Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick

  Coca

  Kola

  The Baddest Chick

  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.

  Coca Kola. Copyright © 2011 by Melodrama Publishing. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. 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.

  www.melodramapublishing.com

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011927249

  ISBN-13: 978-1934157480

  ISBN-10: 1934157481

  EISBN: 978-1-620780-091

  First Edition: March 2012

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Interior Design: Candace K. Cottrell

  Cover Design: Marion Designs

  Model: Vanessa

  Also By Nisa Santiago

  Cartier Cartel

  Return of the Cartier Cartel (part 2)

  Dirty Money Honey (with Erica Hilton and Kim K.)

  Bad Apple - The Baddest Chick (Part 1)

  Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick (Part 2)

  Checkmate - The Baddest Chick (Part 3)

  Guard the Throne

  Prologue

  The understaffed trauma unit at Harlem Hospital was overrun with 9-1-1 calls. It seemed like everybody who had fallen ill, gotten shot or stabbed, or had some unknown sickness had come to that hospital for treatment. The hallway was lined with the sick and injured, some needing to be restrained, others fighting to survive their injuries. The echoes of the men and women in agony seemed never-ending to the doctors and nurses bustling back and forth from one patient to the next.

  The EMS bus brought in a patient who was screaming and definitely out of control. She was barely strapped down to the gurney and had suffered serious burns to most of her face.

  As the staff hurried her into the center, she screamed out, “I’ma kill that bitch! I’ma kill that fuckin’ bitch! Aaaah, shit, it hurts! It hurts! It fuckin’ hurts!”

  The medical team wanted to treat her as quickly as possible, but she was kicking, screaming, and squirming on the rushing gurney.

  “Get the fuck off me! Get off me!” Apple yelled, sounding crazy.

  “Ma’am, just calm down. We’re trying to help you. Just stay calm,” the night RN said, trying to hold Apple down on the gurney with the help of the other team members.

  “What happened to you?” another nurse asked.

  Apple refused to be cooperative, though. She continued kicking and screaming, feeling her face painfully melting away like the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz.

  She screamed out, “My fuckin’ face! My fuckin’ face! I’ma kill that bitch! Aaaah!”

  “She needs to be sedated,” the doctor said.

  After wheeling Apple into a private room cluttered with staff and security, the nurses started prepping her and the room for an emergency surgery. The sedative was being prepared, and the doctors wanted to tend to the burns right away. From the looks of her injuries, they were confident that Apple would need some major skin grafting procedures.

  Apple kicked one of the nurses into a shelf filled with medical supplies, causing them to spill over.

  “Hold her down!” the doctor yelled.

  It took security and four staff members to hold Apple down while the RN tried to stick the syringe filled with a sedative into her arm, her screams echoing through the trauma center.

  “Get off meeee!” she yelled.

  She tried to bite the second nurse, but her arms were forced to her side by security. The RN quickly thrust the syringe into Apple’s right arm, hoping it worked promptly.

  Apple’s chest heaved and dropped like a winded athlete’s, her wildness slowly fading and her facial expression looking more serene. There was finally some calm in the room.

  “Shit!” the RN exclaimed, shocked that the teenage girl was so strong.

  Immediately, they began operating on her burns. The doctor tried to operate the best he could on her face, but the acid had done severe damage. It would take a miracle for Apple to look the way she used to.

  ***

  Apple slowly opened her eyes hours later to find her face heavily bandaged. Still loopy from the sedative, she touched the dressing slowly and gently. She started to cry when she realized how ugly she must be.

  When she closed her eyes to try and stop the crying, she heard a nurse say, “You need to rest.”

  Turning to look at the short, round nurse clad in blue-and-white scrubs, Apple yelled, “I want a fuckin’ plastic surgeon now, bitch!”

  “Ma’am, you need to rest.”

  “Fuck that! Look at me!” she cried out.

  The nurse had a sad look on her face. She wanted to console the eighteen-year-old but thought against it. Instead, she checked Apple’s IV flow, jotted something down on a clipboard, and walked out the room, leaving Apple feeling alone and disgusted.

  Apple fell asleep again and woke up hours later in the burn unit. Alone in the room, the only thing on her mind was revenge. Every time she touched the bandages, which covered most of her burned face, she fumed with rage. Then she’d start crying, with the realization that she was no longer pretty.

  The doctors gave her another sedative to calm her down.

  ***

  Chico charged into the hospital, searching for his woman. He argued with security and then a few staff members, shouting, “Where’s my fuckin’ girl?”

  One of Apple’s doctors escorted him toward the burn unit, where she was heavily sedated. Her burns were itching and painful, but she couldn’t scratch.

  Chico stopped at the doorway, a look of shock on his face. He couldn’t believe it. She looked like a mummy as she lay in bed.

  “What the fuck!”

  Apple slowly turned to see her love, Chico, standing in the doorway, but she didn’t say a word to him. The medication in her system had her drowsy and dizzy.

