Face Off--The Baddest Chick 4 Read online

  She felt everyone was responsible for her pain and heartache—Nichols’ murder, the betrayal of Cross with Kola, the acid being thrown in her face, the embarrassment, the kidnapping, the abuse, rape and torture, and the cruel snatching of the daughter she gave birth to, which would drive any woman over the edge.

  Peaches, her baby, came to mind out of the blue. “Peaches,” she uttered faintly. She closed her eyes for a moment and shed a few tears for her missing baby. The feeling for Peaches came unexpected. The father was an unknown trick who paid for pussy, but Apple didn’t care. Motherhood was the one emotion she couldn’t turn off.

  No one knew about the birth, which had been kept a secret. But thinking about her daughter in Mexico ate away at her. For a brief moment, while she held her newborn child in her arms, she’d felt some peace in her life. While she was living in hell, Peaches felt like an angel in her arms.

  Now, that moment seemed so far away. It had been almost a year since she had given birth and had last seen her daughter. And if she was to even look for her, she wouldn’t know where to start. But Shaun knew where to start. Apple had a sudden realization that Shaun couldn’t die right away. He needed to talk. He needed to tell her who he sold his daughter to. She knew Peaches was sold in the black market; affluent couples were willing to pay handsomely for healthy babies. She needed to find her baby, another problem on her agenda.

  She called Terri up to the rooftop, and he came immediately.

  “What is it?” Terri asked.

  “Contact Jet, and tell him that there’s been a change of plans.”

  “Change in plans? Like what?”

  “I want that muthafucka alive.”

  Terri raised his eyebrow, looking bewildered, “Alive?”

  “He has something valuable of mine that I need back”

  “A’ight. I’m on it right now.”

  Terri faded from the rooftop, leaving Apple alone again. She was consumed by her thoughts. She lingered there for an hour, contemplating her next move. Chico would come heavy; it was inevitable. But Apple was ready for him.

  She took one last look at the city skyline and was ready to depart from the roof. As she made her way toward the exit, her cell phone rang. It was Denise calling again. Apple was hesitant in answering the call, but she did take it.

  “What?” she barked.

  “We need to talk,” Denise said.

  “You and me have nothing to talk about,” Apple replied sharply.

  “I think we do, Apple.”

  “You been a fuckin’ pain in my side for too long, Denise.”

  “I’m your damn mother, Apple,” Denise shouted. “And you gonna give me my fuckin’ respect!”

  Apple laughed. “Really? And why?”

  “’Cause”—Denise paused, hesitant to say what was on her mind at first, but spat it out anyway—“’cause, I know who was the one responsible for tossing that acid in your face.”

  “What?”

  “I know who it was.”

  “Who the fuck was it?” Apple exclaimed through clenched teeth. “Don’t fuckin’ play wit’ me, Denise. Who the fuck was it?”

  Thinking back to the acid incident infuriated Apple. She touched the side of her face where the scars once were. It made her blood boil to find out that all this time, Denise knew who was responsible for disfiguring her.

  “Denise . . . ”

  “Meet me somewhere and we’ll talk,” Denise said.

  “Where?”

  “Tonight, in New Jersey. I’m in East Orange.”

  “You better not be fuckin’ around, Denise.”

  “I’m not.”

  Apple got the information from her mother and hung up. She stormed down into the loft where Terri and her crew were lounging around, and shouted, “Get y’all fuckin’ guns. We’re leaving!”

  “What’s up?” Terri asked.

  “I’m about to have a family reunion,” Apple returned.

  ***

  Chicano, Kori, Crunch, Terri, and Apple piled into two trucks and sped toward Jersey, fully loaded and anticipating anything.

  Apple didn’t know what her mother had up her sleeve, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Kola was also back in town, so they both were probably trying to plot against her and cause her demise. But Apple knew one thing for sure—she was going to get the truth from someone, even if she had to kill for it.

  She tried to fight the emotion, but as the Range Rover forged ahead, she turned her head from Terri to gaze at the city, to hide her sentiment. The tears started to trickle down her cheek as she thought about her daughter and the pain of being disfigured.

