The Cartel - Ashley Antoinette Snell [41]
“Come here,” he stated as he prepared to put the girl in her place.
Her lips spread into a seductive smile as she sashayed across the street. She stepped close to his window, but Mecca frowned at the fact that her focus seemed to be behind him. He instantly noticed that her eyes seemed to look past him to his passenger window. He could almost smell the .380 pistol that was creeping up on him.
Instinctively, Mecca’s sixth sense kicked in, and he pulled his twin Desert Eagles from underneath his seats. With one gun in each hand he reached out on both sides of him and fired hollow-points—Boom! Boom!—dropping the girl and the gunman at his passenger window instantly.
Just then, a shotgun shell crashed through Mecca’s rear windshield. Glass flew everywhere as the deafening sound vibrated through the vehicle.
Mecca ducked low as he reached for his door handle and scrambled out of the truck. What the fuck? He sent hollow-points flying across his truck hood in an attempt to keep the shooter on the other side at bay.
Mecca stayed low against his car door to avoid the gunfire of his attacker. He could hear people screaming as they ran to get out of the crossfire. He looked underneath the car and put bullets into the legs of the gunman.
“Aghh!”
Once Mecca saw the gunman go down, he sprang into action and rushed to the other side of the car. “Nigga trying to murk me!” he yelled furiously as he kicked the shotgun out of the fallen soldier’s reach. He aimed his gun at the dude’s head.
“Please, man, please don’t kill me,” the dude pleaded.
Mecca snatched the ski mask off the gunman’s face. He had expected to see a dreadhead, due to The Cartel’s ongoing beef with the Haitians. To his surprise, it was one of his very own soldiers lying at his feet. What the fuck? My own camp plotting on me now? Mecca was astounded and didn’t know what to think.
“Don’t bitch up now, mu’fucka! You had the balls to get at me!” Mecca screamed as he pistol-whipped the man. “Who sent you, huh?” Mecca’s brought the cold steel down across the man’s face with brutal force, causing blood to splatter onto his white t-shirt. “You trying to kill me?” He hit the man once again, baffled that he had to prove that he was the king of Miami’s concrete jungle.
Leena came running out of the house with a duffle bag full of money in her hands. “Mecca!” she screamed in fright at the sight before her.
“Go back in the house!” Mecca yelled at her without even looking her way.
The man groaned in pain as he bled on the hot pavement. Mecca pressed the gun to the middle of his forehead.
“Nah, man! Nobody sent us, I swear. We were just gon’ rob you. My brother and his girlfriend, that’s it, man. We just wanted the money. Please don’t kill me.”
“Niggas really think we slippin’ out here!” Mecca yelled as he stood up and addressed the crowd of hustlers and courageous spectators. “Y’all niggas really think we touchable now, huh?” Mecca was like a pit bull as he stood above the dude and looked every hood nigga in his eye, while they watched on in horror. “We don’t die, bitch! Diamonds are forever, mu’fuckas.” Seething through a clenched jaw, Mecca unloaded the rest of his clip into the man’s dome and then hopped into his truck, speeding away recklessly.
Mecca steadied his driving and eased off the gas pedal when he saw the Miami police cruisers coming his way. He hit the steering wheel repeatedly as he