Brooklyn Bombshells--Part 2 Page 18

  “Suicide pussy? What the fuck y’all niggas talkin’ bout?”

  “Three niggas that you used to fuck wit’ are now dead—God, KB, and that fuckin’ cop,” Daquan said.

  Charlie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Suicide pussy? She scowled at the disrespect to her name.

  “Look, I ain’t mean no disrespect to you, Charlie. I’m just the messenger,” Daquan added.

  “Fuck you and fuck all y’all muthafuckas! See if all y’all make another fuckin’ dime on these streets again,” she shouted.

  “C’mon, Charlie. It ain’t even like that,” said Dope.

  “It’s just like that, Dope. Y’all don’t want me around and don’t wanna fuck wit’ me, then fuck it—suffer the fuckin’ consequences, cuz I’m the head bitch in charge out here,” she continued to shout.

  Charlie pivoted and marched away from them. Once again, her name was mud on the streets.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chanel couldn’t sleep. How could she after seeing her sister lowered into the ground last week? She tried to block everything out, but it felt impossible. After seeing that casket go down into the dirt, the horrific events of the home invasion came flooding back. Her rape felt like it happened yesterday. Claire’s suicide and her burial had triggered something inside of Chanel, and it was becoming harder for her to shake it off. It could have easily been her and Mateo being buried. God and Charlie were two dangerous people. Chanel felt lucky to be alive, but she felt haunted by some creepy entity. She felt that something was coming after her—chasing her. She felt cursed almost.

  She tried to get some sleep, but it wasn’t happening. It was after midnight and her bedroom felt too still—too quiet. It felt like something was in there with her. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her, but she didn’t want to be alone tonight. She wanted some comfort, and she knew exactly where to find it. She got up from her bed and exited the room.

  Pyro was shocked when he heard the faint tapping on his bedroom door. He got up from the bed wearing only his boxers and opened it. There was Chanel in her T-shirt with a sad look on her face.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  “Can I sleep with you tonight? I can’t sleep. I’m having these upsetting visions, and they’re bothering me.”

  “Yeah. Sure,” he said.

  Chanel crawled into Pyro’s bed and snuggled against him. She wanted to be held. She wanted to be protected by him. Pyro was the only person who made her feel secure. She laid her head against his chest and exhaled. Eventually, she felt at ease and secure in his arms. She could feel the warmth from his body. She wasn’t seeing any more upsetting visions while lying with Pyro.

  She felt so soft and curvy against him. He didn’t want to let her go. Her smell was enticing. His dick was hard for her. He wanted to feel her again. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she made him feel and the way she made him come. Mecca was good, but sex with Chanel was something completely different.

  He didn’t want to make a move on her unless she wanted the same thing too. Unfortunately for him, Chanel quickly fell asleep.

  The next morning, Pyro was awakened by Chanel softly rubbing on his chest and stomach. Groggily, he gazed into her eyes.

  “Thank you for holding me last night,” she said.

  “You know I got you, Chanel.”

  “I know. You’re always there for me.”

  “Whenever you need me,” he assured her.

  She smiled and continued to massage his chest and stomach. Pyro cupped her face into his hands and a deep and passionate kiss ensued. Soon, the little bit of clothes they had on came off, and their flesh met once again. Chanel was on her back looking into Pyro’s eyes, her legs wrapped around him. Once again, he thrust himself inside her without a condom and she moaned. His hard dick was hitting her spot and he was about to make her come. He fucked her slowly and with conviction, and the wet, lathered juices coating his dick told him that she loved every second of it.

  “Ooooh, Pyro . . . I . . . I love you,” she whispered to him as she felt his hard dick steadily move in and out of her.

  He heard the words, but he didn’t respond to them. Instead, he continued to please her. He drove deeper into her flesh, and her cries became primal as she felt herself about to come.

  Pyro gave Chanel her first orgasm of the morning, but they weren’t done. It was one of several that she was going to have this morning. The two twisted around on his bed, subsequently becoming knotted underneath the sheets.