  She gripped the pistol tightly and took a deep breath. She’d had her moment of sentiment, and now it was back to vengeance. She dried her tears and exhaled.

  “Kill ’em all,” she muttered.

  Twenty

  The dense and dark backwoods of upstate New York seemed to travel for miles, with mountains as far as the eye could see. An hour’s drive from the city, the rural area with the tall trees and tall grassy field was a different world for the urban gangsters traveling in the gaudy Durango. It was late in the evening, and the green Durango traveled hastily on the dirt road that led up to the mountains. Turn after turn, and ascending further into the hills, the truck was swallowed deeper into the woods, with the main road being miles back.

  The Durango came to a stop at a log cabin perched on an elevated hilltop that seemed to look out at the heavens. The view of the mountains was phenomenal. The cabin was nestled in the woods like a dirty little secret. The nearest town was eleven miles away. This cabin belonged to Chico and was unfurnished and had no amenities or decorations. He had only one use for it—torturing muthafuckas for information. With them nestled so deep into the woods, the victims’ screams wouldn’t be heard for miles.

  The rap music shut off when the engine was cut off. The four doors to the Durango flew open all at once, and the occupants stepped out onto the grassy field. Chico stuffed the pistol into his waistband, his face awash with anguish. The news of his little brother’s violent murder hit him really hard. It was painful to hear how Terrance was killed. It had him on the brink of insanity.

  He stared at Rome and shouted, “Yo, get those muthafuckas out the back.”

  Rome nodded, and he and Bad walked around to the hatch of the truck and lifted it open. Inside the back were two men, their limbs and faces swollen and bloody, their wrists bound tightly behind them with duct tape and their mouths gagged with it also. They squirmed and became wide-eyed when they saw Rome smirking at them.

  Rome quickly grabbed one captive by the shirt and yanked him out of the truck and pushed him onto his stomach in the dirt with a loud thud. He then kicked the man in the stomach. “Bitch-ass muthafucka!”

  He then grabbed the second man and yanked him out of the truck by his dreads and threw him to the ground on his face, bruising his face more than it already was. Both captives were in serious pain, but their attempted screams were muffled by the duct tape over their mouths.

  Bad and Torrez grabbed up both men and dragged them into the private cabin. A scowling Chico clenched his fists, ready to tear into them like he was Jaws and they were fresh swimmers. There was going to be revenge for his little brother, and people were going to die in extremely gruesome and painful ways.

  Once inside, the men were stripped naked and forced into rickety wooden chairs and bonded with wire and duct tape. They continued to squirm, but their effort was fruitless. Torrez hit them multiple times with his fist, blood leaked from their mouths, and more bruises formed on their faces.

  Chico walked up to Raymond, one of his soldiers, and ripped the duct tape from his mouth. He was furious with him for tipping Denise off about the hit on her. He knew Raymond was fucking her, but now he let his dick interfere with his business, so now he had to pay for his betrayal.

  He stood over the badly beaten Raymond and scowled. He pushed his .44 Magnum against Raymond’s frontal lobe. “You dumb m
uthafucka!”

  “Chico . . . listen, man, it ain’t gotta be this—”

  Chico started to pistol-whip him, and the butt of the .44 went crashing against his skull, splitting open flesh and tissue, nearly knocking him unconscious. Blood oozed from his face, and his body went limp.

  “Where is she?” Chico demanded to know through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know,” Raymond replied weakly.

  “You pissin’ me the fuck off, Raymond. I’m gonna ask you once—Where is she?”

  “I’m tellin’ you, I don’t know.”

  “You fuckin’ ignorant, but you gonna fuckin’ learn, muthafucka!” Chico turned to Bad and nodded.

  Bad went into the next room and came back out carrying a can of gasoline and a fire extinguisher. Raymond’s eyes showed absolute fear as Bad began to douse him with gasoline. The other man tied in the second chair began to squirm in panic, the duct tape still over his mouth.

  “What the fuck is this, Chico? C’mon, nigga, what the fuck!” Raymond screamed out. Gasoline started to drip from his naked body while he fidgeted in his chair, but he was tied too tight.

  Bad lit a match and held it close to Raymond.

  “Where is she?” Chico asked again.

