaching the restaurant, they marched toward their two foes audaciously. Their arms became outstretched with the barrels of their guns aimed at the unknowing couple—and then chaos ensued.
Bak! Bak! Bak! Bak!
Bac! Bac! Bac! Bac! Bac!
A barrage of bullets went flying at Citi and Scar. Immediately Citi ducked and took cover behind a parked car as car windows exploded around her and shards of glass went flying everywhere. She tried to get the pistol she carried in her purse, but she was so scared, the weapon fumbled from her hands.
Scar took cover behind another parked car and he removed the .45 tucked in his waistband and heatedly returned fire at the threat. Pacho and Damon emerged from the Yukon and soon joined Scar in the intense gunfight.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Bak! Bak! Bak!
The shooting sent a wave of panic throughout the area. Bystanders frantically ran screaming for cover, and the patrons inside Junior’s freaked out at the gun battle echoing from the streets.
Nick and Apple were hell bent on killing everyone. They were in a murderous trance, aiming to blow Scar and Citi’s head off. But their two goons provided cover fire for the couple and quickly made things complicated and dangerous.
Still cowering behind the car and not wanting to die, Citi managed to pick up the gun and made a beeline toward safety. Scar was entrenched in violence and the shootout, and with the .45 in his hand, he took going berserk to a whole new level. The pistol repeatedly exploded in his hand, and he didn’t flinch as bullets dangerously whizzed by him. One bullet even struck a nearby bystander in his chest.
It being Downtown Brooklyn and a very active area, it didn’t take long for police sirens to blare in the distance. The shooters were about to have NYPD company, and none of them wanted to be caught with a smoking gun in their hands.
Apple and Nick made their way back to the SUV, but as everyone was fleeing the scene, Scar and Nick locked eyes. Scar saluted to Nick with two fingers and a cynical grin, then climbed into the Range Rover and sped off. It was as if he took Nick to be a joke.
Nick knew that the nigga was operating on a different frequency than the average thug—psychotic and eccentric. Nick wasn’t impressed, and it pissed him off that a fool like Scar had tried to clown him.
Scar had just made things personal.
14
Citi hurried into her lavish penthouse suite on the Upper West Side of Manhattan highly upset. There wasn’t any way she was heading back to Astoria tonight in her frantic condition. She couldn’t stop shaking or crying. Scar witnessed her having a full blown breakdown. She kept chanting, “What the fuck! They almost killed us! What the fuck! What the fuck!”
“Citi, just calm the fuck down,” Scar said.
“I can’t calm the fuck down, Scar! We were nearly killed out there! What the fuck! What the fuck!”
“But we wasn’t, right?” he coolly replied.
She looked at him like he had two heads. “How can you just stand there and look so nonchalant?”
Scar shrugged, removed a blunt from his pocket, and sparked it up. The shootout was amateur town to him. It wasn’t his first rodeo with death, and he’d been in worse situations and still survived.
“Gettin’ yaself all worked up ain’t gonna do shit—it ain’t gonna fuckin’ help, a’ight? I got this shit. We gon’ fuck up some niggas’ shit over this,” he said with gusto.
She stared at him smoking his blunt. He didn’t even break a sweat. He didn’t blink or fold under the pressure. The nigga was extra, special crazy, and it was why she had him by her side and on her team.
“You think niggas gonna take shots at me and live?” he continued.
“But who?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know, bitch. But believe me, I’m gonna fuckin’ find out.”
Hearing the commotion in the living room, Cane emerged from one of the backrooms shirtless and looking laidback. He gazed at his sister and Scar. He noticed Citi’s uneasiness and apprehension and asked, “What the fuck happened wit’ ya’ll two?”
“We were shot at,” Citi said.
“What? What the fuck you talkin’ about? By who?” Cane asked, suddenly amped.
“We don’t know.”
“What the fuck you mean, you don’t know?” Cane shouted.
“I don’t know!” Citi screamed. “I didn’t see their faces. But one was definitely a bitch.”