  Chico rushed into the room, took Apple’s hand into his, and looked at her with that firm love in his eyes. “Baby, who the fuck did this shit to you? Just give me a fuckin’ name, and they dead. I promise you that.”

  Apple locked eyes with her boyfriend. “Kola . . . Kola . . . Kola.”

  Chapter 1

  Kola violently awakened out of her sleep with an inexplicable yelp and rose up in a cold sweat, staring into a dark room. She felt something being ripped away from her, tearing into her soul, like a shovel slicing into dirt. Kola didn’t want to panic, but the dream seemed so real. She was feeling out of breath with a sharp pain in her chest and agony in her heart. She placed her hand against her chest and looked over to see an empty bed. Cross wasn’t home for the third straight night, but she knew he was a busy man, a natural-born hustler who had her living in the lap of luxury.

  Suddenly, the dark was making Kola uncomfortable. She got out of bed and turned on the lights. She looked around her magnificent bedroom with the large skylight above the bed, volume ceiling, fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows, large plasma flat-screen, and high-end bedroom set with a platinum-colored bedspread. It was the only way Kola could live and wanted to live—like a queen and with her man running Harlem like a king.

  Kola donned her long peach silk robe and walked over to the large mahogany Serena dresser mirror to peer at her image. She was naked underneath the robe—her curves, ample breasts, and shaved pussy showing in the reflection. She had a body that many women would envy her for, and it belonged to Cross. Her body was his tem
ple. She was in love with him, and he took care of her. She understood why Apple was so in love with him, and she had no regrets snatching away the man her sister had idolized and loved for so long. You snooze, you lose, Kola believed.

  Kola and Cross were the Bonnie and Clyde of Harlem, attractive and deadly at the same time. Their illicit empire was growing, and her sex parties were the talk of the town. Kola had made a name for herself generating so much money, and she didn’t know what to do with it all. And with Cross by her side, she felt untouchable.

  Kola continued to stare at herself in the mirror, trying to shake the eerie feeling. For some reason, she felt her skin itch, and it almost felt like she was being watched. She pulled open her drawer and removed a pack of Newports. She lit the cigarette quickly and took a much-needed drag from the cancer stick.

  She then walked over to the bed and took a seat, searching for the remote to the flat-screen. She glanced at the time. It was three in the morning. After taking another pull from the cigarette, she sighed heavily, clicked on the television, and looked at a few infomercials for a moment. Wanting to get her mind out of a bad place, she continued to smoke while looking at the TV, but she couldn’t shake that odd feeling.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said to herself.

  She got up to dump the contents out of her purse and picked up her cell phone. No messages or missed calls.

  She started to worry about Cross, who had told her that he was out on business. She trusted him. She knew Cross could handle himself, and if something was wrong, he would call her. Yet, she couldn’t help feeling a little scared.

  She walked over to the window and stared down at her new black M-class Benz truck parked in the circular driveway. She loved how she looked in the truck.

  Kola loved the suburbs like she loved Harlem. However, being miles away from Harlem gave her peace of mind and kept the bitches and bitch-assness out of her business.

  “Where are you, baby?” Kola whispered, staring out the window as she continued to smoke.

  She had an itch between her thighs that needed to be scratched, and Cross was the one man able to scratch it for her. Her pussy tingled for his touch, and her nipples felt like pebbles as she thought about his kisses.

  Kola sighed, extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, and walked away from the window. She didn’t want to be alone. She felt troubled, which was a new feeling for her. She was a tough girl, but her mind was playing tricks on her. It was the first night she felt uneasy being alone in such a big house. She looked at her cell phone again and was tempted to call someone.

  The TV was playing the end of the infomercial, and the vast bedroom looked bigger to her than usual. Kola sat on the bed with the phone in her hand, trying desperately to shake the bad feeling. She felt like a young girl. She finally felt her age—eighteen. She had matured quickly over the years and hadn’t felt like that young girl in a long time.

  As she sat on the bed thinking, her cell phone rang, startling her. She jumped for a moment and then hurried to answer it. She didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID but answered the call anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “You have a collect call from Cross at the Manhattan Correctional Facility,” the automated recording announced.

  Kola quickly accepted the call, her heart beating against her chest. She had a million worries in her head, and receiving a collect call from her man in jail had her tripping out.

  “Hey, baby,” she heard Cross’ smooth voice say.

  “Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”

  “We good, Kola, and don’t even worry. I’m wit’ Edge. We got knocked wit’ a gun in the car.”

  “What!”

  “It’s bullshit, baby. We’ll be out soon. Don’t even worry about it.”

  “I am worried!” Kola exclaimed.

  “Baby, just chill out. Don’t be trippin’, you hear me? We gonna be good, you know what I’m saying?”

  “I guess.”

  “But, listen. Business is always business. Shit don’t stop. I hate that I’ma miss that game wit’ Eddie, though. It’s a really big game. I got money on this game.”

  Kola quickly picked up that Cross was speaking in code, and being aware that their conversation was probably being recorded, she went along. She listened closely.

  “How much was the tickets?”

  “Expensive. But you go in my place, baby. Enjoy yourself.”

