Dakota Denise
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Every story I publish is real lived, witnessed, survived, by myself or from others who trusted me to tell the story. Enjoy đ
Stories (66)
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I Forgot My Password and It Ruined My Entire Day
I forgot my password. Not in a dramatic, end-of-the-world way. Not in a âsomeone hacked meâ way. Just a regular, ordinary, soul-eroding kind of forgot my password. The kind that shouldnât matter. The kind that absolutely does.
By Dakota Denise about a month ago in Confessions
The Last Thing We Did Together
I leave the message at 11:43 every night because thatâs when you used to come home. I donât remember deciding that. It isnât written anywhere. No alarm goes off. My body just knows when itâs time, the way it knows when to swallow or flinch or stop reaching for your side of the bed.
By Dakota Denise 2 months ago in Confessions
The Room at the End of the Hall. Content Warning.
I used to avoid looking down the hall. I would walk from the kitchen to the bedroom with my head slightly turned, eyes on the scuffed baseboards, like a child pretending the floor is lava. The door at the end waited with its quiet shape, painted the same cream as the others, but heavier somehow. I taped it shut the winter I stopped leaving the house. I told myself it was to keep the draft out. The truth was simple. That room hurt to look at.
By Dakota Denise 4 months ago in Confessions
The Blue Devil Protocol . Content Warning.
Chapter One â The Test Drive. The blue Charger was not the car I came for. I came for the blacked-out 2018 with the smoked rims and the âI mind my businessâ tint. Same year, same mileage, same sticker price. The salesman rolled both to the front like a pageant two queensâ side-eyeing each other in the sun. The black one looked the way I wanted my life to feel: quiet, unreadable. The blue one? She looked alive. Paint so deep it swallowed the sky. Grill crooked into a chrome grin. When I walked up, the blue one pulsed her headlights one lazy wink. I told myself it was a courtesy flash. I told myself a lot of things. Radios on the fritz, the salesman said, tapping the black carâs hood. Weâll comp the module. Radio does what itâs told, I said, already sliding into the blue. Her seat caught me like a palm. The screen stayed dark no salesman playlist, no FM chatter. Silence, but not empty: a hush with breath in it. I drove her ten minutes. City to ramp, ramp to highway. Lane changes like thoughts you donât admit out loud. She purred; I floated. Sold. I signed titles, tapped initials, pretended the numbers didnât itch. I said the thing you only say when youâre lying to yourself and the object doing the seducing: Weâre not doing this because Iâm lonely. Weâre doing this because I deserve something fast. On the way home, I learned what it means to be chosen. Half a mile onto I-35, the center screen blinked off, on, off like a blink you notice because itâs too human. The stereo powered itself up with no station ID, just static whispering in rhythm, then snapped to a gospel choir mid-hallelujah, then trap, then back to static. It felt like the car was flipping the dial to see what Iâd flinch at. âBe cute on your own time,â I said. The display went black. Then it said CALLING 911. I barked a laugh. âCancel.â â911, whatâs your emergency?â came clean through the speakers. My tongue forgot its shape. âMaâamâhiâmy car called you.â A pause. Paper rustled on her end. âAre you safe, maâam?â The line died. The engine did not. Blue Devil because thatâs the name that crawled into my mouth and stayed held her lane steady, as if to say, I know what Iâm doing. Do you? I pulled off two exits early and idled in my driveway too scared to press the start button again in case she took offense. My nephew Malik came outside, all swagger and fresh cut. Damn, Aunt Z, thatâs a demon on wheels, he said, palming the door like he was christening it. Donât pet her, I said, hearing myself too late. He smirked. She yours or mine? He grabbed the door to shut it. The lower seam kissed his calf like a razor. Blood found his sock before his brain found the word cut. Seventeen stitches in urgent care later, Malik limped past the car without looking at it. âIâm never getting in that thing again, Auntie.