The Cartel (24 page)

“I don’t have to know you. I know your type.”

“So what? Because you came from the bottom, you hate everybody that’s at the top? I guess you like them ol’ raggedy Reebok-wearing bitches, huh? If a chick ain’t from the ghetto, then you ain’t interested.”

“I like smart chicks. It doesn’t matter where they’re from.” Zyir turned to face her.

“And I’m not that?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. I mean, I’ll admit I don’t really know you, but it seems to me that you are a little naïve, self-centered.” Zyir smiled. He could see that his words were bothering her. He had to admit, she was a gorgeous young woman, but her head wasn’t in the right place.

“Self-centered?” Breeze repeated, her face frowned in disagreement.

“Check it, ma—After everything your family has been through, you out here trying to throw parties and shit. Trying to keep up your perception and be the center of attention while mu’fuckas is running up in your people’s funerals and killing the ones you love. You’re in the middle of a war and you making yourself accessible. You’re the type of target a nigga would love to touch. If I was working for the other side, you would be the first one I would gun for. You’re easy to get to.” Zyir looked toward her and noticed the solemn expression that crossed her face. The girl was fighting back tears, and he instantly regretted bringing up the death of her loved ones. “Yo, ma, I’m sorry—”

“You know what? Just don’t say shit to me. I get it. You think I’m stupid and spoiled, so there ain’t no need for us to be social, but don’t ever say anything about my family. You just got here. You don’t know us. Just do your job and be my fucking bulletproof. That’s what being a rich, spoiled, dumb little bitch gets you—a mu’fucka like you to take bullets for me,” she said arrogantly.

Breeze pulled in front of the event planner’s office and slammed her door as she got out of the car. She stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building and thought about what Zyir had said to her. She couldn’t help it that she was spoiled. Her father had always provided for her, but she had never been called selfish before. Zyir’s words had been like a mirror that showed Breeze her true reflection. She was her family’s weak spot, and it hurt.

“Damn it!” she yelled as she kept walking past the party planning spot and onto the sandy beach across the street.

Zyir watched her from the car and put his hand over his face when he saw her storm off. “Fuck, man! I should’ve just shut the fuck up. All this dramatic shit ain’t for the kid,” he mumbled to himself. He reluctantly climbed out of the car and walked down the street behind her. “Getting my mu’fuckin’ kicks dirty and shit,” he complained as he walked through the sand near the edge of the water in his crispy white Force One’s.

He walked up behind her. “Breeze.”

“You’re right,” she said.

“Nah, ma, I was out of line. You’re right. I haven’t been here. I don’t know shit, just forget about it, a’ight,” he said attempting to make her feel better. He wasn’t used to being sentimental, and he had never apologized for anything in his life, so he felt awkward changing his persona for her.

“I remember my father used to bring me here when I was little. We would come to the beach, and he would let me run around all day. I would shop up and down these boulevards for hours. I was the only little girl rocking Chanel and Ferragamo.” She laughed at the distant memory and then looked Zyir in his eyes. “You see, I’ve always had everything I’ve ever wanted, ever since I can remember. Every year he threw a white party for all of our friends and family. Everybody came out to show The Cartel love. I miss him so much. I just want things to be how they were before all this happened. They are taking everything from me. My father, Money, Mecca’s half-crazy. All I have left are my memories and the money that my father left me. I’m not trying to put my family in jeopardy, but I don’t want to stop living my life while I wait around to die. Eventually they are going to get me too,” Breeze whispered, as tears burned her eyes.

“No, they not, ma,” Zyir said confidently. Seeing her so weak hit a soft spot with him.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m your bulletproof, remember?” He nudged her shoulder gently, trying to make her smile.

She wiped her face and smirked slightly. “Sorry about that comment.”

“It’s nothing, shorty, but for real, if you want to make it through this war, you got to be just as smart as the mu'-fuckas gunnin’ for you. Don’t be the weak link, ma. If you wanna go somewhere, all you got to do is call. I’ll take you, ‘cuz, believe me, a nigga ain’t murking me.”

