Checkmate

  Checkmate

  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.

  Checkmate. Copyright © 2012 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: 2011946164

  ISBN-13: 978-1934157510

  ISBN-10: 1934157511

  E-ISBN: 978-1-620780-176

  First Edition: July 2012

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Interior Design: Candace K. Cottrell

  Cover Design: Marion Designs

  Model: Vanessa - www.twitter.com/@justAlilbitatl

  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 days and nights since her capture were an agonizing nightmare for Apple. She no longer knew, nor understood, what time it was—minutes seemed like hours for her. She felt pieces of her soul being torn from her daily, and her dignity was buried in the filthy soil of some poor, faraway, forgotten town tucked away in Mexico, miles away from the border.

  The rape was continuous. Men of all shapes and ages would walk into Apple’s forsaken and vile room with stares of lust, their cocks swelling in their jeans. The reek of previous customers who’d had their way with Apple didn’t deter them from being with her. They didn’t care that one side of her face was badly disfigured. Some men even relished that she was badly disfigured and would touch and caress her burned face passionately, falling in love with what she was—beautiful, but monstrous at the same time.

  The men who frequented Shaun’s whorehouse paid for a service, and to most of them, pussy was still pussy, no matter who spread their legs. They were all looking for sexual relief, and Apple was still a young, shapely, American woman who had become a fantasy for them.

  “Come get yourself a piece of the American Dream,” Shaun would say to the men. “Look how shapely and young she still is. Her pussy still runs wet with paradise.”

  Apple was doped up most of the time, but was no longer physically handcuffed; only in her mind did the chains still exist. She didn’t know if it had been days, maybe months, maybe a year since her arrival.

  She was almost always naked; her tattered clothes were nothing but decorations for the floor. In one hour, she would find herself being fucked by as many as four men. Most were quick on top of her—in and out like fast food. Others wanted to take their time with her, savoring every moment, taking advantage of her condition and her youth.

  Apple lay on her back and felt the tremendous pressure. The man sprawled out on top of her, with his protruding gut, flabby arms and bad hygiene, weighed about three hundred pounds, and she was sinking down into the soiled, flimsy mattress like it was quicksand. He grunted with each thrust into Apple, while her legs dangled off the side of the small bed like a leaf blowing to the wind. She had no control. For a few pesos, she was his. No arguments. It was business.

  “So good, mami, so good. You so good, mami,” he chanted.

  Apple just lay there; her body was present, but her mind was somewhere else. The dope helped with the sex. It took her away from the hell she was experiencing.

  The man ravaged Apple’s nipples with his long tongue. He held her thin body captive on the mattress with the force of his weight, and had her legs spread so far apart, they were ready to snap like a wishbone.

  His grunts became louder. “Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! So good, mami, so good! Ugh!” he cried out.

  Moments later, he shook on top of Apple like he was having a seizure, bursting inside of her. When he was done, he rolled off Apple and lay flat on his back, the sweat from his body dripping onto the mattress. He was breathing heavily. He then looked at Apple’s disfigured face and bluntly asked, “What happened to yo’ face?”

  Apple ignored the question. She continued to lie there next to him on the dirty mattress, but her mind was still absent. She didn’t even realize that the man was done.

  “You don’t answer me? You speak English, right?” he asked.

  Apple remained lifeless on the mattress. She didn’t care to have any conversation with the man. He wasn’t the only one who had questioned her burns, but she always ignored them. Her disfigurement was her secret to keep. He was only there to do his business with her and leave.

  The man got up, leaning his weight onto the floor, and began collecting his clothing. He looked a little irritated with Apple. He spoke in Spanish as he pulled up his pants and began buttoning his shirt.

  “¡Puta con retraso!” he exclaimed.

  He threw on his shoes and glared at Apple. “You is one ugly bitch!” he exclaimed before making his exit for the door.

  Apple was relieved that he didn’t get violent with her, like some men had done previously.

  The room fell quiet for a moment. But it wouldn’t be lasting.

  Before Apple could remove herself from off the unclean mattress, the dilapidated door flew open and Shaun rushed in carrying a bucket of cold water. He immediately grabbed her up off of the bed and dowsed her with it, causing her to screech from the sudden attack.

  “Shut up!” he roared. “You need to clean yourself up! You stink!”

  Apple stood dripping wet from the water thrown on her and wanted to burst into tears. Shaun was nothing but unkind and cruel to her. He abused and insulted her every chance he got. His cruelty had nothing to do with her keeping up with her hygiene and everything to do with his murdered sister.

  “You ain’t in fuckin’ Kansas anymore, you dumb bitch! Go clean yourself up and get right! You got another customer in twenty minutes. I don’t want him complaining about how stank you are!”

