The Prada Plan 2: Leah's Story (18 page)

“Leah!” she shouted as she stormed up to the plantation-style wraparound porch. She pounded on the door as she shouted Leah’s name again. She was ready to go hard, to go all in, but her anger tapered off when she realized that no one was home.

Chase stood back with his hands on his waistline as he watched YaYa spazzing. He couldn’t really blame her. He knew that she had cracked from all of the detrimental things that had happened to her. All she wanted was Leah’s head on a platter. Once she got that, she would start the healing process; until then, she would be stuck in this limbo.

YaYa reached for the door handle and turned it. To her surprise, the door squeaked open. She crept in cautiously as she observed her surroundings. The place was in shambles, as if a tornado had ripped through it. YaYa went from room to room until she had searched the entire house.

“It looks like she’s been gone, ma,” Chase said as he leaned against the kitchen countertop. He peered out of the window that looked into the back yard, and he frowned in concern. “Fuck is that?”

“What?” YaYa asked eagerly. She peered out of the window, and when she saw the makeshift grave in the ground, she shot out the back door.

YaYa didn’t realize she was crying until her knees hit the dirt in front of the homemade grave. A wooden cross had been placed at the head of it, and she could tell by the uneven grass that the grave was only big enough for a baby to fit inside…her baby.

“No,” she moaned in agony as she began to dig with her hands. “No, no, no, no!” she cried. Chase couldn’t sit back and watch the pitiful scene. He wished that he had a mother who loved him the way that YaYa clearly loved baby Sky. He had never known a love so deep. The woman who had birthed him was in love with crack cocaine. The high state she lived in didn’t allow her to love anyone, not even herself. Chase silently commended YaYa for her mothering ability. Sky’s kidnapping wasn’t her fault, yet he could see her placing the blame on her shoulders. He walked over to her and lifted her from the ground.

“She buried my daughter. She buried her here!”

Chase didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t a big fan of speaking just to hear himself talk, so he opted not to say a word. Instead, he embraced her as her legs gave out from beneath her.

Chase sat beside her on top of the grave for almost an hour as she sobbed heavily. She took her time because this was the last pity party she was going to throw for herself.

“How could she do this to her? She was just a baby,” YaYa whispered. “I’m going to murder that bitch if it’s the last thing I do. She isn’t going to stop. She’ll never stop making my life hell, and I’m tired. I’m the only one who can stop this. I have to become like her. I can’t have limits, because that bitch has none.”

After seeing the grave behind Indie’s house, something inside of YaYa snapped. She lived for only one thing—revenge.

As she sat across the table from Mekhi, her mind raced. She was silent and had been distant for days. Khi-P had noticed a change in her. Just when he thought he was establishing a place in her life, she withdrew. She was pulling away from him, and he wanted to know why.

She nodded her head and tried her best to behave normally as she plotted out her next move in her head. Khi-P’s life was on a countdown. Indie had ordered his execution. Chase was supposed to be the one to handle it, but YaYa felt that she should be the one to do it. She had allowed Khi-P to disrespect Indie, and she knew that Indie was bitter about the fact that she had dealt with his man. Killing him and retrieving Indie’s bricks was the only way for her to prove to her man that she was loyal to him. She was back on team Indie, and the act that she was about to commit would show him that there was nothing she would not do for him.

You can do this,
she thought.

“Is everything okay, YaYa?” Mekhi asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Ever since I’ve been back from my little business trip, you’ve been different.”

“I’m fine,” she assured as she picked at the full course meal that sat in front of her. She thought about the cocaine that he had put up in a storage facility. He had just re-upped, so now was the perfect time to make her move. She needed him out of the way and out of her life.

At first she was flattered by the pedestal that he had placed her on. After all the anguish she had been through, it felt good to be courted by Khi-P, but now it disgusted her. He didn’t want her; he wanted the status that came along with having a woman like her. He was a great actor, the ultimate pretender. The nigga deserved an Academy Award he was so convincing. He always made it seem like his feelings for her were so genuine, so pure and uncontrollable, when really it was all a visage, a twisted web of manipulation that she had gotten caught up in. His feelings were faker than a knock-off purse, and now that YaYa saw the light, she was offended by the way he had flaunted her like a possession for the entire city to see.