“Thank you, Zyir,” she said graciously as her curly hair blew with the ocean-misted wind.

“You’re welcome, beautiful.”

“Oh, so you think I’m beautiful?” Breeze grinned as she put her sunglasses back over her eyes.

Zyir shook his head and grabbed her hand to lead her back to the car. “You still trying to throw this party, or you gon’ be smart and play it safe?”

“I trust you. I don’t want to put my family in danger.”

“Well, let me put you up on some new shit, something that will occupy your time.” He hopped into the passenger seat and said, “Take me to the nearest bookstore.”

Breeze and Zyir spent the entire day together. He took her to Borders and introduced her to reading, which was a pastime that she never had.

The most that Breeze ever did was flip through the pages of fashion magazines, but Zyir spoke about African American literature as if she were missing out on something. His obvious passion for reading was intriguing. He piqued her interest as he spoke fervently about authors such as James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, and Alice Walker. He even put her up on street fiction, starting her out on Donald Goines and then suggesting street writers like Ashley JaQuavis, Keisha Ervin, and Sister Souljah. Breeze had never met anyone like Zyir. He was intelligent, honest, and most importantly, she felt safe when they were together. She trusted him with her life, and she had just met him.

“What am I going to do with all these books? I can’t read them all today. Maybe I should come back for some later,” Breeze said, almost intimidated by the stack of books that were piling up in her hands.

“I’m-a tell you like Carter told me. Start at the beginning and work your way through until you’ve read them all. You’ve got to feed your brain, ma. Don’t let these crackers hide shit from you within these pages. That’s how they keep our minds imprisoned. That’s why I said there is nothing more unattractive than a dumb chick,” he said. “I’m surprised Carter ain’t gave you that speech yet. The nigga stay grilling me and I ain’t even his family.”

Breeze laughed. “Well, that’s a conversation that I can avoid having because you’ve already taught me. I guess I’ll take them all then.”

Zyir purchased all of the books for Breeze, and when it was time for her to go, she was reluctant to go back home. “I had a good time today,” she said.

“Me too, ma, me too.”

“I just feel like I finally have someone I can talk to, you know? My brothers are all about this war, and I sort of get lost in the sauce. This was nice.”

“I better get you back.”

Breeze shook her head in protest and smiled. “You bought me all these books and now you gon’ leave me hanging? You know I might need you there to help me get through some of these big words, you know, since you think I’m dumb and all.”

“First impressions are sometimes wrong. I misjudged you.”

“So tonight is not over yet?” she asked as she stepped into her car.

“Nah, shorty, it ain’t over. We can kick it at my place.” Zyir told her his address, and twenty minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the building.

Carter pulled up to Miamor’s place and saw her as she walked across the parking lot with ten shopping bags in her hands. He smirked when he noticed that the bags were all from high-end designers.
She is definitely high-class. She can hurt a nigga’s pockets for real.

He admired her runway strut before approaching her. “You need some help?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked quietly as she stopped dead in her tracks. “We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to say,” she answered quickly and sternly.

Her tone was short, and he knew that she was still upset. The way her jaw clinched was an indication as to how mad she really was. Her jealousy told him more than her words could ever say. He knew that she had feelings for him that ran deeper than she wanted to admit, and that she was stubborn, and it would take some effort for him to get back in her good graces.

He pulled the bags from her hands and motioned his head for her to walk ahead of him. She hesitated, but didn’t protest as she began to walk into her building. The natural sway of her hips commanded his attention as he followed behind her.

The smell of vanilla filled Carter’s senses as soon as he stepped foot inside her home. Her place was spotless, and that was one of the things he loved most about her. She was clean. She was sensitive. She was a real woman.

“Thank you for carrying my bags up. You can leave now,” she said as she opened the door for him and folded her arms across her chest.

“Can we talk?”

“I told you ain’t nothing to talk about,” Miamor stated. “Go talk to your little girlfriend from the other night.” She knew that she was being childish, but she didn’t care.

“She was nobody,” Carter stated as he stepped into her. He put one hand on the side of her face and swept her hair from in front of her eyes. “She was just some little bitch I met at the club. You don’t have to worry.”

