Brooklyn Bombshells: Part 2

Charlie retrieved her bottle of 1800 tequila and took a mouthful from it. She dropped against the couch and took another swig. She needed to think. Ahbou was gone, but she still had Mona to watch her back.

Charlie needed her cop cronies to take care of her problem. She wanted them to make the investigation go away permanently. What good was it to have NYPD connections if some inept New Jersey detectives could come fuck with her? They had their suspect, so why they were bothering her?

“Fuck ’em,” she cursed. “Let them try to put me in jail. I got another thing for they bitch asses!”

Meanwhile, outside the apartment, the detectives walked to the car. They weren’t upset about Charlie’s outburst. They pushed and pushed until the bubble finally popped. They knew that she had a hand in both the rape and God’s murder. But God’s death was their case, not her sister’s rape. Charlie had guilt written all over her face, and the detectives would do what they could to prove it. It wasn’t too late to drop the charges against Kym before she was convicted of a crime she didn’t commit.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

It happened again, and then again and again. Chanel and Pyro were having an affair. Chanel didn’t want to be consumed by guilt, but Pyro made her feel so good. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. The sex was great—really great—and Chanel even went down on Pyro several times Things were escalating between them. They couldn’t get enough of each other, and they were having sex right under Mecca’s nose.

Chanel lingered in the hot shower, feeling the water cascading against her skin. She wished Pyro was with her, holding her, caressing her, and making love to her in the shower, which had happened before. But then her mind shifted to Mateo and how emotionally supportive he was when she told him about Claire’s suicide and Bacardi’s paternity admission, and the pang of guilt she felt ended her steamy fantasy.

She got out of the shower and toweled off. She stared at her naked image in the mirror and thought about how her mother had told her to never tell Mateo about her and Pyro.

Pyro wasn’t home, and she had no idea where he was. She didn’t keep tabs on him, but she did care about him—a lot—and she sometimes worried about him. He was a hustler, and the streets were a dangerous place for a man like him. Pyro knew how to take care of himself, but Chanel couldn’t help but to think what would she do if something were to happen to him.

Her cell phone rang, knocking her back to reality. It was Mecca calling. Shit. She didn’t want to answer. Chanel hadn’t talked to Mecca in over a week, and even when she did, it was hard knowing she and Pyro had a thing. She decided she needed to answer. Otherwise, Mecca would start to wonder why she was avoiding her.

“Hello?”

“Chanel, can we talk?”

“What’s going on, Mecca? You okay?”

“No. I’m not. I really need someone to talk to,” she said.

“Come by then. I’m here,” Chanel said.

“No. Can you come to my place?”

“Yeah, sure. I can be over there in about two hours.”

“Okay.”

Mecca ended the call.

As she got dressed, Chanel felt nervous about meeting Mecca at her apartment. What if she found out about Pyro and me? What if she wants to fight me?

Mecca buzzed Chanel up, and she took the elevator to the third floor. Her nerves were shot as she approached her friend’s door. She had her guilt. Two days ago, she and Pyro were together in his bed.

She took a deep breath and knocked.

The door opened, and Mecca appeared in front of Chanel looking like she had been crying. They looked at each other. Chanel thought, Are we still friends or not? Did Pyro tell her about us? No—he wouldn’t.

“Just come in, Chanel,” she said.

Chanel entered the apartment. Mecca looked tired and distraught. Something was definitely bothering her.

“Mecca, what’s going on with you? What happened?”

“I’m just trying not to trip or flip out, Chanel,” she replied.

“Flip out over what?” Chanel asked nervously.

Chanel remained standing as Mecca took a seat. She needed to be on guard just in case things went left. She still had no idea what her friend was upset about.

“It’s Pyro . . .”