“A bitch?” Cane said.
Suddenly, an afterthought came to her. A bitch. Who else but those bitches would be bold enough to come at her and cause chaos in such a public place?
“What if it was Apple? Or Cartier? Or both?” she said with a look of wide-eyed panic.
Scar proclaimed that he didn’t see any woman. “The only thing I saw was a bitch-ass, non-shooting nigga.”
Citi paced back and forth inside the main room. She needed a drink. She poured herself a shot of liquor and quickly downed it. Cane was still trying to interrogate her, but Citi was in no mood to answer any of his questions. She continued to rant about revenge coming from Apple and Cartier, but Cane didn’t believe her.
“Them fuckin’ bitches are dead, Citi. They were killed by the Gonzales Cartel, so what the fuck you talkin’ about, crazy?” Cane griped.
“No . . . it was them, Cane,” she replied adamantly.
“You losing ya fuckin’ mind, Citi,” Scar chided.
“I think she is,” Cane agreed.
“No, I’m not!” Citi shouted irately. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth, Cane. We all faked our deaths so we could get out of Miami alive. I used that opportunity to steal Apple and Cartier’s money and then helped perpetuate the lie that the Gonzales Cartel had murdered them. I felt in my heart that the cartel would see through the ruse and it would only be a matter of time before they were caught and murdered. But now, I am almost sure that it could be them.”
“The whole truth,” Cane shook his head. Shit just got complicated. “All you did was lie. All this time, Citi, and you kept your come-up a secret from me!”
“Calm down, Cane. She did what she had to do,” Scar said. “And as I said, I ain’t see no bitch. Citi buggin’.”
Citi felt like she was having a panic attack. She didn’t want to believe that she was losing her mind. She saw the woman aiming at her, and although she didn’t get a good look at her face, she was adamant that it was Cartier or Apple gunning for her.
“I need a fuckin’ drink too,” said Cane.
He went over to the bar near the floor-to-ceiling windows and poured himself a shot of Hennessy and threw it back. Cane had a lot on his mind too—like his missing half-a-million dollars and the death of his bitch. But he kept those things secret from Citi and Scar for the time being. They already had a lot on their plate, and he didn’t have any leads.
“Sis, you look like you need to relax. Go in your bedroom and chill for a minute . . . take a long bath wit’ some candles or something,” he said. “And a stiff drink.”
“A bath?” Citi rolled her eyes. “I hate when men say shit like ‘go take a bath, light candles, and have a glass of wine’ like that will make every fuckin’ thing better! And silly bitches play into that sick, stupid-ass man fantasy. Did you not hear I was almost killed tonight? How is water and some fuckin’ bubbles gonna make shit better? Yeah, let me go wash my ass and now I feel great. Thanks for the advice, Cane.”
“Yo, you wildin’. It was just a suggestion.”
“Well, I suggest you find those bitches!”
“What bitches?!” Both Scar and Cane screamed. They were tired of hearing her voice.
Scar continued, “Citi, take your narrow ass to the back and chill. You fuckin’ up my high wit’ your paranoia. I told you there wasn’t no bitch buss
ing her gun. Your scary ass was too busy hidin’ to see shit anyways.”
Scar began mocking how Citi was ducking for cover behind the car, and he and Cane erupted in laughter.
Maybe Scar was right. Maybe she was paranoid. He was there too and if he said he didn’t see a bitch then maybe that’s because there wasn’t one. It had been a long night. Maybe she needed some rest.
“I’ll be in my bedroom,” she said to whoever gave a fuck.
Both men watched her trek down the long corridor and observed her disappear into the bedroom and close the door behind her.
“You think she gonna be a’ight?” asked Scar.
“She good. We come from strong genes, Scar,” replied Cane.
“You wanna hit?” Scar said, holding his blunt up.
“Shit, nigga, you read my fuckin’ mind.”
Scar and Cane lingered in the living room and got high off of potent weed and sipped on some brown juice.