  The more pleasure he gave her, the more she gave him. Now the sheets were on the floor and they were fucking on the bare mattress. He continued to thrust inside of her, feeling his orgasm brewing. At first, Pyro was tempted to come inside of her without a condom. He wanted to finish off strong and not pull out, but he knew it would be a mistake. He pulled out just in time as his semen spilled onto Chanel’s smooth stomach. He watched her body react with tremors from another orgasm. They collapsed together on the bed, sweat covering their bodies. They were both exhausted.

  Chanel gazed into Pyro’s eyes and smiled warmly.

  “I love you too,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Charlie gulped from the bottle of 1800 tequila like it was a bottle of water. She was lounging on the couch in the dark, trying to drink her troubles away. She was supposed to be living her best life, but muthafuckas kept getting in her way. She was frustrated, lonely, and she had no man and no one to harass, kill, or bully. Claire was dead, and she couldn’t get a location on Chanel. She wanted to set Chanel’s pretty white Range Rover on fire and watch it burn. She wanted to slice her sister’s face to shreds and have Pyro and Mateo murdered.

  Those were her twisted and demonic wishes.

  She was furious that the NYPD couldn’t get an address on these Bronx muthafuckas. There seemed to be some kind of hedge of protection surrounding Chanel that she couldn’t penetrate.

  She had just taken another hearty swig of tequila when the familiar hard banging at her door startled her. She frowned and got up and opened the door to see two New Jersey detectives. The moment they flashed their badges, Charlie’s stomach did a somersault. She knew exactly why there were there. God AKA Godfrey Williams.

  Fuck!

  “Charlie Brown?” the detective queried.

  Charlie knew she couldn’t lie about her name. It would have been stupid. “What do y’all want?”

  “Can we come in?”

  “Whatever,” she grumbled, stepping aside.

  She realized that changing her temperament toward them would be wise. She asked with a polite smile, “Y’all want coffee or something?”

  The tough talking, slick mouthed gangster bitch diva that she was became muted. This was murder, and she wanted to get out from under suspicion and investigation.

  “No thanks.”

  The detectives told her that her name had come up in a murder investigation and they started to ask her a few questions. The one question that gave Charlie pause was, “Have you ever been to 576 Little Town Road, apartment 3f in Middle Village, New Jersey to see a Godfrey Williams, or God, as the streets called him?”

  Charlie knew that if she denied being there and they found her DNA on the scene, she would be fucked. But, if she said yes and no DNA was found, she would be opening the door to additional questioning. She inhaled to buy herself some time to think. She remembered the number-one rule—don’t snitch—and she certainly wasn’t going to snitch on herself.

  “No, I never been there. We broke up some time before he was killed,” she lied.

  “Was there any animosity between you two?”

  She watched as they jotted down notes to her answers. Again, another question to stump her. She was trying to play chess with the detectives. Why not build some trust by giving them some truth?

  “Honestly, there was. I broke
up with him because I had reasons to believe he might have had something to do with my sister’s rape,” she said.

  She figured it would be a huge revelation, but she was stunned when one of the detectives said, “Yeah, we’ve heard about that, and the DNA has come back conclusive. He did rape your sister. But we also heard that you were the mastermind behind it.”

  Wait? What? She was taken aback by their reply. They already knew. New Jersey? These sneaky muthafuckas! Now she wondered what their true intentions were. Were they there for God’s murder, her sister’s rape, or Mateo’s attempted murder? Charlie started to feel foolish and wondered if it was stupid to talk to them without a lawyer.

  “I didn’t know,” she replied, appearing to be somewhat offended. She pushed back from the table and she started to sob. “I could never do such a thing to my baby sister!” she wailed.

  The detectives were unaffected by her outburst. They weren’t there to give her any sympathy. They were there to solve a case. They continued to press.

  “Do you know why you would be implicated?”