If he cared so much, he would have never shorted me on those bricks,
she thought. The more she sat and silently fumed over it, the more she wanted to call him out on his bullshit. If she had to kill him, she wanted him to know why he was going to die. She was about to lay her cards down on the table.

“I know that you shorted me on those bricks, Khi.” She finally built up the nerve to let the words fall out of her mouth, and while her heart was racing on the inside, outwardly she appeared collected. “That work was worth four million easy. You saw me struggling. I didn’t have a dollar to my name, and you still got over on me.”

Her statement seemed to take him off guard momentarily. He knew that somebody had planted that bug in her ear. “Who told you that? Indie?” he said nonchalantly, continuing to eat his food while staring her in the eyes. But she didn’t need to respond. He already knew whom she had been speaking with.

He was hard to read. The passive-aggressive expression on his face revealed nothing.

Khi-P had wanted to keep YaYa dependent on him. She didn’t need her own money. “Have I ever told you no, YaYa? Don’t let that jailbird make you think you’re missing out on anything. Tell that mu’fucka to concentrate on not dropping the soap and to stop worrying about what’s mine.”

“Yours?” YaYa shot back incredulously.

This nigga is real cocky with his shit.

Khi-P stopped eating and wiped his mouth with his white linen napkin. “Yeah, mine, YaYa,” he spat. “Don’t play games, ma. Let’s keep it one hunnid. You’re a material girl, and I let you live in my material world. You belong to me now. I’m Daddy. I get you everything you need.”

“Except independence, Mekhi! I’m stuck here under your thumb. I don’t got no real paper of my own. I’m sponging off of you. Now, if you want to play the game, let’s play it. Every nigga got to play to pay, and I’m talking big paper, not these little ghetto-girl shopping sprees you been doing. That little shit don’t impress me. That’s little nigga shit,” she said as she rolled her eyes, insulting his manhood.

“So you a ho now? Huh, trick?” he asked, vexed because he felt she was comparing him to Indie.

“Tricks are for kids, Khi-P. I’m a businesswoman. You want the perks, but you don’t want to put in the work that it takes to court a chick like me. The money you spend on me is rightfully mine anyway. You parade me in front of the city like I’m your bitch. I’m not, Khi-P! If Indie wasn’t locked up, you would’ve never had a chance,” she said, speaking honestly as she sipped her wine calmly. She smiled, slightly amused by the look of anger that flashed across his face.

“You ungrateful bitch!” he seethed as he stood. He flipped the entire dining table over, sending their dinner flying everywhere. But he was in for a surprise when he saw the gun that Disaya had been pointing at him the entire time underneath the table. Her hand rested on the trigger.

“You gon’ shoot me now because I took some bricks from you? You wouldn’t even had known what to do with ’em. I gave you the money to get your daughter back, and this is what you do? This is how you gon’ play it?” he asked.

Mekhi was appealing to her conscience. He had been the only person in her corner after Indie was arrested. Even if he did have ulterior motives, without him she wouldn’t have had the money to even attempt to make the ransom drop. He could sense her indecision, and in the split second that it took her to think about her actions, he was across the room.

Mekhi grabbed her wrist and bent it back, forcing her to drop the gun. The slap that he delivered to her face sent her flailing to the floor. YaYa crawled as fast as she could to the gun, but he bent down and picked it up right before she could get to it.

He smirked as he rubbed his goatee while pointing the gun at her. “You should have just stuck with the program. I would’ve treated you like a queen, ma.” He bent down and grabbed her hair and snatched her up.

“Oww,” she protested as she tried to pull away from him. He only gripped her hair tighter. She could feel some of her hair being torn from the roots, and her scalp burned.

“Now I’m going to treat you like the bitch that you are,” he said. “Take off your clothes.”

“What?”

Khi-P aimed the gun at her head and said, “I didn’t stutter. You should’ve shot me, bitch.”

YaYa’s nostrils flared as she removed her shirt and threw it at him. She was so enraged as she kicked out of her jeans. The sight of YaYa’s voluptuous body instantly made his dick hard. He removed his jeans and boxers while still pointing the gun at her.

