Boss Bitch (Bitch Series) (16 page)

Mitch had had enough of the bullshit and sliced the side of Gabe’s face with the knife on the AK-47, causing it to instantly swell up and bleed. Gabe grunted and winced in excruciating pain. “Now, I know I ain’t gotta ask again, my man!” Mitch said calmly. The insane glare in Mitch’s eyes was indication that he was itching to let bullets pierce the flesh.

“Shoebox in that closet,” Gabe said, willing to give up his money in trade for Milia’s safety. If Milia wasn’t involved he would have spit in his face, not giving the stick-up kid the satisfaction of robbing him; he would have died for his no doubt. But more was at stake . . . Semaj.

“You grab the money for me,” Mitch said coldly as he held Gabe at gunpoint and tossed his daughter a knapsack. As instructed, Semaj scuffled over to the closet. She retrieved the money from the Timberland shoebox and a brick of coke that was wrapped in tubes, resembling small fingers. She stuffed the dope and the different denominations into the knapsack.

Semaj handed her father the bagful of goods as he backpedaled out of the room, continuing to have the weapon trained on Gabe. Something told him to put a hot one in him, but it was as if Semaj were speaking through her eyes and nixed the notion.

Easing out of the room, he said threateningly. “Don’t move for sixty seconds,” Emilio stepped over the fresh corpse as if it was litter on a city street and exited the house.

The daughter and father had accomplished another street robbery, but for some reason an eerie feeling passed over Semaj. A bad feeling. Something in her bones felt wrong, and she wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Damn we were supposed to play this shit smart not reckless, she thought. I ain’t know nobody else was even here.

Gabe wasn’t willing to helplessly watch as the stick-up kid got away without an attempt to take his life. Instantly, he popped up and grabbed his .357 chrome Magnum. Semaj held the solemn expression that crossed her face as Gabe left out of the room enraged. He stepped onto the porch, but it was too late. The car was long gone.

Ten minutes later

Gabe hopelessly paced back and forth inside the living room as the human waste was becoming unbearable. The stench had come from the empty bowels from the dead body and the blood mixture. It wasn’t the excessive stink that bothered him though. It was the body, the missing drugs and the money. To owe Gio was to start making funeral arrangements for yourself; not to mention a dead relative. What looked to be a good come-up turned into a bad situation. A very bad situation.

The man had been sent by the notorious Dominican drug boss to deliver him a brick of cocaine via his bowels. The plane had landed that night and he was supposed to do the job, stay overnight and then head back home. Nobody knew that he would no longer be returning. Gabe was hesitant to dial the number he’d been given in case of an emergency. But he knew Gio would find out one way or another, so he manned up and dialed the headman.

“What’s the problem, Gabe?” a voice with a thick Dominican accent said.

“Your nephew is dead. Some nigga ran into my spot, but—”

Gio cut him off mid-sentence. “You know I told my family that I could trust you. I vouched for you. Now you are telling me that my family is dead?”

“It’s fucked up.” Gabe wanted to be apologetic, but with a man like Gio, an apology was no good. He had sent his nephew down out of trust. When that line was broken so was their business relationship and things would only turn deadly.

“You know I have to bury my nephew into the dirt while you remain on earth, Gabe,” Gio said as his voice became more aggressive and assertive with each word. “We will meet again, my friend.” He hung up.

A piercing scream followed and Gabe’s phone collided with the flat screen plasma TV, causing it to split down the center. Gabe threw things around the room violently and fought himself. He frantically grabbed his head and paced the room, fuming. “Word to my Mutha, I’m gonna murder everybody that’s associated to the people that set me up!

I’ma find out who was behind this shit, son!”

Semaj felt her body temperature rise as her heart began to beat erratically. The sounds of shouting and rattling blared loudly in her ears, sending a twinge up her spine. Her chest became tight as she fidgeted nervously. I hope I don’t look like a suspect, she thought as her breathing became deep—very deep—panicked.

Finally after his rage subsided, Gabe scuttled into the bedroom. “We gotta get the fuck out of dodge ma! Ain’t no tellin’ when them slick hair muthafuckas gon’ come gunning for my head!” Gabe grabbed as

much as he could before they fled from the apartment.