  “No! Of course not. Just ask Chanel, she’ll tell you.”

  “We are trying to find her. Could you give us your sister’s address?”

  Charlie stammered, “I-I-I don’t have an address for her.”

  “No. Why not?” They were confused.

  “I mean, I do have an address for her, but I can’t give it. She went into hiding after that nasty pervert raped her.”

  “But you’re facing serious charges, so I’m sure your sister will understand you giving us her address to help us clear your name.”

  It felt like the questions from the detectives would never end. They kept coming for her, like they wanted her to slip up and say something incriminating. Them challenging her brought out the real Charlie.

  “You know what? I think I’m done here,” she snapped. “Y’all can leave now, and next time I talk to y’all, I will have a lawyer present.”

  They were dumbfounded by the sudden change.

  “We’ll have a warrant next time,” one of them replied.

  “Get the fuck out!” she shouted. “Fuckin’ pigs!”

  Calmly, they left the place. Charlie was upset and nervous at the same time. A few minutes later, she realized that she had played her hand wrong. She let her temper get the best of her. They were New Jersey detectives and most likely they didn’t have any jurisdiction over Chanel’s case in the Bronx. Chanel’s rape was just a ruse to upset her, and she fell for it.

  Charlie retrieved her bottle of 1800 tequila and took a mouthful from it. She dropped against the couch and took another swig. She needed to think. Ahbou was gone, but she still had Mona to watch her back.

  Charlie needed her cop cronies to take care of her problem. She wanted them to make the investigation go away permanently. What good was it to have NYPD connections if some inept New Jersey detectives could come fuck with her? They had their suspect, so why they were bothering her?

  “Fuck ’em,” she cursed. “Let them try to put me in jail. I got another thing for they bitch asses!”

  Meanwhile, outside the apartment, the detectives walked to the car. They weren’t upset about Charlie’s outburst. They pushed and pushed until the bubble finally popped. They knew that she had a hand in both the rape and God’s murder. But God’s death was their case, not her sister’s rape. Charlie had guilt written all over her face, and the detectives would do what they could to prove it. It wasn’t too late to drop the charges against Kym before she was convicted of a crime she didn’t commit.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It happened again, and then again and again. Chanel and Pyro were having an affair. Chanel didn’t want to be consumed by guilt, but Pyro made her feel so good. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. The sex was great—really great—and Chanel even went down on Pyro several times Things were escalating between them. They couldn’t get enough of each other, and they were having sex right under Mecca’s nose.

  Chanel lingered in the hot shower, feeling the water cascading against her skin. She wished Pyro was with her, holding her, caressing her, and making love to her in the shower, which had happened before. But then her mind shifted to Mateo and how emotionally supportive he was when she told him about Claire’s suicide and Bacardi’s paternity admission, and the pang of guilt she felt ended her steamy fantasy.

  She got out of the shower and toweled off. She stared at her naked image in the mirror and thought about how her mother had told her to never tell Mateo about her and Pyro.

  Pyro wasn’t home, and she had no idea where he was. She didn’t keep tabs on him, but she did care about him—a lot—and she sometimes worried about him. He was a hustler, and the streets were a dangerous place for a man like him. Pyro knew how to take care of himself, but Chanel couldn’t help but to think what would she do if something were to happen to him.

  Her cell phone rang, knocking her back to reality. It was Mecca calling. Shit. She didn’t want to answer. Chanel hadn’t talked to Mecca in over a week, and even when she did, it was hard knowing she and Pyro had a thing. She decided she needed to answer. Otherwise, Mecca would start to wonder why she was avoiding her.

  “Hello?”

  “Chanel, can we talk?”

  “What’s going on, Mecca? You okay?”

  “No. I’m not. I really need someone to talk to,” she said.

  “Come by then. I’m here,” Chanel said.

  “No. Can you come to my place?”

  “Yeah, sure. I can be over there in about two hours.”

  “Okay.”

  Mecca ended the call.