Miamor laughed arrogantly. “Worry? Look at me, Carter—Do I look like the type of bitch that needs to worry over a nigga? No! I have a million in line that were waiting for you to fuck up. They didn’t have to wait very long now, did they?”

Carter nodded his head, and for the first time she saw him get angry. His nose flared slightly, but he kept his composure.

“Okay. I’m-a let that slick shit you popping slide, because I fucked up. I hurt you.”

“Whatever. Please do not give yourself that much credit,” Miamor replied quickly. She knew that she had to keep the smart comments rolling off her tongue to stop herself from crying. “You know what? I don’t even know why you are here. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m not your girl, and I don’t really give a fuck about what you do. I’m just glad that I found out how you are before I …” She stopped speaking abruptly before she said too much.
Don’t let this nigga control the situation. Keep your emotions in check and use them to your advantage.

“Before you what?”

She was silent as she tried to keep her composure. “Tell me,” he demanded.

“Before I gave you a chance to break my heart.”

Carter closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers as he released a deep sigh. She could see the regret on his face, and it was then that she knew he never meant to hurt her.

It was too late for her to care though. She had let him into her heart, and he had showed her shade, no matter how small it may have been. He was her enemy.
Yep, nigga fall right into my trap, lying-ass mu’fucka. You should feel bad,
she thought angrily.

“I’m sorry, ma. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have even been in a club, especially with a bitch. I’ve got a lot on me right now. She didn’t mean shit, and she ain’t shit to me. I don’t even know the girl’s name. I apologize for hurting you,” he whispered.

“You didn’t,” she said, her words stubborn and cold.

“I did. I can see it in your eyes, Miamor, and I am sincerely sorry, ma. I’m caught up in some shit with my family right now, and I wasn’t thinking. I don’t want you to doubt the way that I feel about you.”

His words were making her weak, and she felt a single tear escape her eyes. “Just leave me alone,” she whispered. Miamor wanted to kill Carter so badly that she could taste his blood in her mouth.
I hate this nigga, but I love his ass too,
she thought.

How could she love a man whose organization took her sister away from her? She was so torn and confused that she didn’t know what to do. Her girls were wrong, Carter didn’t have her head, but he was slowly capturing her heart.

It’s too bad, I’m-a have to murder this nigga,
she thought sadly.

Carter pulled her away from the front door and closed it. With her back against the wall, he kissed her neck gently. Her nipples hardened, and he removed her shirt and unclasped her bra in one motion. His hands were experienced, and he’d perfected the art of seduction like a ball player perfected his jump shot.

His full lips found their way to her breasts, sucking them gently before making his way further south. He removed her jeans, slipped her panties to the side, and licked her pussy so good that she automatically forgave him. His warm tongue wiggled in and out of her honey slit with skill. She felt the throbbing sensation in her swollen clitoris, and his lips circled around the tender spot as he sucked on it slowly, gently, passionately, French-kissing it with skill.

He slipped two of his thick fingers inside of her as his tongue continued to work its magic on her clit. His fingers felt like a hard dick as he caused her to squirm from his touch.

“You forgive me?”

“No,” she moaned as she rotated her pussy in his face. She looked down, and the sight of her juices all over his face aroused her even more. She grinded furiously on his fingers as her pussy squirted multiple orgasms. She never knew getting her pussy ate could feel so good. Either the niggas she was fucking with before were amateurs, or Carter was blessed, but either way she was in heaven.

He stood back to his feet, leaving his jeans on the floor beneath him. His dick already rock-hard from the pleasing sounds erupting from Miamor. His fingers were still inside her, and she was pleading for him to continue. His manhood grew another inch, just from the seductive look on Miamor’s face.

“Please put it in,” she moaned. “Carter, I need you. My pussy needs you.”

Carter lifted one of her legs around his waist and rubbed the head of his dick up and down her wetness. His head resembled a flower in bloom, and the width of it was mesmerizing. The heat radiating from him caused her to tremble as he teased her by rubbing it slowly against her puddle of wetness.