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Authors: Nisa Santiago
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happens.”
Eduardo wasn’t thrilled about her reply, but he had enough respect for Kola to let her be. If it was any other woman, he would have had his way with her and there wouldn’t have been a thing she could’ve done about it. He stood up and regained his composure.
Kola did the same, fixing her panties and her dress, and the two continued on with their business. Kola got what she came for and gave Eduardo a long, passionate kiss before leaving with several ki’s of cocaine.
Kola exited the building and strutted back to her car casually like the way she walked in. She was smiling and seemed to be excited. She tossed the bag into her trunk, stared up at the towering building, and thought about Eduardo. She then jumped into the driver’s seat and started the ignition.
Kola was flabbergasted that Eduardo was ready to kill for her. Having that kind of power at her beck and call excited her. She pulled out of her parking spot and headed for the New Jersey Turnpike, unaware that Cross and Edge had been watching her the entire time.
CHAPTER 6
“ Yo, you should have let me body that bitch, Cross. She been in that fuckin’ building for over an hour wit’ that nigga,” Edge exclaimed.
Cross thought about it, and every inch of his body ached with rage and vengeance. He wanted to run across the street and put a bullet in Kola’s head and just watch her bleed out on the street. He clutched a loaded 9 mm in his hand as he glared at Kola getting into her car with a big smile, looking like she’d just gotten dicked down. Cross’ imagination went wild about the freak-nasty shit that Eduardo was doing to his girl to have her smiling so hard.
“I’ma get at that bitch later. I thought we were focused on gettin’ this money,” Cross reminded Edge.
Edge nodded in agreement.
As they watched Kola pull off, the two noticed a dark Tahoe come to a stop beside them.
The driver’s window came rolling down and the driver stared at Cross. “What’s good?” the driver spoke.
“Just park and get out,” Cross said.
The driver nodded. He was clad in all black and wore dark shades. He was with two men seated in the Tahoe, part of Cross’ deadly Harlem crew, and each one of them had the same deadly mentality—They were ready to kill for the wealth. They had arrived just in time and were heavily armed with submachine guns concealed under camouflage raincoats.
Cross and Edge stepped out of the Impala. It started to rain and the sky crackled with loud thunder, leaving the Jersey City street free and clear of any pedestrians or witnesses. They cautiously made their way toward the building—a five-man team ready to provoke war with a deadly kingpin.
The doorman stood behind the giant oak counter near the front entrance. His attention was on a People magazine and sipping on a bottle of water. It was a quiet evening, and with the rain and thunder pouring outside, the residents decided to stay indoors. He turned the pages and then looked up to see a hooded black male abruptly entering into the lobby wearing an army camouflage raincoat. He walked by the doorman without saying a word or giving him any acknowledgment.
“Excuse me, sir, you just can’t go up there. I need to announce you. Who are you here to see?” the doorman spat quickly.
“Fuck you!” the boy exclaimed.
“If you don’t comply with the rules and regulations of this building, I’ll call the cops.”
Before he could reach and pick up the phone, four more men swiftly burst into the lobby and rapidly attacked him, punching him in the face, knocking him down, and holding him at gunpoint.
“Don’t fuckin’ move, muthafucka!” one of his attackers exclaimed, masked up, a .50-cal. Desert Eagle trained at the man’s head.
The doorman lay on the floor, wide-eyed and terrified, surrounded by five masked men.
“I swear to god, if you fuckin’ move one damn inch and don’t listen, ya fuckin’ brains is gonna decorate this lobby floor. You fuckin’
Eduardo wasn’t thrilled about her reply, but he had enough respect for Kola to let her be. If it was any other woman, he would have had his way with her and there wouldn’t have been a thing she could’ve done about it. He stood up and regained his composure.
Kola did the same, fixing her panties and her dress, and the two continued on with their business. Kola got what she came for and gave Eduardo a long, passionate kiss before leaving with several ki’s of cocaine.
Kola exited the building and strutted back to her car casually like the way she walked in. She was smiling and seemed to be excited. She tossed the bag into her trunk, stared up at the towering building, and thought about Eduardo. She then jumped into the driver’s seat and started the ignition.
Kola was flabbergasted that Eduardo was ready to kill for her. Having that kind of power at her beck and call excited her. She pulled out of her parking spot and headed for the New Jersey Turnpike, unaware that Cross and Edge had been watching her the entire time.
CHAPTER 6
“ Yo, you should have let me body that bitch, Cross. She been in that fuckin’ building for over an hour wit’ that nigga,” Edge exclaimed.
Cross thought about it, and every inch of his body ached with rage and vengeance. He wanted to run across the street and put a bullet in Kola’s head and just watch her bleed out on the street. He clutched a loaded 9 mm in his hand as he glared at Kola getting into her car with a big smile, looking like she’d just gotten dicked down. Cross’ imagination went wild about the freak-nasty shit that Eduardo was doing to his girl to have her smiling so hard.
“I’ma get at that bitch later. I thought we were focused on gettin’ this money,” Cross reminded Edge.
Edge nodded in agreement.
As they watched Kola pull off, the two noticed a dark Tahoe come to a stop beside them.
The driver’s window came rolling down and the driver stared at Cross. “What’s good?” the driver spoke.
“Just park and get out,” Cross said.
The driver nodded. He was clad in all black and wore dark shades. He was with two men seated in the Tahoe, part of Cross’ deadly Harlem crew, and each one of them had the same deadly mentality—They were ready to kill for the wealth. They had arrived just in time and were heavily armed with submachine guns concealed under camouflage raincoats.
Cross and Edge stepped out of the Impala. It started to rain and the sky crackled with loud thunder, leaving the Jersey City street free and clear of any pedestrians or witnesses. They cautiously made their way toward the building—a five-man team ready to provoke war with a deadly kingpin.
The doorman stood behind the giant oak counter near the front entrance. His attention was on a People magazine and sipping on a bottle of water. It was a quiet evening, and with the rain and thunder pouring outside, the residents decided to stay indoors. He turned the pages and then looked up to see a hooded black male abruptly entering into the lobby wearing an army camouflage raincoat. He walked by the doorman without saying a word or giving him any acknowledgment.
“Excuse me, sir, you just can’t go up there. I need to announce you. Who are you here to see?” the doorman spat quickly.
“Fuck you!” the boy exclaimed.
“If you don’t comply with the rules and regulations of this building, I’ll call the cops.”
Before he could reach and pick up the phone, four more men swiftly burst into the lobby and rapidly attacked him, punching him in the face, knocking him down, and holding him at gunpoint.
“Don’t fuckin’ move, muthafucka!” one of his attackers exclaimed, masked up, a .50-cal. Desert Eagle trained at the man’s head.
The doorman lay on the floor, wide-eyed and terrified, surrounded by five masked men.
“I swear to god, if you fuckin’ move one damn inch and don’t listen, ya fuckin’ brains is gonna decorate this lobby floor. You fuckin’
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