Meanwhile, Citi sat in silence on her king size bed in the dim bedroom for a moment. The curtains to her bedroom were drawn back, and she gazed at the illuminated view of Central Park in the distance.
Citi was filled with worries, and not just about her own safety. She thought about Pacho. He was there too, firing away and trying to protect her with his own life. She had no idea if he had been injured in the gun battle or arrested.
She picked up her cell phone and dialed his number. With the phone pressed to her ear, she heard it ring several times before it went to his voicemail. She hung up. She didn’t like leaving messages.
Citi heaved a long sigh and gazed out the window. She decided to try Pacho again, hoping that he picked up this time. His cell phone rang several times again, and Citi expected to get his voicemail a second time.
Surprisingly, she heard him answer with, “Yo.”
“Pacho! Ohmygod, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered coolly.
“Where are you?”
“I’m home.”
Citi was relieved to hear that.
“I need to see you,” she said.
“When?”
With Scar and Cane in the next room, it was going to be nearly impossible to sneak by them and see Pacho. What excuse would she have for leaving the penthouse so unexpectedly? But why would she need to give them an excuse? She was supposedly the one running the show and this was her empire and her money, and she was a grown woman.
Fuck taking a bath and moping in her bedroom. Citi needed to get out. She yearned to see Pacho. He would take her mind away from her troubles. She stood up abruptly and marched toward her walk-in closet, swung open the doors, and decided to change clothes.
An hour later, Citi walked into the living room to find her brother and Scar lounging on the large couch, and both men were high and tipsy. They were like two fools. She shook her head at them and continued to walk by them, leaving the penthouse unnoticed until she ran into two of Scar’s goons that were on standby nearby. Seeing Citi exiting the penthouse alone, they grew concerned.
“You okay, Ms. Citi?” one of the men asked her.
“Yeah, I just need some time alone. I need some air. I’m going for a walk,” she said.
“Then we need to escort you,” said the other.
“I said I’m fine. I don’t need an escort,” she snapped at them.
“But Scar insisted—”
“You don’t work for Scar. You work for me,” she exclaimed. “And I said I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter.”
Both men were skeptical about her leaving the comfort and security of her place to go for a walk alone, especially after someone had tried to kill them earlier. But Citi was adamant. She gave them an order, and they had to follow it—or else. Both armed men watched Citi disappear into the elevator and hoped that letting her leave alone wouldn’t come back to haunt them. The last thing they wanted was to be reprimanded by Scar. That could be a death sentence.
Citi strutted through the empty lobby and made her way outside into the brisk air. She looked stylish in a pair of fitted jeans that accentuated her figure and butt, a brown leather jacket, and knee-high boots. Pacho was parked outside the towering building in the idling SUV, waiting patiently for Citi’s exit. Resting on his lap was a loaded SIG Sauer P226. It was poised for action with a bullet in the chamber—just in case. Pacho smiled when Citi came through the automatic doors. She was a wealthy drug kingpin, but to him, she was some of the best pussy he ever had, and she was his comfort and joy. He hated that they had to hide from Scar, but it was too dangerous to expose their relationship.
Citi happily strutted toward the SUV and slid into the passenger seat. They shared a quick, passionate kiss like they were two teenagers sneaking out their parents’ house for a rendezvous.
“You good?” he asked her.
“I’m better now.” She smiled.
Pacho drove off. To where, he had no idea yet. Citi wanted to escape with him, even if it was temporary. She felt comfort and security with Pacho. She was glad that he was home. Scar was a fearsome ally to her organization, but he couldn’t provide the kind of comfort and sexual healing that Pacho offered, and tonight, she needed that kind of healing.
They checked into a room inside the Kimpton Ink48 Hotel, a stone’s throw away from the West Side Highway. From their room was a dramatic view of the Hudson River and Midtown skyscrapers.