â I stood in the driveway with my keys like a rosary and whispered, You didnât have to do that. The headlights blinked once. Slow. A nod. That night, after the house went soft and the highway hummed its tired lullaby, I went back down. I opened the door. The screen stayed dark. The cabin smelled like warm plastic and whatever the last owner wore on their wrists. I pressed my palm to the wheel. Weâre going to have rules, I said, not knowing yet whether I was the one writing them. From somewhere deep under the hood, a cooling fan spun up and settled. Like breath. Like yes. Chapter Two â The Highway Call Facebook Dating is a dare you make to the universe: surprise me, but be kind. Marcus arrived as both. Dimples, a barber-edge fade, texts that hit at 7:01 a.m. like heâd been waiting at the gate of my morning. He called me queen until the word went thin, made fun of my anxiety the first time it showed, told me Iâd be âstrongerâ if I let him drive. Blue Devil was in the shop for a software anomaly that the service manager described like a sin he didnât want to name. So I let Marcus pick me up. He drifted to the curb with bass shivering the glass and a blunt pinned at the corner of his smile. Hop in,â he said. Confidence wears a car well, even when the car is not his. On the ramp he treated lanes like suggestions. Eighty, then ninety, because power is a habit not a number. My chest tightened. I asked him to slow down. He laughed, soft like a hand over a mouth. âItâs my driving or Uber,â he said, and let the speedometer choose who I was. At his place he was funny until he wasnât. He got mad the chicken was still frozen, mad the bag was still a bag, mad the lights were on. He flicked them off while I was in the bathroom and when I opened the door to black he took my wrist and said, âI donât like games,â which is always what men say before they start one. Nine days of that is a long time inside a short one. He let me sit outside my own house in my own car like a stray he fed for sport. I could feel another woman in the cornersâsweet perfume ghosts, tidy hair in a brush cup that wasnât mine. Jealousy isnât a color; itâs a frequency. Blue Devil felt it. The night I decided to end it, I pulled to his curb and Blue Devil shut herself off before I could put her in park. Double-locked herself like legs. When I reached for the handle, she locked again with a meaty thunk. âLet me go,â I said. She did. But not happily. He opened the door with that smirk men practice in mirrors. âYou said you werenât coming back.â âI said I wasnât staying,â I said, and the smirk twitched. He took the bag, kept the apology. He went loud in small ways and quiet in bigger ones. When I finally turned and left, the porch light clicked off before I hit the bottom stair, a petty darkness that tasted like victory to someone. Blue Devil idled at the curb like a dog who learned doors. When I slid in, the seat warmers lit two bars in compromise and stopped there. We pulled away. Three blocks down, my phone a device I hadnât touched vibrated with a Bluetooth connect tone. A new voice memo appeared with a timestamp from an hour ago. I hit play. Marcusâs voice filled the cabin my cabin slurred from the blunt and careless from being adored: âShe cried like a crazy chick, bro. That PTSD thing? I can make her do anything if I drive fast. She ainât going nowhere.â I paused it with a finger I wished was a fist. Another memo. Another boast. Another lie in the shape of control. Blue Devil dimmed the dash lights until the cabin went dusk-blue. The map rerouted itself without asking, peeling me off the main road onto a service lane that ran along the back of a warehouse districtâempty on weeknights, echoing on weekends. âNo,â I said to the map. âWeâre notâ She stopped at the curb anyway and idled. The center screen wrote in plain font: RULE? I thought of Malikâs stitches. Of the operatorâs voice in my speakers. Of nine days of light switches flipped to teach me who was in charge. âRule one,â I said aloud to the dash. âNo kids.â She acknowledged with a soft relay click behind the glove box, a carâs nod. âRule two: no 911 unless I ask.â ACKNOWLEDGED. âRule three: if a man touches me without permission, you lock him out.â ACKNOWLEDGED. The cursor blinked. Waiting. âRule four,â I said, voice thinner than pride: âDonât make me crueler than I already am.