  “I don’t like football.”

  “But I don’t want them tickets to go to waste while I’m fuckin’ stuck up in here. Eddie got me a good deal on them tickets, Kola. Just go wit’ the nigga and put ’em to good use.”

  Kola sucked her teeth. Cross wanted her to meet his connect, Eduardo—Eddie for short—and buy some work. But it wasn’t Kola’s line of work. She did sex parties and was a borderline pimp. She didn’t feel comfortable meeting with Cross’ connect. Still, she was a ride-or-die chick and, like her man, a natural-born hustler.

  “Baby, he’ll teach you the game. Just go and have fun. It’s football. And we got seats right on the fifty-yard line. You gonna see everything.”

  “How close?”

  “Really close. The spread on the game is by fifteen.”

  “I got you, baby,” a confident Kola replied.

  “That’s my baby. I love you.”

  “I love you too, baby,” Kola replied with a smile.

  “But I’ma hit you up. And don’t worry about this charge. It ain’t gonna stick. You know we got lawyers to fuck wit’ these pigs.”

  “I know.”

  The call ended abruptly, leaving Kola with the phone in her hand and nothing but silence. She sighed and tossed her phone on the bed.

  She was being thrust into Cross’ world unexpectedly to meet with a Colombian connect. However, with Cross, Edge, and Mike-Mike locked up, she knew somebody had to step up and take charge. Now wasn’t the time to be nervous. She was ready to become “that bitch,” like she was born and raised to be.

  Chapter 2

  Earth, Wind and Fire blared throughout the fifth-floor two-bedroom apartment. There was thick cigarette smoke lingering in the living room, bottles of alcohol spread out near the folding card table, and a new deck of playing cards ready to be opened for a wild and crazy game of pitty-pat or spades. It was Denise’s night to party, get drunk, and maybe get her freak on, if the right man approached her with the correct game. She wanted to smoke like a chimney, yell and act out behind a game of spades, then get herself some dick by the end of the night. She wanted to be free like a bird tonight. No rules, no restrictions.

  Denise strutted around her apartment clad in a miniskirt, exposing her meaty thighs and fresh tattoo, and a tight, tiny, metallic plunging-neckline halter top that showed enough cleavage to make the room feel almost x-rated. She held a glass of vodka in her hand and took casual sips as she walked around the apartment preparing everything for her soon-to-arrive guests.

  Denise loved throwing her card-game parties. She loved the loud chatter, the cursing and shit-talking, along with the flirting, heavy drinking, chain smoking, and blaring music. On a good night, her place was as ghetto as they come. The men got tipsy and sometimes would become a little too frisky. And if a certain woman was up to it, with the liquor making her more flirtatious and promiscuous than usual, then she would find herself in one of the back bedrooms with her skirt up or jeans down, with her wet pussy about to make a hard dick come.

  Denise didn’t mind anyone using her bedroom for sex or sniffing blow, as long as they didn’t make too much of a mess and paid to play. She understood that everybody needed to have fun, and being the hustler she was, she was able to pay her rent through her wild weekly card games and renting out the bedrooms for pleasure.

  She was still salty with Apple. She couldn’t believe her bitch of a daughter had the audacity to throw her own mother out with only the clothes on her back. But Denise had quickly bounced back and was steadily getting herself together again
. Yet she still wanted to smack fire out of her daughter’s mouth and beat her down on the streets like she was a stranger.

  Denise never thought she would find herself back in the projects after living in luxury and being spoiled like one of the Hilton sisters. And though she was laughing and smiling, deep inside, she hated going back to project living again. For her, it was embarrassing.

  Denise walked near the window and looked outside, singing along to Earth, Wind, and Fire’s “Shining Star,” and swaying to the beat.

  While singing, she heard a knock at the door. It would be only one of many knocks to come during the night. She pivoted in her four-inch heels and went to answer the door. She swung it open with a smile and greeted Nina.

  “Hey, girl!” Nina joyfully screamed out.

  “Nina! Always the first to get your drink on, huh.” Denise greeted her with a hug.

  Nina was in her late thirties and as whorish as they come. During Denise’s last card game, she got pissy drunk, naked, and was fucked by her one-time best friend and his brother. Denise only tolerated Nina because she made Denise look like Claire Huxtable when they were in the same room.

  “What you got to drink in here, girl?” Nina asked, rushing into the apartment in search of the Grey Goose. “You know I gotta sip on my Goose.”

  Denise laughed and pointed over to the bottles. “And take it easy on my shit, Nina. I don’t need you actin’ a fool before our game even starts.”

  Nina sucked her teeth. “Girl, I got this. I know how to hold my liquor.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Denise smirked. “Like last time when the Durant brothers ran a train on you in the bedroom.”

  “At least they were cute.”

  “Slut.”

  Nina ignored the comment and poured herself a half cup of Goose mixed with some cranberry juice. She quickly took it to the head and was ready for another one. As Nina was about to pour herself another shot, she looked at Denise with a look of urgency, ready to spill some important news.