Bad Apple - the Baddest Chick(53)
Denise stepped farther into the hallway, closing the door lightly behind her, so her company wouldn’t hear the dispute. Resenting Kola’s words, she got up in her face. “Kola, Nichols is dead, OK? I’m trying to move on with my life, and this is me moving on.”
“You movin’ on how, Ma? By letting your f*ckin’ daughter f-uck that nigga? You pimpin’ her now, Ma!”
“My business is my f*ckin’ business, and you need to stay the f-uck out my business! Look at us, Kola. Look how I’m living now. f-uck it! We came up.”
“Came up? Look at you! You’re a f*ckin’ joke! You and Apple, ya’ll some dumb bitches!” Kola screamed out.
“You watch your f*ckin’ mouth, Kola. You always been the stupidest one out of all my kids!” Denise shouted.
“Whateva, Ma. Nichols ain’t been dead two months yet, and you’re actin’ like she never existed, but I swear on Nichols’ grave, I’ma see you and Apple.”
“Bitch, how dare you threaten me! I’m the queen bitch, Kola! I gave birth to your f*ckin’ ass! You hear me, bitch? I gave birth to Nichols, and I’m allowed to mourn her in my own f*ckin’ way. I wish you were the one rottin’ in the f*ckin’ ground!” Denise shouted as she followed Kola toward the elevator.
Though hurt by her mother’s words somewhat, Kola kept it moving. She dried the few tears that fell from her eyes and exited her old building, a vengeful spirit dwelling inside of her.
Denise cursed the ground Kola walked on and went back into the apartment to continue her wild card game; smoking, drinking, and partying like it was New Year’s Eve. She decided not to give Kola and her foolishness a second thought. She loved her new life. The clothes and jewelry were the best. f-uck that bitch, she thought to herself.
*****
Kola got into her black BMW 5-Series and started the ignition, her heart ice-cold toward her family. She thought about Nichols every day and was ashamed to see her family acting like fools, disregarding what had happened to her little sister.
It’d been two months, and still Nichols’ murder was unsolved. Kola had heard about J-Dogg being gunned down in the Bronx, but it was bittersweet news. She knew he might have been the triggerman, but he wasn’t the only one behind the murder. She felt in her heart that the real culprit was tearing her family apart, and even though her family was dysfunctional before the tragedy, she felt like they were even more f*cked up now.
Apple was the talk of the town, but Kola was the gangsta in the family. People knew not to f-uck with her. Still, Apple had a growing reputation, and Kola was reminded of it daily. She’d heard about her sister pistol-whipping bitches or cutting up their face if they were late with payment. Kola was somewhat stunned at her sister’s sudden change of character.
Who knew the bitch had it in her? Kola said to herself.
In her eyes, Apple still couldn’t f-uck with her. Though Apple was getting money, she was making her ends too. Yet, it pained Kola’s heart to see her twin sister sleeping with the enemy. She knew Supreme was no good. He was a creep who’d manipulated her sister with money to cover up Nichols’ murder.
Kola couldn’t worry about her sister and mother at the moment. She was having a party that night. Her sex-selling business was taking off. For the past month and a half, things had been booming for her. She had the finest girls in the city under her influence and the best locations anyone could think of—rooftops, penthouse suits, and lavish clubs. In fact, she was becoming well known for her business and profiting greatly from selling sex throughout Harlem and the rest of New York. Once you went to one of Kola’s party—a sex ’n’ play gathering, she called it—you didn’t want to f-uck with anything else.
Kola had a close-knit team of women that helped her organize things, and she ran her business like a corporation. She had her ladies on salary, with tips, had them all tested for any STDs, and the only way into her parties was through membership fees, which was paid in advance by either cash or credit card via her business account that she had set up. Once membership was paid up, the members would receive the time and location of her next hardcore event via e-mail or text. She made sure never to stay at one location too long, knowing if she kept changing venues, it would be harder for law enforcement to raid her business. She always kept her parties on the low and made up to five to ten thousand each event from selling sex, liquor, and ecstasy.
Kola pushed her 5-Series toward her home in Washington Heights. It was getting late, and she had to be ready in time for her party at a downtown Manhattan loft in SoHo. The venue was big enough to hold up to one hundred and fifty people, which was perfect. She needed the space, since her parties were growing because of increasing membership. She had fifteen girls arriving, and they were all ready to get things popping. None of her girls were ugly, because she’d handpicked them herself. Ranging from ages eighteen to twenty-two years old, they were all cute, thick, and curvy in the right places, and were the best at what they did—making men buy into a sexual fantasy that they’d never forget.
It was almost nine in the evening when Kola arrived at her cozy one-bedroom apartment off Broadway. She double-parked her car outside the building and rushed inside. Her place was quiet, with an unflustered and comfortable silence that took time for her to get used to. She’d decorated the place with lovely accent furnishing, including a large overstuffed Candice Olson designed couch, a Horchow modern glass dining table, a vintage canopy bed, and off white-colored walls that enriched her living room. The large plasma screen was mounted on her wall like a painting, and the unique Bistro Loft aerial rug, though it had cost her a small fortune, made her place a little more welcoming. In fact, the design on the rug was stunning enough to have been a piece of artwork on her walls.