THE CLUB FILLED QUICKLY as New York’s street prestige walked through the door prepared to celebrate the grand opening of Big Pat’s strip joint. Everybody who was anybody came out to bring in New Year’s Eve with Big Pat and his entourage. A big time hustler, everyone knew who he was. Big Pat and his team were stationed in the glass-skybox that overlooked the club on the third level. Bottles of Cristal and Moet flowed freely at their table as butt naked strippers danced for the ‘hood’s elite. The VIP area was full of New York’s finest and the only people allowed up were the privileged. Big Pat smirked as he sipped his Mo and stood amongst his circle. In New York, Big Pat was like a celebrity. It was his town. Everything about him rang old money too. Dope Money . . . Dirty Money . . . Blood Money.

Observing as people poured in, Big Pat focused his attention on the brown-skinned beauty and admired her from afar. Semaj turned heads as she walked through the crowd and he loved how she had instantly stolen his attention. She was definitely the belle of the ball and she had him curious. Semaj’s red Prada dress looked as if it were painted on her five feet seven frame, showing off her thick thighs and long legs, and the ostrich thigh high boots made her shine like a rock star in a crowd full of duds. Her hair was pulled high off of her face in a loose ponytail, and her soft baby hair rested flawlessly around her edges. Everything from her eyebrows to her French-pedicured toes was on point and the attention she was getting let her know she had put herself together right.

Envious glares were trained on Semaj as she and Tala made their way up to the bi-level VIP longue. They found a table by the rails, overlooking the live crowd. Semaj could feel the intense stares but she wasn’t tripping. She was one breed that women loved to hate. But one thing about Semaj, she knew it and understood why. If these bitches only knew, I’m not here to try to get their nigga. If anything I’ma hit that stash and send that nigga right back to ya ass, she laughed inwardly.

“Let me get a glass of Moscato and a bottle of Louie Xlll. The 50 milliliter bottle.” Semaj said to the waitress. She ordered the glass just to be extra. Her robbery money was consistent, so she was good and she showed out wherever she went. “It’s for all the thirsty bitches lookin’ like they wanna fuck a bitch or somethin’.” She and Tala shared in laughter.

“Think you mean you’ll have a glass of the Louie too. Because the bottle is for five hundred plus.” The waitress replied with an attitude.

Semaj wasn’t the type of woman that bickered. She simply reached inside her designer clutch purse and pulled out one thousand dollars. Peeling off six hundred dollar bills, all Grants, she said with a cute smirk, “Oh, I’m very sure, babes. Now can you get the Louis and my glass of Moscato?” The waitress didn’t even bother to respond and stomped off.

“Why do bitches always seem to be mad? Gotdamn!” Tala exclaimed.

“They ain’t comfortable in their own skin. It’s just in their damn nature to be angry with the next broad. That’s the only explanation I can give for these ratchet ass hoes, auntie.” Semaj flung her ponytail. “But I’ma enjoy my birthday. Feel me?” She waited patiently and watched as everyone in VIP got their drink and smoke on.

“Here’s your glass of Moscato and bottle of Remy.” The rude waitress said after finally returning with Semaj’s order. She removed an ice-filled bucket from the tray along with her request and placed everything on the table. “That will be $594.00, even,” Ms. Attitude said holding her hand out, as if the money wasn’t already in front of her.

Semaj snickered, finding the chick comical. She simply picked up the small stack of bills from the table and then smacked the money inside of her sweaty palm. While the waitress counted the money, Semaj popped the cork off the bottle and passed it to Tala.

“And . . .  umm, Big Pat said come up to exclusive VIP. He wanna holla at you,” Ms. Attitude spat as her nostrils flared wider with each word spoken.

“Who is Big Pat and what he want with me?” Semaj asked as she wrinkled her brow in confusion.

“Girl, you know exactly who Big Pat is. Don’t act like you don’t. Please!” she said in annoyance. “Everybody and they momma know that nigga. Don’t be cute.”

“Sorry, but I’m not everybody and their momma,” Semaj retorted. “I’ll make sure to let him know you’re uninterested.”

 “Yeah, you do that,” Semaj said as Ms. Attitude turned to walk off. “Ay, but sweetie,” she called out behind the waitress.

She spun around and thought to herself, groupie bitch knew she was happy I mentioned Big Pat from jump. Acting all snobbish and shit. “What ‘sup?”