  As she got dressed, Chanel felt nervous about meeting Mecca at her apartment. What if she found out about Pyro and me? What if she wants to fight me?

  Mecca buzzed Chanel up, and she took the elevator to the third floor. Her nerves were shot as she approached her friend’s door. She had her guilt. Two days ago, she and Pyro were together in his bed.

  She took a deep breath and knocked.

  The door opened, and Mecca appeared in front of Chanel looking like she had been crying. They looked at each other. Chanel thought, Are we still friends or not? Did Pyro tell her about us? No—he wouldn’t.

  “Just come in, Chanel,” she said.

  Chanel entered the apartment. Mecca looked tired and distraught. Something was definitely bothering her.

  “Mecca, what’s going on with you? What happened?”

  “I’m just trying not to trip or flip out, Chanel,” she replied.

  “Flip out over what?” Chanel asked nervously.

  Chanel remained standing as Mecca took a seat. She needed to be on guard just in case things went left. She still had no idea what her friend was upset about.

  “It’s Pyro . . .”

  “I figured it had to be about him. What did he do to you? Y’all broke up or something?” she asked sheepishly.

  “No.”

  “Mecca, just talk to me. I’m here for you. You know you can tell me anything. I got your back.”

  Mecca looked at Chanel with teary and troubled eyes. “I thought Pyro was going to propose to me. I was so sure about it. But he hasn’t yet. And lately, he’s been acting distant. Like, we haven’t had sex in two weeks, and every time I call him, he’s busy. I mean, c’mon, Chanel, he’s supposed to be my man and suddenly he doesn’t have time for me?”

  “Mecca, you know he’s a busy man.”

  Mecca shook her head. “Bullshit. That’s not an excuse.”

  Chanel replied, “I know.”

  Mecca dried her eyes and looked at her friend. “Chanel, I want you to be honest with me . . .”

  Shit! Please don’t ask me if I’m fucking Pyro.

  Chanel didn’t want to lie to her friend, but she was bracing herself for the inevitable.

  Mecca cont
inued with, “Is Pyro fucking somebody else? Does he have another bitch in his life? Have you seen someone else over there? And please, don’t lie to me. I need to know.”

  “Mecca, you know I don’t want to get involved with y’all business.”

  “You’re my friend, Chanel, and Pyro is Mateo’s friend. Your loyalty is to me. I need your help—your advice.”

  “Why don’t you just sit down with Pyro and tell him your issues? He loves you, I know it. And I assure you, there is no one else in his life. If there was, I would definitely tell you,” Chanel said.

  “But I don’t get it. Why is he suddenly so distant from me?”

  “Why did you think Pyro was going to ask you to marry him?”

  Mecca shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I was reading his signals correctly, but maybe I was wrong.”

  “Sometimes we want something so badly, that we make ourselves believe it will come true. And I’m not saying Pyro’s not going to marry you, because I know he loves you, but maybe just give it some time and it will happen.”

  “I love him, Chanel. He’s my world and I don’t know what I would do without him—or if he was fucking someone else. I would die if that was the case,” Mecca uttered.

  Chanel sighed. “He’s not. I know he’s not.”

  Mecca stared at her friend and replied, “I guess you would know, right? You’re always with him.”

  And what that’s supposed to mean? Was Mecca hinting at something?

  “But you’re right, Chanel. I will talk to him about our future. I can’t assume anything anymore; it needs to come from the horse’s mouth,” Mecca said.

  “Right.”

  Again, Chanel thought Mecca was implying something, but she couldn’t jump to judgment. Her friend was upset and wasn’t thinking rationally. So, she decided to leave it alone. Unless Mecca came at her directly about it, it was useless to bring the issue up.

  Chanel spent most of the day with Mecca. They continued to talk, but it wasn’t about Pyro. It almost felt like the old days when Chanel would visit Mecca to escape her hellish home life. They talked about old friends and old times, the neighborhood, and even Claire.