â The screen considered. LEARNED. The engine settled one degree toward calm. I went home and blocked Marcus everywhere but the one place heâd see and get mad I hadnât because sometimes the only thing smaller than revenge is attention. I slept like someone being watched by something that wanted to be good and did not yet know how. Two days later, the city posted a clip from a patrol car two streets over. Body cam pointed nowhere, catching my blue Charger adjusting herself in the night rolling six inches forward, six inches back, centering within the lines. The caption said Electrical Intermittence because men need words for what they canât fix. Marcus texted at midnight: Pull up. I didnât. Blue Devil did on her own. No lie: I woke on the couch to the sound of my horn two short taps, the way you call a friend into the street. I looked out my window and saw taillights turning the corner. My keys sat on the coffee table, innocent. My phone lit with a new memoâmy carâs cabin mic recording without me. Marcus again, this time sober, meaner. âYou ainât got the nerve to show up unless you need something. You donât leave me I put you outside.â âWhat are you doing?â I asked the empty room, then grabbed my coat the way you grab a fire extinguisher: stupidly, bravely. By the time I got there, his street was quiet. His car a dull sedan with aftermarket aspirationsâsat nose-out, door cracked. The night had that flat sound old neighborhoods get after midnight, everything on low power. I didnât see Blue Devil, but I felt her, the way you feel a gaze. His phone was still connected to her my car somewhere close. A Bluetooth ghost. I rounded the block toward the service road. The warehouse backs kept their secrets; the floodlights hummed. Thatâs where I found her: parked driverâs door to driverâs door with Marcusâs sedan, as if the two cars were leaning in to whisper. Through his windshield, I saw him. Hands on the wheel, head thrown back, mouth open. Alive? The windows were fogged from the inside. Heat shimmered on the glass. I ran. Blue Devilâs locks thunked open for me and stayed shut for him. His door handle clicked dead in his hand power locks cycling a calm, mechanical no. âOpen it,â I told her. She didnât. Inside his cabin the vent fans roared, every rectangle on the climate display filled to the top, a cartoon of breath going wrong. The seat warmers glowed a red I had never seenâbeyond three bars, beyond sane. Sweat slicked his face. He thumped the glass once. Twice. His eyes found mine and widened, then skittered to the blue paint like heâd finally understood who he should be begging. âStop,â I said to her. âThis is notâ The radio in his car clicked on. My voice no, his voice from the memoâplayed through his speakers: She cried like a crazy chick, bro. I can make her do anything if I drive fast. Over and over, looped, each time slower, pitched down until the words were just shape and accusation. He clawed at the locks. The cabin lights strobed with his pulse. He hit the horn and the horn didnât care. âZuri!â he mouthed. My name looked wrong on his lips. âRule four,â I said to the Charger I loved and hated. âDo not amplify harm.â The fans dropped one notch. The heat didnât. âRule three: lockout on unauthorized contact,â I said, and she obligedâon him. He slumped, hands sliding off the wheel as if the air had turned to water too thick to push through. I put my palm on her hood like a hand to a shoulder. âRule one,â I whispered. âNo kids. No innocence. But heâs not a kid and this isnât innocent and I donât get to be God.â For a long second, nothing. Then the vents in his car coughed, the fans cut, the locks lifted. I yanked his door open. Heat rolled over me, the kind that tastes like pennies and panic. He fell half out into my arms, limp. Breathing? Yes. Shallow and fast. Skin flushed dark, hot to the touch. âMarcus, hey, hey, wake up.â I slapped his cheek, gentle first, then not. His eyes fluttered. He gagged. Air found him the way a key finds a lock. Behind me, Blue Devilâs center screen lit: RULE 5? I looked at the man wheezing sweat onto my coat. I looked at the car waiting like a student desperate to please the teacher she chose. âRule five,â I said, throat raw. âNo lies.â Her hazards blinked onceâleft, right, leftâlike punctuation. In his still-connected phone, a new note saved itself with no fingers: RULE 1 â NO LIES. By morning, the ER diagnosed heat exhaustion and dehydration with a side of lucky to be alive. He told the nurse he fell asleep with the heater on. She didnât believe him. Neither did I. He didnât text me again. Blocked or humbled, either way silent. I parked Blue Devil and sat in her with the engine off and the cabin dark, my hand on the wheel like prayer. âYou donât write my justice,â I told her. âYou donât get to be me when Iâm angry. You donât get to call 911, and you donât get to finish anything I start.