25
Mecca
“Stop this shit, Trench! She’s an innocent girl that has nothing to do with business between you and me. Let her down. You don’t want me to make a decision, I can’t take back.”
He laughed and pointed at his men before he twirled his finger, signaling the one who had the end of the rope to pull it tighter. Tash was lifted off her feet, the tips of her toes was the only thing touching the ground as she convulsed and fought to keep from choking.
HB was out and aimed at Trench’s head so fast that his wide eyes flashed his surprise. Weapons came out from every direction at my action. The sound of metal clicking against the cloudy morning sky rang loud, like the drumbeats signifying the start of a battle.
“Let her down, now!”
Tash was dying, and I couldn’t let that happen. My three guys and I were severely outnumbered, but we all aimed, ready to die if need be. I kept my aim on Trench. Shockey and Torch aimed at the ones standing next to Trench, and Marshawn aimed at the one pulling the rope that was sucking the life from Tash.
“Tell me what I want to hear, Queen Mecca, or she will die,” he taunted. “It doesn’t appear she has much life left in her, so you need to hurry up with your decision.”
I lifted my gun so that he could see what I was doing before I shoved it down the back of my pants. My men kept their weapons aimed and ready. Trench’s face grew tense, puzzled by my action, likely thinking I was about to give him what he wanted.
I could sense death peeking through the glare I cast at Trench, the feeling so strong, it kept his full attention.
“Angel, light this motherfucker’s world on fire. Devil, take out the one holding the rope.”
Trench frowned, and although he couldn’t hear the commands I had just given, my behavior appeared to be settling into his brain. The frown on his face had set in and realization flashed in his eyes a second before his head exploded.
The sound that followed my command was a resounding splat, the inside of his head hitting the ground. The impact of the bullet strike had ripped apart that nest of tarantulas atop his head, leaving them soaked with blood, brain matter, and pieces of his skull.
Since a gun blast hadn’t sounded and no one had seen where it had come from, the collective gasp of his men sounded a second after his body hit the ground.
The one that held the rope fell as dramatically as Trench had, the rope slipping from his hand and releasing Tash, who was thankfully alive. She clutched her throat, gasping for air on the ground.
All of the background noise had ceased. The curtains in nearby apartments were thrown back and moving, people getting their eyewitness account of the hood drama for the day.
Fingers sat heavy and anxious against triggers, but some were too stunned to shoot, and others were smart enough to know that they could be next to die.
They had seen me put my gun away, so their bucking eyes roamed in every direction searching for where the shots that took out Trench and the rope holder had come from.
Trench’s men remained standing, stuck in indecision, not knowing what to do since their leader was gone, and they had no way of knowing which of their heads was next to get blown off. Men often underestimated me because I was a woman. They assumed my soft features and appearance couldn’t hold the kind of chaos the men usually brought. They were wrong to believe that way because I was their fucking worst nightmare in heels.
The sight of all the weapons aimed in my direction struck the flaming cords of my fear, but I refused to let it surface. Any one of Trench’s men could have squeezed their triggers and ended my life, but I was confident in the team I had watching my back. Red dots danced over the anxious bodies of Trench’s men, sending a message of warning that was decreasing their willingness to take a shot at me.
Even my team stood stunned.
“Mecca, who the fuck’s got our backs?” Shockey whispered, his steady aim holding strong.
“My guardian Angels,” I answered, confusing him more. His face frowned at my answer, but he didn’t break his aim or eye contact with his target.
I wasn’t naïve enough to think they wouldn’t notice I was wearing a vest or that some were stupid enough to take a shot at me the first chance they got. I stepped away from my spot anyway, aiming a finger at Tash so they would know my intentions.
The warning sounds of clinking metal alerted me that I was about to walk through a minefield, hundreds of bullets aimed, and ready to eat into me. I had allowed myself to go into the quiet as I prepared to take my walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I prayed that the cold, heartless bastard waiting on the other end wasn’t ready to take me today. Cautious steps and eagle-eyed glares eased me closer until I was kneeling next to Tash, helping her up.
“Thank you for coming to get me. I’m so sorry I let them take me,” she whispered, her voice barely sounding from the strain of the rope biting into her windpipe.
“You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one that’s sorry. I shouldn’t have let you anywhere near this shit.”
She attempted a smile. “I’d have done it anyway. I want to be like you. Fearless. Pretty. A boss.”
“Sweet, Tash. You can be all of that outside the drug game. This is not the only way. I’m not the woman you should be using as a role model.”
The pot was calling the kettle black because my role model was Silvia Cardenas, but Tash didn’t need to know that.