“You’re going to rape me?” she asked incredulously.

Mekhi took a seat in one of the dining chairs. His manhood was ready, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. YaYa had challenged him and disrespected him. He had to punish her into submission.

“Come get on this dick,” he said. The tone of his voice was so threatening that YaYa knew she didn’t have a choice. He would shoot her if she disobeyed. She hesitated, but when she heard him click the safety off, she urged her feet to move. She had slept with Khi-P before, but this time the thought of him inside of her turned her stomach. This time he was forcing her. It wasn’t her choice, and as she straddled him, her legs shook.

“Get on it, ma,” he said as he put the gun directly on her heart. “You better ride this dick good, YaYa. If you don’t, it could just cost you your life.”

“Please at least put on a condom,” she whispered.

“Nah, bitch. I’ma put a baby up in you. Maybe then you will let that nigga Indie go,” Khi-P stated harshly.

“You daughter’s dead, so make another one.”

His words stabbed at her emotions, and she bled tears as she lowered herself down onto his girth. She was stiff with fear and hatred.

“Ride my shit right, before I put a hole in your chest,” he threatened.

YaYa forced herself to find her rhythm, rotating her hips while he was deep inside of her. He gripped her backside with one hand as he pulled her hips into him forcefully, making her ride it harder.

“Shit, ma,” he moaned as his eyelids began to flutter. “You the best.”

Seeing that he was becoming distracted, she grinded harder onto him. Sex noises filled the air as she began to moan loudly. She needed to get that gun out of his hand. She needed him to feel so good that he forgot he was forcing her to do this.

“Ooh, shit, Khi,” she whispered, laying it on thick. She couldn’t lie; Mekhi always put it down, and she couldn’t stop the orgasm that was building between her legs. But it was a physiological response to pleasure, nothing more.

She was putting down her best to distract him, riding him so hard that he had to remove the gun from her chest so that he could put his other hand on the side of her ass and guide. Up…down…up…down. She bounced her juicy behind on him and winded ferociously, all the while eyeing the gun that he was loosely gripping in one hand.

“Damn, ma, I’m about to nut. Keep going,” he whispered through pursed lips.

YaYa’s eyes widened as his closed, and as soon as she saw his finger move away from the trigger, she knocked the gun from his hand. She jumped off of him and scrambled for the gun. As soon as her fingers wrapped around the trigger, she turned around and fired.

The silenced shot pierced Khi-P’s stomach, and he gripped his side as blood seeped through his hands.

Breathing heavily, YaYa backed up as Khi-P lunged forward, grabbing her by the neck. “You shot me,” he mumbled in weak disbelief. He wanted to tighten his grip around her neck, but the more effort he put into it, the looser his hands became. His blood was all over her, and as his eyes grew wide, she pushed him forcefully. She watched as he lay dying on the floor.

“YaYa, help me,” he whispered as he gasped for air while reaching out for her.

YaYa bent down close to his ear and looked into Khi-P’s desperate, weakening gaze. “Fuck you, Khi-P. I hope you rot in hell.”

YaYa stood to her feet and put on her clothes. She hurriedly removed the storage unit keys from his key ring and took one last look at a struggling Khi-P. She didn’t even wait for him to take his last breath before she walked out the door.

“Damn,” he groaned. It was the last word he spoke. It wasn’t the way that he had seen himself going out, and as the life left his body, he couldn’t help but feel lonely. He bled to the death, spending the final moments of his life alone on his dining room floor.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The sound of guns rang out as YaYa, Trina, Miesha, and Sydney blasted off at Chase’s command. If they were going to do this, it was going to be done right. Chase wasn’t going into shit blind. As the last real nigga standing, he knew that he would need shooters behind him.

YaYa had a lot to learn, but the most important lesson was the art of war. The sound of the gun intimidated her, but just as Indie had schooled Chase, Chase schooled YaYa. She had to learn how to pop off without flinching. Chase was so used to the act of murder and gunplay now that he didn’t even hear the blast after he pulled the trigger.