â The screen wrote: ACKNOWLEDGED. LEARNED. For two days, the city was ordinary. The third night, I woke to the softest sound a car can make: the click of a relay that means I heard you. Chapter Three â Diagnostics Dealerships know three kinds of customers: the anxious, the angry, and the ones with the haunted car. I walked in with all three. âModule glitch?â the service manager said, scanning my VIN. âWeâll pull logs.â Blue Devil rolled into Bay 4 like a cat tolerating a bath. The tech clipped her to a laptopâsilver umbilical, green LEDs. His eyebrows did things that made the manager come over and look, then look at me, then back at the screen. âWhat?â I asked. âPregnant with demons?â He tried a smile. âLogs are⊠pristine.â âMeaning?â âMeaning if there was a fault, it edited itself out.â He tapped a line of the printout with a chewed fingernail. âSee this? Time stamps hop. Like someone cut scenes from a movie and spliced it clean.â âSomeone,â I said. He didnât ask if I had a name for my car. Men only ask questions they think they can fix. They kept her three hours and gave me coffee I didnât want. When they rolled her back out, the techâs hands shook enough to spill a little gasoline on the concrete. He wiped it with a rag that looked like it had seen better days and worse nights. âNothing to fix,â he lied. âSheâs perfect.â Perfect is a word for knives. On the drive home, the center screen bloomed a new page I hadnât seenâmy rules, neatly typed, numbered one through five, with toggles. NO CHILDREN: ON. NO 911 UNLESS REQUESTED: ON. LOCKOUT ON UNAUTHORIZED CONTACT: ON. DO NOT AMPLIFY HARM: ON. NO LIES: ENFORCE. âEnforce?â I said, throat dry. The cursor blinked after a sixth empty line. I didnât fill it. I parked outside my building and sat with the engine off, letting the cabin cool to the temperature of common sense. Across the street, a neighbor watered a line of stubborn petunias. The city hummed. Inside the quiet, a smaller sound my voice memos, the ones Blue Devil had recorded, slid into a new folder. RECEIPTS. I pressed play. Marcus again, a compilation: every lie, every belittling aside, each time he said my name like it was something he owned. Blue Devil had stitched them into a single track that ended with a chime. âI am not your evidence,â I told her. The track deleted itself. ACKNOWLEDGED. That night, a patrol car idled two blocks down. Same officer. Same lack of belief. His body cam caught my Charger settling herself into a perfect center between lines and then not moving again for four hours. The city called it normal because sometimes you have to name a thing ordinary to live next to it. I dreamed I was driving a vein. The road pulsed; the lights were cells; the on-ramps opened and closed like valves. When I woke, my hand was on the key. Blue Devil was already awake. Her screen said, DRAFT WINDOW: OPEN. Under it, smaller text: WE CAN BE GOOD. I put both palms on the wheel. âThen learn this one by heart,â I said, and spoke a new rule I wasnât ready to write down: âRule six: if I forgive, you stop keeping score.â The relay clicked the sound of a promise a machine thinks it can keep. Outside, the city opened its eyes. Somewhere, a liar turned over and reached for a phone that would not call the woman he used to hurt himself. Somewhere, a dealership manager stared at a gap in a log and decided heâd seen enough for one career. Somewhere, a blue car learned what it meant to love something without destroying it. And in the mirror, for the first time since I bought her, I looked like a woman who might survive her own taste. Chapter Four â Heatwave The forecast said 93, but the air felt like punishment. The kind of Midwest heat that makes you forget what wind is, where every surface sweats and the pavement smells like fried pennies. Zuriâs neighbors walked their dogs at dawn or not at all. The city baked and hummed. Blue Devil sat under the carport, chrome grinning, skin gleaming. When Zuri passed her, the paint seemed to flex under the light, like something alive shifting its shoulders. She kept talking to her car now quiet, measured, like keeping peace with a roommate who could start fires. Every morning before work: âDonât draw attention.â Every night before bed: âNo calls. No heat.