  Shaun exited the room, leaving Apple to dry herself off and pick up her things. Inside, she was seething. In Harlem, he would have been a dead man.

  Though Shaun had the upper hand momentarily, Apple was certain there was a way to escape the madness she was living in. Every day, her rage kept building. She played the docile role because, in her mind, it was the only way of survival. And she constantly fought the depression of missing home and who she used to be. Apple needed that one break in the chain, and she would be gone. But she needed help.

  She donned the dingy, teal robe that hung from the back of a chair and exited out into the narrow, ramshackle hallway. The place was flooded with Mexican whores, some of the girls as young as thirteen. And most of them shunned Apple because of her looks and ethnicity.

  “Stupid American girl,” some of the girls would say to her.

  She tried to make friends with some of the other whores, telling them that she had lots of money back in the States, and that she could make them wealthy if they aided in her escape. But they only laughed.

  “You is a whore, just like us. You have no money. Shoot away from us wit’ your lies,” one of the girls had exclaimed.

  “I have money, lots of money, and connections. Believe me.
”

  They constantly taunted her. Some even tried to pick fights with her, but she proved to them that she wasn’t a pushover. A few fights ensued because of the constant verbal abuse, but they were quickly broken up by a few of Shaun’s goons.

  Apple made her way down the hall, toward the bathroom that was shared by all the girls in the building. She had steadily gotten used to the overflowing toilet with broken seats and duct-taped repairs, the overflowing trashcan filled with used tampons and sanitary napkins, peeling paint, stained mirrors, and the mold and mildew that had infested the two showers.

  Apple entered the bathroom as two whores were walking out; they exchanged hard stares at each other, but no words were said. She walked over to the mirror and peered at her reflection for a moment. She had gotten used to her disfigurement, but her mind didn’t want to get used to her imprisonment. Every day she fought with herself to keep her sanity. Every day she thought about home. She thought about Chico. She was full of regrets.

  She turned on the water and splashed some on her face. She soon heard the toilet flush behind her, indicating that someone was in the makeshift stall. She turned to see Mary.

  Mary was in her late fifties and hadn’t aged too well. Her face was wrinkled, she had missing front teeth due to violent abuse, and her tits sagged into her stomach. Only a few still paid for her services. She had been a whore since she was fifteen years old, forced into the business because of dire circumstances and the poor family she came from. It was the only trade she knew.

  Mary was kidnapped and raped in her village and held for two weeks by the pastor of the local church. She was only fourteen. When he finally let her go, no one believed her story. The locals ridiculed her family, so they turned their backs on her, proclaiming that she lied about the rape and abuse. She had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Within two days of living on the streets without food or water, she turned to the only thing that could sustain her: prostitution.

  Apple and Mary locked eyes for a moment, both carrying sad gazes. Mary was one of the few women who spoke English well. She had no problems with Apple. She understood her hardship, but at the same time, she wasn’t too quick to make friends with Apple.

  Apple stared at herself in the mirror and then fixated her eyes on Mary.

  “You have a problem?” Mary asked calmly.

  Apple shook her head. “No.”

  “You need to stop telling lies about how wealthy you are,” Mary said. “It only upsets the girls even more.”

  “I have plenty of money, Mary.”

  “Then where is it? Why hasn’t your money or your connections freed you from this place?”

  Apple wanted to make everyone believe that Chico would come for her; that he would either buy the town or shoot it out, whichever would lead to her return. In her heart of hearts, she knew he would. And if all else failed, there was a small glimmer of hope that Kola would search for her. Although they had their differences, they were still blood. But right now, standing before Mary, Apple couldn’t muster the strength to retell the story she’d been spewing since day one of her capture.

  Mary stood next to Apple, both women silent. The whorehouse they lived in was becoming a burden to both women.

  Mary was sick, but healthcare was non-existent in her country and in her line of work. She’d gradually accepted the fate that cancer would be the death of her. She thought that dying would be the only way to be free.

  Apple continued to wash her face and other areas of her body and then walked out the bathroom. She went back into her room and shut the door. She looked around her nasty, barren, run-down room with peeling paint and black mold and sighed heavily. This couldn’t be her life.

  Before Apple could attempt to get comfortable, there was a knock at the door. She instantly knew what it meant. Her next appointment had arrived too early. Apple didn’t even have a moment to gather her thoughts after her last trick.

  The door swung open, and Shaun marched in first, with a crew of men behind him who looked to be in their early twenties.

  “This is her: The American Dream,” Shaun said, auctioning off Apple with great pride. “The pussy is to die for.”

  The young men smiled. The first crewmember quickly handed Shaun a few hundred pesos.

  Shaun counted the money quickly. “Enjoy. You got a half hour, each. Make it worth ya while.”

  The men nodded.

  “Homes, we gonna have more than fun.”

