Checkmate: The Baddest Chick Read Online Free PDF

subtly pointed out to someone across the room, who was seated in another VIP section opposite of Two-Face’s. The man was tall and slender, sporting heavy jewelry and a silk shirt. He was flanked by women, and was very boisterous.
    “Who he, homes?” Two-Face asked.
    “A problem.”
    Two-Face locked his attention on the man, as Chico continued to talk.
    “I need him taken care of.”
    Two-Face nodded. He didn’t need to know why or what was the problem with him and Chico. The only thing Two-Face understood was that Chico had pointed him out and he needed to be killed. Two-Face didn’t care for questions; he only craved for murder, money, and bitches–in that order.
    “Consider it already done, homes,” Two-Face assured him.
    Chico nodded and headed over back to Blythe, who was seated by the bar, nursing a drink. Chico walked over to her, placed his arm around her waist and said, “We’re leaving.”
    Blythe was pleased. The crowd wasn’t her scene anymore. She was used to industry parties and more classy events, not a room full of thugs, hood rats and killers. She had been there and done that.
    The couple made their quick exit, while Two-Face was left behind to ponder and scheme on the man Chico wanted taken out.
    ****
    It wasn’t until three in the morning that the crowd from Shannon’s began to dissipate slowly into the street. The one-way street was flooded with cars blaring their loud systems and people mingling about, walking to their cars or some other location. The horde of people just about made it look like a block party.
    Trevor was flanked by two scantily clad ladies in tight, booty-hugging shorts and low, revealing tops. He was the attention-grabber, with his long, bulky chain, extravagant diamond cross pendant, the pinky rings, the loud talk and looking like a rap mogul. He had his arms around both women as they walked toward his big-body Benz sitting on 22-inch chrome rims.
    It was obvious what Trevor was—a drug dealer/pimp. He flaunted his lifestyle and riches like it was legal. He made it known all over town that he was a playboy and womanizer, and some of his raunchy ways with the ladies had gotten him into hot water with some of the men around town. Boyfriends, brothers, and fathers to some of the women he’d used and abused weren’t happy with him after he got their loved ones hooked on drugs or pregnant. But Trevor denied being a father to any child.
    Trevor walked around the hood like he was untouchable. He had guns and he had a reputation, being connected to “the Juice crew,” a powerful and deadly organization coming out of Yonkers, New York.
    “I’m sayin’, though,” Trevor said to his lady companions, “I love ya both. Y’all both would die for me, right?”
    Both ladies chuckled.
    Trevor hugged them close, his smile wide. He was ready to share a night of pleasure at his Harlem apartment on 155th Street. They were a few steps away from the car. Trevor reached for his keys and pressed the button to deactivate his alarm system.
    “There goes my chariot. Nice, right, I paid eighty grand for it. Came fully loaded. Niggas ain’t fuckin’ wit’ me out here. This is how I always roll, so y’all bitches better get used to it.”
    “I see. I like, I like,” one of the girls said, smiling.
    As Trevor continued his approach to his car, he wasn’t aware of the young hooded teenager slowly creeping up behind him with a loaded .45 gripped in his hand, and down by his side. He had his eyes on Trevor like a hawk, watching everything he did.
    He quickly lurched closer, and was ready to strike, not caring about the crowd around him. When Two-Face was within arm’s distance of Trevor, he swiftly raised the gun, had it aimed at the back of Trevor’s head and fired without an ounce of hesitation.
    Bak! Bak! Bak!
    Trevor suddenly dropped to the pavement, sprawled out face down against the concrete pavement, blood pooling around his shattered skull. The ladies he was with started to