The two lovers kissed fervently, hugging and groping each other inside the contemporary room. Citi could lose herself with Pacho. His touch was riveting and his kisses on her lips and her skin were creating a ripple effect of emotions and urges. He slowly peeled away her clothes, yearning to see her nakedness like it would be the first time. That’s what she loved about him. The way he looked at her was always the first time their eyes met and their bodies became entwined. She loved it.
Almost immediately, she cried out with ecstasy when she felt his soft, skillful tongue tunneling inside of her. She closed her eyes and squirmed in his grasp with her legs in the air and her fingers holding on to the bed sheets for dear life.
“Aaaah . . .”
Subsequently, Pacho thrust his hard dick deep inside her. It didn’t take him long to find the special pleasure spots inside her, and they fucked like hardcore porn stars. They were young and energetic, and Pacho didn’t disappoint her tonight. He always came with his A game—a big hard dick and perfect rhythm. After several strong orgasms, Citi collapsed with delight on the bed next to Pacho and exhaled.
The sex was great, but Pacho’s love and intimacy was what she really cherished.
“Hey, let me ask you something. Did you see a bitch tonight? Or, bitches shooting at us?”
“Bitches?” Pacho thought for a beat. “Nah, no bitches. There were two triggermen, though. One was more aggressive. He’s the one I tried to blow his fuckin’ head off.”
Citi nodded. She trusted Pacho implicitly, so his word was her holy grail. She could now move on and allow Scar and Cane to focus on getting at the niggas who tried to dead them. Feeling renewed, Citi wanted to feel Pacho’s big dick stretching out her tight walls again.
And then her cell phone rang. Scar was calling her and ruining the mood. Citi stared at her phone with some contempt, but she didn’t want Scar to become suspicious. She had told his two goons that she was going for a walk, and that was over two hours ago.
Pacho stared at her with some concern.
“It’s Scar,” she said.
“You gonna answer it?”
She sighed heavily and answered the phone. “What?”
“Where the fuck you at, Citi?” Scar griped.
“I went for a walk,” she said.
“To where? Fuckin’ Canada!”
“I’m a big girl, Scar. I don’t need you fuckin’ babysitting me,” she retorted.
“Yo, look here—we got b
eef out there, and unless you Super-fuckin’-woman, I suggest you don’t trek off all by yourself an’ shit. I should fuck these niggas up for letting you go by them without them doin’ shit.”
“It’s not their fault.”
“I don’t give a fuck who fault it is. You ain’t fuckin’ here cuz you out there.”
“I’m on my way back,” she said in defeat.
“Hurry the fuck up!”
Citi sighed so heavily that it felt like her chest was about to cave in. She looked at Pacho and said to him, “I need to go.”
“He don’t deserve you,” he said.
“I know, but he’s needed right now, especially after tonight’s incident,” she replied.
“I thought you was the one running things.”
She didn’t like that comment. Of course she was, but her position in the organization was tough. With a man like Scar by her side representing power and authority, they could appear and become untouchable.
Citi removed herself from the bed and started to get dressed. Pacho didn’t want her to leave so soon. He felt that their night was only just beginning. Scar was getting in the way of their affair and he wasn’t happy.
Dressed and ready to leave, Citi lovingly stared at Pacho and uttered the words, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said.
She dashed out the hotel room like she was a married woman running back to her husband. Pacho sat there and wondered how long could they keep up their affair before Scar found out. If he did, then that was surely a death sentence. Pacho wondered if Citi was worth dying over. Right now the answer was an emphatic yes. But he wondered if he would feel that same way with a .45 against his temple.
15
Nick sat in his living room contemplating his next move while puffing on a cigarette. Had they moved too fast on Scar and Citi? But the opportunity to strike had fallen right in their laps. He sat there with a bruised ego trying to convince himself that Apple wasn’t bad luck. Did she fuck up his mojo? Never in his entire life had he pulled the trigger so many times and never hit his target. How did I miss Scar? Nick had a clear shot of Scar—clear enough to see the pimples on his face—and he’d missed.
South Beach Cartel Page 9