  The minute Shaun was out the door, a stranger with a teardrop tattoo began unbuckling his pants and charged for Apple, who was still sore from her last session. He forced himself on top of her, placing his hand around her neck, and almost choking the life out of her. He thrust his erection so deep into her, she couldn’t help but cry out from the size and girth that penetrated her.

  The young kid on top of her was vibrant and rough. But he was quick. He came in a matter of minutes, jumped off Apple, and quickly allowed the next in line to have his turn.

  The young gang members treated her more like she was a toilet, than a teenage girl being held against her will.

  Chapter 1

  Kola sat in the bedroom of her plush home clad in a flirtatious pink baby doll chemise trimmed with a delicate sequined Venice appliqué. She was giving herself a pedicure to the sounds of Maxwell, but even his soothing words couldn’t erase the troubles in her head. Her mind couldn’t escape Cross and his infidelity. Then there was trying to cope with him having a newborn son.

  Then she had Edge on her mind. She knew she had to watch her back with that snake.

  Then there was Eduardo. The sexual tension between the two of them was undeniable. Kola knew it wasn’t good to mix business with pleasure, but it was one pleasure she thought about constantly. Eduardo was so tempting, just the thought of him had her pussy dripping wet with passion.

  Business was good for Kola. Her product was profitable, her name was buzzing in the streets, and her team was strong. Candace was fierce when it came to the streets, and her murder game was on point. Candace proved that women could kill and be as ruthless as any man.

  But Kola’s love life was in shambles. She didn’t want anything to do with Cross at the moment. His betrayal had really hurt her. One thought of that bitch Cynthia and her son by Cross would have her shedding tears, and she’d never cried over any man.

  Cross had gotten word about what had transpired between Kola and Cynthia, and it sent him into a small panic. His two worlds had now collided in a violent way. He tried to figure out how Kola had found out about his Brooklyn chick. Who could have told? But he figured, since he still took care of her, it would be a small issue that would resolve itself in a few days.

  He wanted to get back to business. Money needed to be made. He felt that Kola was acting childish. His rationalization was, “So what, I fucked her? It was just pussy, but I love you, Kola. It ain’t gotta change what we do. We a team, baby.”

  But weeks had passed, and Kola wasn’t budging.

  Cross had arrived home one day to find all the locks had been changed. He rang the bell continuously, but to no avail.

  “Kola, what the fuck is wrong wit’ you? Are you stupid? Why the fuck you changing the locks?”

  Kola rejected his calls and left him standing outside his lavish home to ponder on his regret for cheating on her. Cross soon got the hint. He left, feeling Kola needed more time to cool down and collect herself.

  Kola nodded to her favorite tracks by Trey Songz, who had replaced Maxwell in the CD changer. She planned on meeting up with Candace and her girls.

  As Kola continued to paint her nails, the doorbell sounded. She stopped what she was doing for the moment and scurried downstairs toward the front door. She glanced out the window, only to notice a flower truck parked outside.

  “Who?” she shouted.

  “I have
a delivery for a Kola,” the man said.

  “From who, or where?”

  “Um, from a Cross.”

  Kola sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. She didn’t want anything from Cross, but the deliveryman was adamant.

  “Ma’am, I have over two dozen roses and flowers that need to be dropped off,” the deliveryman stated. “They’re already paid for, and I can’t take them back with me.”

  “Just leave them out there and go,” she replied sharply.

  The man shrugged and did what he was told. He left the assortment of flowers and roses outside her door and drove away.

  Kola opened her front door soon after his departure and stared at the flowers. “What, is he crazy?”

  Cross had purchased everything from lilies, tulips, daisies, and sunflowers, with two-dozen roses. Kola was never big on flowers, but she had to admit, the arrangement and delivery was nice. The idyllic moment was temporary, though, because soon after, she had a nearby lawn worker toss everything on the street for the trash to pick up. Kola didn’t have time for bullshit. She had work to do and a business to run. Cross needed to learn that she wasn’t the bitch to be played with or manipulated.

  Kola slammed her front door and went back upstairs to her bedroom to get herself ready. Kola got dressed in a pair of tight, shimmering gold pants that accentuated her curvy figure, a stylish halter-top, and a pair of chic heels. She looked stunning, with her long, silky hair reaching down her back. Kola put the right touches on her face with makeup, exited her home, and jumped into her pearl-white convertible Benz with the vertical doors and bright red interior.

  She sped out of her driveway on her way to meet up with Candace and her ruthless crew of girls. She placed a Lil Wayne CD in the stereo and began jamming to “Lollipop.”

  ****

  It was a quarter to midnight when Kola pulled up to The Red Spot, a vibrant and popular club on the West Side of Manhattan. She stepped out of her Benz looking like a superstar and passed her keys to the valet attendant.