Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick

Coca

Kola

The Baddest Chick

Nisa Santiago

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Coca Kola
. Copyright © 2011 by Melodrama Publishing. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Melodrama Publishing, P.O. Box 522, Bellport, NY 11713.

www.melodramapublishing.com

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011927249

ISBN-13: 978-1934157480

ISBN-10: 1934157481

EISBN: 978-1-620780-091

First Edition: March 2012

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Interior Design: Candace K. Cottrell

Cover Design: Marion Designs

Model: Vanessa

Also By Nisa Santiago

Cartier Cartel

Return of the Cartier Cartel (part 2)

Dirty Money Honey (with Erica Hilton and Kim K.)

Bad Apple - The Baddest Chick (Part 1)

Coca Kola - The Baddest Chick (Part 2)

Checkmate - The Baddest Chick (Part 3)

Guard the Throne

Prologue

T
he understaffed trauma unit at Harlem Hospital was overrun with 9-1-1 calls. It seemed like everybody who had fallen ill, gotten shot or stabbed, or had some unknown sickness had come to that hospital for treatment. The hallway was lined with the sick and injured, some needing to be restrained, others fighting to survive their injuries. The echoes of the men and women in agony seemed never-ending to the doctors and nurses bustling back and forth from one patient to the next.

The EMS bus brought in a patient who was screaming and definitely out of control. She was barely strapped down to the gurney and had suffered serious burns to most of her face.

As the staff hurried her into the center, she screamed out, “I’ma kill that bitch! I’ma kill that fuckin’ bitch! Aaaah, shit, it hurts! It hurts! It fuckin’ hurts!”

The medical team wanted to treat her as quickly as possible, but she was kicking, screaming, and squirming on the rushing gurney.

“Get the fuck off me! Get off me!” Apple yelled, sounding crazy.

“Ma’am, just calm down. We’re trying to help you. Just stay calm,” the night RN said, trying to hold Apple down on the gurney with the help of the other team members.

“What happened to you?” another nurse asked.

Apple refused to be cooperative, though. She continued kicking and screaming, feeling her face painfully melting away like the wicked witch from
The Wizard of Oz
.

She screamed out, “My fuckin’ face! My fuckin’ face! I’ma kill that bitch! Aaaah!”

“She needs to be sedated,” the doctor said.

After wheeling Apple into a private room cluttered with staff and security, the nurses started prepping her and the room for an emergency surgery. The sedative was being prepared, and the doctors wanted to tend to the burns right away. From the looks of her injuries, they were confident that Apple would need some major skin grafting procedures.

Apple kicked one of the nurses into a shelf filled with medical supplies, causing them to spill over.

“Hold her down!” the doctor yelled.

It took security and four staff members to hold Apple down while the RN tried to stick the syringe filled with a sedative into her arm, her screams echoing through the trauma center.

“Get off meeee!” she yelled.

She tried to bite the second nurse, but her arms were forced to her side by security. The RN quickly thrust the syringe into Apple’s right arm, hoping it worked promptly.

Apple’s chest heaved and dropped like a winded athlete’s, her wildness slowly fading and her facial expression looking more serene. There was finally some calm in the room.

“Shit!” the RN exclaimed, shocked that the teenage girl was so strong.

Immediately, they began operating on her burns. The doctor tried to operate the best he could on her face, but the acid had done severe damage. It would take a miracle for Apple to look the way she used to.

***

Apple slowly opened her eyes hours later to find her face heavily bandaged. Still loopy from the sedative, she touched the dressing slowly and gently. She started to cry when she realized how ugly she must be.

When she closed her eyes to try and stop the crying, she heard a nurse say, “You need to rest.”

Turning to look at the short, round nurse clad in blue-and-white scrubs, Apple yelled, “I want a fuckin’ plastic surgeon now, bitch!”

“Ma’am, you need to rest.”

“Fuck that! Look at me!” she cried out.

The nurse had a sad look on her face. She wanted to console the eighteen-year-old but thought against it. Instead, she checked Apple’s IV flow, jotted something down on a clipboard, and walked out the room, leaving Apple feeling alone and disgusted.

Apple fell asleep again and woke up hours later in the burn unit. Alone in the room, the only thing on her mind was revenge. Every time she touched the bandages, which covered most of her burned face, she fumed with rage. Then she’d start crying, with the realization that she was no longer pretty.

The doctors gave her another sedative to calm her down.

***

Chico charged into the hospital, searching for his woman. He argued with security and then a few staff members, shouting, “Where’s my fuckin’ girl?”

One of Apple’s doctors escorted him toward the burn unit, where she was heavily sedated. Her burns were itching and painful, but she couldn’t scratch.

Chico stopped at the doorway, a look of shock on his face. He couldn’t believe it. She looked like a mummy as she lay in bed.