  “I don’t know,” Raymond cried out, his voice dripping with fear.

  “Wrong answer.”

  Chico gave the signal, and Bad tossed the burning match at Raymond, who instantly went up in flames, his screams loud, piercing, and agonizing. Chico and his goons stood nonchalantly and watched him burn.

  Chico then nodded.

  Bad picked up the fire extinguisher and began putting him out. The foam covered Raymond. He was breathing hard. He was screaming. He was a mess.

  “Talk,” Chico said.

  “Chico . . . please, I’m sorry.”

  Chico nodded to Bad, who set Raymond on fire once more. And the piercing screams started again. He burned longer this time. Chico then gave the signal to put him out with the extinguisher again.

  Raymond was barely clinging to life. The wire and duct tape were hardly holding him up from collapsing. Several times, they set him on fire, watched him burn, and then put him out.

  Chico found humor in the malicious act. “Nigga, you startin’ to smell like barbecue. Talk, muthafucka!”

  His goons laughed.

  “He ain’t talkin’, Chico,” Bad said.

  Chico glared at Raymond. His eyes were bursting from the sockets, and half his face had started to melt. The duct tape and wire had liquefied into his flesh.

  Torrez said, “He done, Chico. This nigga a dead man tryin’ to live.”

  Chico shook his head. “Cancel this nigga then.”

  Bad set Raymond on fire one last time, and his loud screams faded as he burned to a total crisp, his flesh and skin dissolving rapidly under the intense heat. When they were satisfied he was dead, Bad put him out with the extinguisher one last time, and then he kicked over the chair. Raymond’s charred body hit the wood flooring with a thud. He was burned beyond recognition.

  Chico stood over the body and put two bullets in Raymond’s skull. He then turned to scowl at his next victim and uttered a chilling, “Next!”

  The man fidgeted harder, and his eyes began to tear up. He was trying to say something underneath the duct tape, but it was incoherent. Darren was an associate of Apple from back in the days, a once close friend and, some might say, an ex-boyfriend.

  Chico tore away the duct tape from Darren’s mouth and placed the pistol against his frontal lobe, just as he did with Raymond. “You see that muthafucka on the floor?”

  Darren nodded. “Please don’t kill me,” he cried out. Darren had peed on himself and was trembling uncontrollably.

  “Nigga, be a fuckin’ man,” Chico barked. “You wanna make this easy on you, right?”

  Darren nodded.

  “Then just tell me what I fuckin’ need to know about that bitch.”

  Darren nodded fast again, looking like a bobble-head doll in the chair.

  Bad stood behind him, and Torrez and Rome were ready to watch the fun start.

  Chico removed the gun from his forehead. “What you know about that bitch?”

  “I haven’t seen or spoken to her in three years,” Darren replied, tears trickling down his face.

  “Wrong answer.” Chico gestured to Bad.

  Darren began fidgeting in his chair when Bad started pouring gasoline on his body. He screamed out, “No! No! No! Please, I’ll tell you anything! Anything! Don’t do this to me!”

  “Talk, muthafucka!” Chico said. “I need something current.”

  “Nasty muthafucka,” Torrez said, when he realized Darren had shit on himself.

  Chico was becoming impatient with Darren taking too long to answer. “Fuck it! Light his ass up!”

  Bad lit the match, and Darren screamed out, “No, I know somethin’ about her moms, though!”

  “Like what?”

  “She’s stayin’ wit’ a friend somewhere in New Jersey,” he said quickly. “She’s scared to come back to Harlem, from what I heard.”

  “You got a name, a fuckin’ address?”

  “I just know the friend’s name is Yandy. That’s all I know about anything. You gotta believe me,” Darren hollered.

  Chico stared him down and spat, “You useless muthafucka!”

  “What? I gave you what you needed.”

  “Fuck you, and her, and anything associated wit’ that fuckin’ bitch. I’m killin’ anything connected to her. Anything she loves is gettin’ destroyed,” Chico proclaimed through clenched teeth.

  “I told you somethin’. She don’t love me; she never did. Please don’t do this to me! I have kids! I have a life. I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die!” he begged and screamed out.

  “Light his ass up, Bad.”

