Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 2

“Say that to yourself next time you eating me out,” she countered.

Pyro went into the bedroom, where Mecca was hurriedly getting dressed.

“Mecca, let me explain,” he pleaded with desperation in his tone.

Mecca spun around to face him and shouted, “Explain what, Pyro? You fucked her the other night?”

“Look—”

“Fuck you, Pyro!” she screamed.

Pyro was urgently trying to stop her from leaving, and while doing so, Sheree boldly stood at the threshold to the bedroom and shouted, “You keep playin’ wit’ me, Pyro, and I guarantee you that you will never see your fuckin’ son again.”

Pyro’s rage was reignited, and he moved toward Sheree with a ferocity that even scared her. “I’ll kill you before you take my son away!”

They continued to argue while Mecca continued to get dressed. It had turned into chaos inside the place. There was another loud knock at the door, and Chanel answered it. It was security arriving. Chanel pointed the guards to the bedroom and they moved with a sense of urgency to carry out their job.

Seeing the two men, Pyro bellowed, “Yo, get that fuckin’ bitch outta here.”

They grabbed an angry and bitter Sheree to remove her from the premises and she tried to resist. They threatened her, letting her know that if she didn’t leave right away, then they were going to call the police and have her arrested for trespassing. Sheree didn’t want to go to jail, so she reluctantly allowed the guards to escort her out of the apartment.

Mecca was right behind them, leaving in tears. Pyro was unable to stop her. She cursed at him again, and when he tried to grab her arm to get her to hear him out, she angrily jerked away from his grasp.

“Fuck you!” she cursed at him again.

He slammed the door behind her and fumed.

Chanel exhaled. She was glad that Mateo didn’t have baby mama drama and a bunch of women like Pyro. Now Mecca might see Pyro for the player he was, and Chanel only had to open the door and step aside.

It had been one entertaining morning. Pyro wanted to be left alone, so he went into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Chanel saw no reason to bother him. She felt that he had made his bed, and now it was time to lay it in. He was a real asshole for fucking Mecca and his baby mama at the same time—and without protection. She knew he was a player, but damn, not like that.

Chapter Eighteen

Charlie could feel the twists and turns of the moving vehicle. Then she felt the car moving at a steady speed and figured that they were on the highway now, but she had no idea where she was going. She had been blindfolded and placed into the backseat. She felt a tinge of nervousness, but she tried to keep her cool. She hoped accepting Mona’s proposition wasn’t a mistake.

“You’ll do fine, Charlie—lots of money to be made if you fuck wit’ me,” Mona had told her.

“Doin’ what?” Charlie had asked.

“What you’ve been doing—hustling,” Mona had replied.

Charlie paid attention to Mona’s lavish lifestyle, and she knew whatever Mona was doing on the side was paying a lot more than her police salary. Her $65,000 a year was pocket change compared to her primary source of income.

The vehicle traveled through the Holland Tunnel into New Jersey and then made its way to a warehouse on the outskirts of Newark. The car entered the spacious warehouse, and a man closed the rolling gate behind the vehicle for a clandestine meeting inside.

Still blindfolded, Charlie finally felt the car come to a stop. She heard the doors opening and right after, a pair of hands grabbed for her and someone said, “C’mon, get out. We’re here.”

She didn’t resist. She was removed from the backseat and heard several voices. Finally, the blindfold was removed and Charlie was staring at nine high-ranking officers in uniform from various New York City precincts. Not only was she staring at cops, but she also saw tons of confiscated kilos of cocaine and heroin.

“What the fuck is this?” she asked with uncertainty.

“Relax, Charlie. This is the business opportunity I was telling you about,” Mona said.

It was an awkward moment for Charlie. She didn’t do too well with cops. Mona and Ahbou were an exception.

“So, this is her?” asked a sergeant. “And you’re sure she can be trusted?”

“I can vouch for her, sergeant. She’s good peoples and really good at what she does,” said Mona.