“You forgot my change my dude!” Semaj cracked her face.

She stared at Semaj long faced as though she was speaking foreign language. Tala looked at the waitress, and then back at her niece and burst into a fit of laughter. The shit was too funny. “Bitch you are fuckin’ ill, man.”

“What? No, I’m not. The broad can act like a bitter bitch if she like. Bet she won’t get a tip from the kid. Not never!”

Digging inside the apron, Ms. Attitude pulled out six crumpled dollar bills. She put them on the table, rolled her eyes snottily and walked off in embarrassment.

“Ay, yo, but did she say that Big Pat wanted you?”

“Right! I wonder what that’s about.” Semaj said, scanning the club. She knew that the girl was right about her knowing exactly who Big Pat was. Who didn’t? He had the streets on lock and ran a very lucrative drug business.

“You know his old, fat ass prolly try’na take you home tonight. You know how they say he do.”

“Nigga surely don’t want me to be the choice of the night. Nigga won’t have a home to come to fuckin’ around with me,” Semaj joked, but was serious.

“We came out to enjoy ourselves, not searching for potential victims. Damn girl take a night off. Ain’t you chillin tonight,” Tala stated seriously.

“From the looks dude is checking for me. Right?” Semaj shot. “You know I ain’t passing up an opportunity. Feel me?”

“Already know.” Tala was too familiar with her niece’s intentions and deceitful tactics.

“But watch how I work this stunt though. Schools in session, so take some notes. You just might learn something from the G!” They both cracked up laughing. Subsiding the laughter, Semaj smiled cunningly. She wondered how the game would play itself out tonight.

The girls sat modestly as they watched the crowd grow thicker and they partied like socialites. It was just a little after midnight and unsurprisingly the club had reached its capacity. At that moment, Semaj noticed her father cashing security out for admission. “Mitch’s ass always lurking,” Tala said as she spotted Semaj’s father easing his way into a booth in the corner. He was so far back that he was almost hidden by the shadows of the abandoned section of the club. All of the other partygoers were crowded around the stage while Mitch was scoping out the scene, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Just then a tall dark skinned guy approached them. “Ay, mami in the red. My boy said come holla at ‘im up in the top VIP.”

“Names not mami. But if your boy wanna holla at me,” she pointed her forefinger at herself and then at him, “why is he sending you to do his job? What you his spokesman or some shit?”

“Nah,” he sucked his teeth. “It ain’t shit like that, ma. He just up in exclusive VIP. He ain’t try’na get tackled coming down here and shit. It’s Big Pat. You know how that shit be. We move different from the average nigga, baby girl.”

“Knows nothing about that, my man. But this what you can do for me. Tell your boy if he try’na get at me, he know where I am. There’s no need to send other niggas. We all grown here. I’ll be here for a li’l while longer though,” she faked a huge smile.

“Dammmmn! You just cut like that huh, ma? I see you got ya swag thang going,” he laughed, finding her rare response amusing. “But I’ma be sure to tell the nigga what’s up.”

“You do that,” Semaj said as he turned to walk off.

“Nigga just don’t know he walkin’ his self into a fuckin’ fucked-up trap. Stupid niggas a holla at anybody with a pretty face.” Tala shook her head. She’d seen it all one too many times.

“Don’t hate,” Semaj laughed. “This my shit right here TaTa.” She perched up. With the bottle in her hand, Semaj graciously moved back and forth to the hip-hop tunes. It was cute how Semaj was so gorgeous as if she stepped out of a Cosmopolitan magazine, but was bopping to Gucci Mane as though she was nothing but street, and street she was.

“Kick a door nigga . . .  kick a door nigga . . .  everybody . . .  everybody on the floor nigga,” she chuckled, chanting along to the lyrics. “On the low dawg . . .  I’m cutthroat, nigga . . .  ” Semaj hoodishly but femininely grooved to the beat.

“Damn, I really had to travel all the way down here huh, ma?” a male voice behind her said. Already knowing it had to be the infamous Big Pat, she decided to immediately put her plan into motion. Playing a role, Semaj quickly glanced back at him and replied, “I mean it was your choice.” She stepped a foot forward as if she was uninterested. Semaj knew trying to play the hard-to-get role was dicey, but she didn’t care because in most cases it was the payoff.