Array Ashley - The Last Chapter

The third book in the The Cartel series, 2010

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the lives of three of God’s children.”

The preacher stood before the many people who attended the funeral of street royalty. It was a sad day in Miami, and on this day, the streets were like a ghost town. It seemed as if the entire underworld had stopped to commemorate those they had lost. Everyone within the city limits felt this grief. The lives of three street legends had been destroyed, and grief overflowed in the ceremony as three silver-plated coffins sat side by side with an array of flower arrangements around them. It was a bright, sunny day, and it seemed as if God shone his light down from the heavens above to make that hard day seem a tad bit better for the mourning attendees. It was a triple funeral to bury the last of the Diamond family-Breeze, Carter, and Mecca.

The Cartel was no more, and it was the last chapter to what was to be named one of the biggest legacies in Miami’s underworld history. Their story was legendary, ruthless… and most of all, classic.

Many people were in attendance, but the most important guests were not there to pay their final respects. They were there to confirm that the last of The Cartel was deceased and about to be buried into the ground.

Robin and Aries were in attendance, draped in all-black dresses with big shades on to keep a low profile. Murder also sat beside them. The demise of The Cartel was bittersweet for him, and he gritted his teeth tightly as he thought about Mecca and the missed opportunity to personally kill him on Miamor’s behalf. Nevertheless, Mecca was dead, and that would have to be enough for him.

Emilio Estes, Leena, and Monroe Jr. were also in attendance, mourning the loss. They were the only people left alive who could sit in the front pew reserved for family. Although far removed from the Diamond legacy, they were the last of a dying bloodline.

There was an eerie feeling in the air, and everyone there could sense it. As the preacher held the Holy Bible tightly in his hand and read from the book of Psalms, a stretch limo with tinted windows rolled up slowly about fifty yards away from the service. Many people didn’t notice it, but the trained eyes were glued to the approaching vehicle.

Emilio Estes looked back and saw the limo pull up, and he watched as it came to a slow stop. Estes knew exactly who it was; it was the crew responsible for the very funeral he was at. Emilio, being in his mid-sixties and not willing to step back into the streets, conceded defeat and pulled his white handkerchief from the top pocket of his suit.

To many, it looked as if Emilio was just removing a hanky, but veterans of the street game knew what that small gesture meant. Emilio wanted the bloodshed to stop, and signaled that he would not retaliate. The war was finally over and The Cartel was no more. Literally, he was waving a white flag. It was officially The Cartel’s last chapter.

The blood in Miamor’s eyes blocked out the image of Fabian standing over her, and her shallow, desperate breaths drowned out all sounds in the room. Death loomed over her. She knew it was near. The chill in her lovely bones was every indication that her life was slipping away.

A breathless Fabian stood over her. Her tormentor, her grim reaper leered at her menacingly. The smug grin on his face sickened her as her heart filled with hate for him. It pleased him to watch her die. It was vindication for the hell that she had once put him through, and she knew that the lifestyle she led had ultimately determined the cruel way in which she was about to die. It was the law of nature. She had taken more lives than she could count, had destroyed too many families to remember, and her heart had turned cold so long ago that she did not even care. Now it was her turn. This was her fate, her karma, and because she had pushed away everyone who had ever cared for her, no one would even know that she had disappeared from the face of the earth.

Most people in her position would repent. They would beg for their lives, or feel regret for all of the events that had led up to this torturous moment, but Miamor was not most people. Her hard shell had not cracked, and even under the most gruesome pressure, she still had to maintain some form of control.

Fabian wanted to see her break down. He had done everything that was physically possible to get her to give in. Her face was badly disfigured, her fingernails pulled from their nail beds, and her bones crushed and broken, but still not one tear had fallen. She had passed out many times, but that was a physical response to the pain. Crying was controlled by her mental state, and that was one resolve that was too strong for anyone to conquer.

“Bitch, you’re going to beg me for your life,” he seethed as he circled her, sweaty from his ruthless assault on her. He lifted his hand and backhanded her with the butt of his gun, causing her neck to snap violently to the right.

Miamor bit her tongue to avoid screaming out in agony. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her so weak. Blood poured from her mouth, but it only mixed in with the rest of the blood that soaked her battered body.

He had been in the basement for a full twenty-four hours, killing her slowly, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t feel the satisfaction of revenge that he sought. There was something about the look in her eyes that said “fuck you,” and even in her most fragile state, her mentality never failed her.

Murder was bred deep within her. Fabian was committing the act of murder, but Miamor was a killer. She breathed murder. It was all she knew, the only thing that she had ever been good at. It was her profession. So, even as she sat in the damp basement, her soul slowly abandoning her, her dainty wrists tightly bound to a wooden chair, her eyes still told the story of the greatest bitch who had ever done it. She was merciless, and even death couldn’t wipe her off the map.

There was no escaping this. Her time had come, and Miamor had no regrets. She was on her way to hell, but it was worth the legacy she was leaving behind. Yes, her lifestyle had led her to nothing but loneliness and misery. She had loved two men in her lifetime, but never truly had room in her world for either of them. They would have never understood how she lived or the things that she had been through, and because of this, she had never fully given her heart to another. She had given up so much in order to reign terror in the streets, and to her, it was worth it. If she had chosen to play wifey to men like Murder or Carter, people would have forgotten an ordinary young woman named Miamor; she would have been lost in their shadows. So, she had chosen something much greater. She had chosen the life of murder-for-hire, and now, even after her death, her name would resound loudly in the streets. Her small feet would leave huge shoes to fill in the game. Legend of her notorious wrecking crew, the Murder Mamas, would ring true for years to come. She had made sure that no one would ever forget. Every new hustler coming up in the game would eventually hear the story of Miamor, and now she would forever be notorious.

The sound of the basement door opening and the heavy thud of boots descending the staircase announced a new presence in the room, causing Miamor to lift her head weakly. Anxiety made her heart gallop as she watched a cool, calm, and freshly dressed Mecca saunter down the stairs. A machete hung from his hand.