  Bad stood near Darren with the burning match in his hand. Darren, his eyes flooded with tears, fought and fidgeted harder in his seat, but his restraints held him in place. The horror manifested on his face looked like he was staring at the devil himself. He continued to scream out, “Oh God, help me! I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die!”

  Bad tossed the match, and Darren lit up like a barbecue grill, his body at once engulfed in flames. He screamed out loud. It was a bone-chilling sound. Darren, while burning, actually broke free from his restraints and tried to run, but he only got to the door before collapsing from the intense heat. And he was dead right away. Everyone stood around smiling as they watched him burn to death.

  Bad stepped up to put him out, but Chico stopped him, saying, “Nah, let that muthafucka burn some more.”

  Darren’s body was no longer visible under the intense flames. What was once flesh and skin had turned black and contorted and looked like charcoal on the floor.

  Chico stood and continued to watch Darren burn. He didn’t know this man at all, but he wanted him to die in such an inhuman way because word had gotten back to him that he and Apple once had a thing going on a few years ago. Anything Apple loved or used to love, he was going to hunt down and kill in a gruesome way.

  “Now put that muthafucka out,” Chico instructed.

  Bad stepped in with the extinguisher and put out the flames surrounding Darren’s burning body.

  “Now, let’s get back to business and on this hunt,” Chico said. “We don’t fuckin’ rest until that bitch and her family is dead.”

  Twenty-one

  Everybody was on edge, and Chico was no different. Killing those two fools up in the cabin did nothing for him. He was still hurting from the loss of his little brother. He missed Terrance greatly.

  He took a swig of Hennessy Black. He had been drinking all night. He sat back in his La-Z-Boy chair and stared at the television in the dimmed living room of his home. He had the channel on the nightly news, but his mind was heavy on war, with the .38, .357, and .45 handguns all within his reach. He wasn’t taking any chances. If anyone dared to come through his front door unannounced,
they were going to be in for one hell of an awakening.

  Shirtless and in a pair of jeans, he sat slouched in his seat. He’d long ago dried his tears for his brother. He switched the channels, but his attention wasn’t on any TV show.

  He glanced out the window when he heard a noise. It was dusk out. His thugs were on the hunt in the streets. He’d given the word—a hundred thousand for Apple’s head. And he had Ion on the hunt too. He was becoming angrier every day that bitch was allowed to breathe.

  When he heard the same noise coming from outside again, he reached for his .357 and raised up from the chair slightly, staring out the window, poised with the gun in his hand, and ready to open fire.

  When the noise from outside the home moved closer, Chico stood up, his cold, black eyes transfixed on the door. Then the door handle moved a little.

  “Muthafucka!” Chico aimed the gun at the door.

  The front door opened slowly. Then he heard voices. Chico gripped the gun tighter and was ready to react. Since the room was dim, he would see them before they saw him.

  In walked a shadowy figure. It was hulking and dark.

  Chico fired. Boom!

  A woman screamed.

  “Chico, what the fuck! Oh my God!”

  The lights came on, and the reality of Chico’s harsh actions came to light. He had just shot Blythe’s bodyguard in the head.

  “What is wrong with you, Chico?” she screamed. “Oh my God! Are you crazy?”

  Chico stared at Frank’s dead body. He had hired him to be Blythe’s personal bodyguard, not wanting to take any chances with his woman’s safety.

  “Baby, just put the gun down,” Blythe said to him, approaching him slowly.

  “This fuckin’ bitch got me trippin’, baby.”

  “Chico, just calm down and relax. I know it was an accident. But what if it was me walking through that door? Baby, you gotta think. You’re too fuckin’ paranoid right now.”

  Chico wasn’t releasing the gun. He locked his eyes on Blythe and continued scowling. His anger was rising more and more every day his war with Apple raged on.

  Blythe, matching his scowl, shouted, “I can’t do this anymore! I can’t take this shit with you, Chico. Look at what that bitch is doing to you. You fighting that war out there and in here with us! I’m tired, Chico. I’m so fuckin’ tired! Look at this. Look at Frank!” She pointed down to her dead bodyguard. “Is this what you want . . . to be surrounded by death constantly?”