“What the fuck!”

Apple slowly turned to see her love, Chico, standing in the doorway, but she didn’t say a word to him. The medication in her system had her drowsy and dizzy.

Chico rushed into the room, took Apple’s hand into his, and looked at her with that firm love in his eyes. “Baby, who the fuck did this shit to you? Just give me a fuckin’ name, and they dead. I promise you that.”

Apple locked eyes with her boyfriend. “Kola . . . Kola . . . Kola.”

Chapter 1

K
ola violently awakened out of her sleep with an inexplicable yelp and rose up in a cold sweat, staring into a dark room. She felt something being ripped away from her, tearing into her soul, like a shovel slicing into dirt. Kola didn’t want to panic, but the dream seemed so real. She was feeling out of breath with a sharp pain in her chest and agony in her heart. She placed her hand against her chest and looked over to see an empty bed. Cross wasn’t home for the third straight night, but she knew he was a busy man, a natural-born hustler who had her living in the lap of luxury.

Suddenly, the dark was making Kola uncomfortable. She got out of bed and turned on the lights. She looked around her magnificent bedroom with the large skylight above the bed, volume ceiling, fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows, large plasma flat-screen, and high-end bedroom set with a platinum-colored bedspread. It was the only way Kola could live and wanted to live—like a queen and with her man running Harlem like a king.

Kola donned her long peach silk robe and walked over to the large mahogany Serena dresser mirror to peer at her image. She was naked underneath the robe—her curves, ample breasts, and shaved pussy showing in the reflection. She had a body that many women would envy her for, and it belonged to Cross. Her body was his temple. She was in love with him, and he took care of her. She understood why Apple was so in love with him, and she had no regrets snatching away the man her sister had idolized and loved for so long. You snooze, you lose, Kola believed.

Kola and Cross were the Bonnie and Clyde of Harlem, attractive and deadly at the same time. Their illicit empire was growing, and her sex parties were the talk of the town. Kola had made a name for herself generating so much money, and she didn’t know what to do with it all. And with Cross by her side, she felt untouchable.

Kola continued to stare at herself in the mirror, trying to shake the eerie feeling. For some reason, she felt her skin itch, and it almost felt like she was being watched. She pulled open her drawer and removed a pack of Newports. She lit the cigarette quickly and took a much-needed drag from the cancer stick.

She then walked over to the bed and took a seat, searching for the remote to the flat-screen. She glanced at the time. It was three in the morning. After taking another pull from the cigarette, she sighed heavily, clicked on the television, and looked at a few infomercials for a moment. Wanting to get her mind out of a bad place, she continued to smoke while looking at the TV, but she couldn’t shake that odd feeling.

“Something’s wrong,” she said to herself.

She got up to dump the contents out of her purse and picked up her cell phone. No messages or missed calls.

She started to worry about Cross, who had told her that he was out on business. She trusted him. She knew Cross could handle himself, and if something was wrong, he would call her. Yet, she couldn’t help feeling a little scared.

She walked over to the window and stared down at her new black M-class Benz truck parked in the circular driveway. She loved how she looked in the truck.

Kola loved the suburbs like she loved Harlem. However, being miles away from Harlem gave her peace of mind and kept the bitches and bitch-assness out of her business.

“Where are you, baby?” Kola whispered, staring out the window as she continued to smoke.

She had an itch between her thighs that needed to be scratched, and Cross was the one man able to scratch it for her. Her pussy tingled for his touch, and her nipples felt like pebbles as she thought about his kisses.

Kola sighed, extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, and walked away from the window. She didn’t want to be alone. She felt troubled, which was a new feeling for her. She was a tough girl, but her mind was playing tricks on her. It was the first night she felt uneasy being alone in such a big house. She looked at her cell phone again and was tempted to call someone.

The TV was playing the end of the infomercial, and the vast bedroom looked bigger to her than usual. Kola sat on the bed with the phone in her hand, trying desperately to shake the bad feeling. She felt like a young girl. She finally felt her age—eighteen. She had matured quickly over the years and hadn’t felt like that young girl in a long time.

As she sat on the bed thinking, her cell phone rang, startling her. She jumped for a moment and then hurried to answer it. She didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID but answered the call anyway.

“Hello?”

“You have a collect call from Cross at the Manhattan Correctional Facility,” the automated recording announced.

Kola quickly accepted the call, her heart beating against her chest. She had a million worries in her head, and receiving a collect call from her man in jail had her tripping out.

“Hey, baby,” she heard Cross’ smooth voice say.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“We good, Kola, and don’t even worry. I’m wit’ Edge. We got knocked wit’ a gun in the car.”

“What!”

“It’s bullshit, baby. We’ll be out soon. Don’t even worry about it.”

“I
am
worried!” Kola exclaimed.