“Pop off before you get popped,” he preached, sitting on the ledge at the gun range while the girls reloaded time after time. Chase made them shoot until their trigger fingers grew blisters. He needed them on point, and most importantly they needed to know that the weapons were not for show. If a gun was pulled, a bullet should follow—no exceptions. There was no room for hesitation.

It was nothing for YaYa to pull a trigger. Imagining Leah’s face on the target in front of her made things so much easier. YaYa was determined to end up on top, and in order to do that, she needed to stay focused and put her emotions to the side. It was grind time. She was staying in Indie’s home, and the bricks were waiting to be moved.

Miesha, Sydney, and Trina would all run their own blocks and move the work on the street level. They were the cook-up queens, so they were used to moving work. By breaking down a few bricks and setting up trap spots, they would maximize their profit.

Only YaYa would handle the major transactions. With Chase’s help, she already had a few buyers lined up, but YaYa had a hundred bricks to get off. She didn’t know a hundred hustlers, but she could easily locate a hundred hustlers’ wives. She would get her product off through them. A network of bad bitches was always handy to have, and she was about to locate Houston’s elite.

YaYa rented out a club and hosted a Prada Party, for which she hired vendors to come and sell their products at a discounted rate. She had designer purses, shoes, perfume, diamonds, and even Indian Remy for sale, knowing that it would attract every get-money chick in town. She sent Trina and the girls to every beauty salon in town to promote. Ten thousand flyers went out over the entire city, radio spots were purchased, and word of mouth spread like wildfire.

On the day of the event, her venue looked more like a luxury department store than a popular nightclub. YaYa played the perfect hostess as she mingled with the large group of women. Over two hundred ladies had shown up, and she was busy taking mental notes, attempting to weed out the real from the fake. As her eyes scanned the crowd, she could spot the big wigs in the game.

YaYa could tell by the type of purse a chick was carrying if her guy was getting money. Knock-offs were for small-timers. YaYa was looking for the chicks that were carrying Berkin bags, Coach, and Hermès. The key word was authentic.

She walked around giving out special invitations to a brunch the next morning. Only the elite were invited, and the next day when the Acuras, Lexuses, Bentleys, and Mercedes pulled up to the restaurant, she knew that she had chosen the right ladies. All that she had told them was that she had a business opportunity for them. Under the pretenses of making money, every girl showed up. Inside, every hustler’s wife was a little gold digger. Every woman liked to make a little money of her own on the side, and YaYa was about to use that to her advantage. First class was the only way to describe the women at the brunch—divas in their own right, they had arrived.

“Thank you for coming, ladies,” YaYa announced as she took her seat at the head of a long dining table. “I handpicked you ladies because I feel that we could form a very beneficial business relationship. I know about the company you keep and the men you share your beds with. We’re all in love with the same thing, chasing the same dream. I want you to convince your men to purchase their weight from me. For every kilo they buy, I’m willing to cut you ten percent of the take, so everybody eats.”

YaYa could tell from the skeptical looks and the silence in the room that everyone was on edge. Nobody wanted to discuss that type of business. They were hesitant because they didn’t know YaYa from the next bitch, and loose lips sunk ships every day. They feigned ignorance.

“I know no one wants to vocally say anything. I’m not a cop, and I’m not wearing a wire. I play the same position as all of you. I was in love with a man who got swallowed up by the game. Now I’m out here alone, and it’s time to make it happen on my own. Don’t end up like me. Don’t be left with nothing when the dust settles. Make your own paper. Make it now and save it. I’m giving you all the opportunity to have your own.”

YaYa sat back in her chair and motioned for Trina and the girls. They passed each girl a small gift-wrapped box. “Please deliver these to your men with a message from me. Please tell them that business will be lucrative if they buy strictly from me. It will be worth their while. You all know how to reach me, so when it’s time for business, you let me know.”

YaYa had gift-wrapped an ounce of cocaine for each girl to take home. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the fish scale would hook each and every one of their men. She would become the bird-lady in no time with the crystal white that she was holding.

The girls ate and chatted briefly before clearing the room. One by one the ladies left until there was only one left sitting in the room.

