Unfinished Business:The Baddest Chick 6By: Nisa Santiago
Mack D rode silently in the backseat of his bulletproof Tahoe with Peaches next to him. Sophia and Eduardo Jr. were next to her in the seat, riding comfortably in the tricked-out SUV. Mack D talked to the kids with kindness, but Peaches was his main concern. She had an angelic smile, cute little face, and her innocence was charming. She held on to the balloon he’d given her. She was such a doll baby.
Mack D’s right-hand man, Richard, guided the Tahoe across the Whitestone Bridge into the Bronx. They rolled up to the warehouse, where the guests were waiting, and the security gates opened for the Tahoe. As Richard drove inside, Mack D could see the twins from his seat. They were seated upright and badly beaten by his men, but they were still breathing, as instructed. He didn’t want them dead. Not yet anyway.
All eyes were on the truck.
Apple and Kola, worried about the children, fixed their eyes in the direction of the Tahoe as the back door opened up. The sisters were pinned to the metal chairs, hunched over, and bleeding, their wrists restrained behind them. Swollen eye sockets, busted lips, cuts, and forming bruises camouflaged their beauty.
The men in the room fell silent as Mack D stepped out of the Tahoe, his presence carrying great weight in the room. When he showed up, he commanded everyone’s attention. Dressed sharply in a black suit and wing-tip shoes, he strutted toward the sisters with a tiger’s stride. His shoulders were broad, and his cold, menacing eyes remained transfixed on the twins. This man was notorious in the streets, from Washington, DC to New York. He lit a Cuban cigar and took a few pulls, savoring the flavor.
The kids climbed out of the Tahoe with Richard’s help, and a slight look of relief showed in the twins’ eyes. The children attempted to run over to the sisters, but Richard stopped them from approaching any closer.
Mack D looked at the twins for a moment.
When Apple had called him “Daddy,” it struck a chord inside of him. He looked at her intensely and said, “You think I’m your daddy?”
Kola answered. “You don’t recognize us?” She had to force the words out. Her ribs felt cracked, she was weak, and she felt lightheaded.
“Why should I?” Mack D was trying to recognize them. It was the only reason they were still alive. Apple uttering the word Daddy had placed his murderous intentions on hold.
His original plan was to murder the girlfriends of the young hoodlums, Jamel and Kamel. They had taken his son Damien’s life, so he was going to take something from them. He’d tracked down Apple and Kola. He wanted to slaughter their families, make Jamel and Kamel suffer, and then torture and kill them both. He was that kind of cold.
Mack D was somewhat in denial that these two were his daughters. He had been with plenty of women since he was fifteen years old. He had sown his royal oats, and had placed his seed into many women and impregnated them—black, white, Asian, Hispanic. Over the years, he had allegedly fathered over thirty children, including three sets of twins, before his long stretch in an upstate prison.
There were a few ladies he’d fallen in love with, and a few kids he accepted as his own, like Damien. Damien was his pride and joy. He had Mack D’s looks and traits, and was only nineteen when Jamel shot him down in the streets like a dog.
Rachel was Damien’s mother, and she was one of Mack D’s true loves back in the day. She was five nine and light-skinned with bright, twinkling eyes and long lashes, and her hair was a rich shade of mahogany. She was loyal. While he did a long bid, she took care of him and his son.
There were many kids whose paternity Mack D flat-out denied. The mothers wanted DNA tests and child support once they found out Mack D was making that drug money.
He didn’t know Apple and Kola.
He had a pistol in his hand and placed it against Apple’s forehead. His eyes said he wasn’t bluffing.
Apple refused to show any fear. If it was her day to die, then so be it. “Not in front of my daughter!” she demanded.
The kids were standing a few feet away, watching in horror as Apple was about to be executed.
“Your lover boy took away my son,” he said to Apple, cocking the trigger back. “Peaches, close your eyes, baby. Do as Momma says.”