“I am very impressed by the way that you handle yourself, YaYa. I thought that my money would be in naïve hands, but I think there is a natural born hustler behind your glamour and Fendi,” the girl said as she remained seated and sipped at her mimosa.

YaYa was taken off guard. The compliment was odd, and she spoke as if she knew her. As she peered closer, YaYa realized that this girl had not been one of the women she had invited to the brunch. Her heart quickened as she suspected that the lady was an undercover cop.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you from last night,” YaYa said.

“That was another ingenious thing to do,” she said as she sat back comfortably in her seat. “A woman has a lot of influence over her man. You capitalized off of that. Impressive. You remind me a lot of myself when I first got started in the game.”

“Who are you?” YaYa asked.

“I’m Indie’s connect. I’m the woman you owe two-point-five million dollars,” she said. “My name is Zya.”

YaYa looked at the strikingly beautiful girl and her stomach turned to knots instantly. She was immediately insecure. She would have never expected a woman so beautiful and young to be his connect. In fact, she would have never suspected a woman at all. Instantly, her mind recalled all of the trips out of the country, all of the late night calls, all of the shipment pickups…everything. All along, Indie had been going to meet Zya. She was so pretty that it made YaYa uncomfortable and sick to her stomach at the thought of Indie fucking with the girl.

“You can inhale, Disaya. I don’t want your man,” she said with a slick smile. “I have my own. Trust.”

YaYa laughed nervously, trying to play it off, but she was admittedly relieved. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to let you know that you have thirty days to pay your debt. Please tell Indie that it is not my choice to play my hand this way, but I represent a bigger influence. I have held them off on my end for as long as I can, but now it’s time to pay up. My respect and admiration for Indie means nothing to them. Well, not enough to pardon this unsettled business. I am sincerely apologetic for all that you guys have been through, but the fact still remains that you owe me money. It is important that I get my money, Disaya. It’s not impossible. I used to move birds like they were going out of style.

“And as added incentive, I will help you out. I know about this girl Leah that you have beef with. If you get me my money, I’ll give you her location,” Zya promised. She extended her hand and YaYa just stared at it for a long time. “Do we have a deal?”

YaYa shook Zya’s hand, and no other words were spoken. Zya arose and put on her Prada glasses before walking out of the restaurant, escorted by two burly bodyguards who had been waiting just outside the entry.

YaYa shook her head as Chase stormed into the room appearing flustered. “Who the fuck was that? I went to piss and came back and the fucking door was being guarded!” he exclaimed.

As YaYa looked out of the restaurant window she saw Zya’s Brazilian blowout whipping in the wind as she walked to the town car that was waiting curbside for her.

“YaYa. Ma. Who was that?” Chase repeated.

All YaYa could do was shake her head in admiration as she looked Chase in his eyes and said, “That’s a bad bitch.”

Zya had that effect on people. She usually left both men and women breathless.

Chase was his own one-man army. His violent reputation already preceded him, so it wasn’t hard to gain control of most of the blocks in the city. Whoever put up protest was quickly silenced by his .45; consequently, no one objected as he restructured Houston’s underworld.

YaYa served everybody from the fiends to the corner boys, all the way to the top of the food chain to the heavy hitters that were pushing real weight. The few hustlers who did buck only did so because YaYa was a female. They underestimated her, and it was a mistake that cost them dearly because when Chase came through, it was curtains for them.

At Indie’s request, Chase ensured that YaYa was untouchable. One would have thought an entire goon squad was behind YaYa. Against a million enemies, Chase was one soldier with a million guns. When you looked at it like that, Chase could take on whoever, whenever, and he never had a problem putting in work on YaYa’s behalf. Her hands stayed cleaned because Chase did the dirty work.

After killing Khi-P, she knew that the murder game wasn’t for her. She didn’t have it in her. Leah was the only person she wanted to see dead, and that kill she could justify. That murder would be the only easy one, but until their paths crossed again, she stuck to the script and played her position. Chase caught the bodies, he transported the goods; all she did was sit on the throne, make the connections, and count the paper.

She was a queen pin in the making, but wasn’t in it for the street fame. YaYa had a specific goal in mind—relieving Indie of his debt and getting to Leah. After she accomplished those things, the game could kiss her good-bye.