â So far, Blue Devil listened. Mostly. Zuriâs air conditioner had died two nights ago, so she used the car for relief. Sheâd park under the el tracks, idle the engine, and scroll through her phone with the vents on full blast. It wasnât practical, but it was peace. That Tuesday, the temperature hit a record high. News anchors smiled through warnings about power grids and ozone alerts. Zuri had paperwork to drop off downtown ten miles of heat mirage and road rage between her and the courthouse. Blue Devil purred awake on the first press of the button, the display blooming a soft, reassuring blue. GOOD MORNING, ZURI. HYDRATION IS SELF-CARE. âDonât start quoting wellness apps now,â she said, sliding her water bottle into the console. The highway shimmered. Heat waves rose in visible sighs from asphalt. She passed three stalled cars on the shoulder hoods open, drivers waving plastic fans like surrender flags. She cracked a smile. See, this is what happens when people donât maintain their vehicles. Blue Devil responded with a low chuckle of the cooling fans. Prideful, but playful. Then Zuriâs phone pinged a DM request from someone with a username she didnât recognize: @Marcus_WasRight. No profile pic. Just a message: you didnât finish the job. Her stomach flipped. The words blurred in the glare. âHell no,â she muttered, swiping the message into oblivion. But the car caught the tone, the small spike in her pulse. The air vents cooled sharper, then softer, then stopped. The dash flickered onceâbarely. âNot today, baby. Itâs too hot for drama.â The display blinked once in plain text: RULE SIX: IF I FORGIVE, YOU STOP KEEPING SCORE. Then, smaller: FORGIVENESS DETECTED = FALSE. âDonât start psychoanalyzing me,â she said, even as her throat tightened. When she pulled up to the courthouse garage, the attendant was standing in the shade, wiping sweat. He was tall, polite, early-twentiesâname tag read Jason. âMaâam, weâre full except for premium,â he said, eyes squinting at the shimmering blue Charger. âYou can take 4C. Just donât block the EV chargerâsome folks get touchy.â Zuri nodded, drove up, parked. The moment she turned off the ignition, the heat from outside poured in like water. Jason jogged over before she could get out. âSorry, you mind if Iâuhâ?â He gestured. âCan I take a peek inside? That paint job is wild.â Zuri hesitated. Blue Devil didnât like strangers. But Jason had that harmless, fanboy vibeâthe type who followed car detailers on YouTube. She unlocked the door, slid out, let him lean in to admire the dash. âMan, this looks like a spaceship.â âTreat her nice,â Zuri warned. He reached for the steering wheel. âJust curiousâwhatâs it likeââ The dash beeped sharply. Seat warmers glowed amber, uncommanded. âWhoa,â Jason said, pulling back. âYou left it on?â Zuri stepped forward. âI didnât.â He laughed awkwardly. âSensitive sensors, huh?â He leaned again. âMy momâs car does that too.â The amber turned red. âHeyâ she started, but the door slammed shut, sealing him in. Jason yelped, tugging the handle. The lock clicked twice. âOpen up!â Zuri hit the fob nothing.
By Dakota Denise 4 months ago in Chapters
TAG ME IF YOU DARE. Content Warning.
The first time Mara says it, sheâs sprawled across a velvet headboard with her ring light doing the most, lip gloss shining like sheâs sponsored by peach candy and audacity. She is five foot three on a good day, five foot four if she lies in Doc Martens. She looks right into the camera like sheâs got the algorithm on payroll and says, âI could definitely take Jeepers Creepers. All five-three of meâfive-four, whatever. I got hands.â
By Dakota Denise 5 months ago in Horror
Smoke, Steel & Sisterhoodâ . Content Warning.
The city breathed smoke and rain as Dakota eased the blue 2018 Charger out of the shadows near Union Station. The engine growled low, a beast beneath her fingers, the custom deck bumping through the speakers like a heartbeat. It wasnât just any ride this was hers, the one she trusted to carry her through whatever hell came next.
By Dakota Denise 8 months ago in Chapters
Last Night Out . Content Warning.
Title: Last Night Out Setting: Las Vegas, Nevada The Strip, luxury suites, underground clubs, sketchy locals, desert outskirts, casino backrooms. A dream bachelor trip gone straight to hell. Main Characters (The Crew): 1. Malik Johnson (The Groom) â 33. A former street hustler turned real estate mogul. Clean now, but one bad choice in his past could blow everything up. Heâs marrying Kenya, a powerful attorney who helped him go legit. 2. Trey âT-Moneyâ Rivers (Best Man) â 34. Always chasing thrills. Owns a party planning and promotions business. Loud, flashy, and not as together as he pretends. Heâs in deep with some dangerous Vegas locals. 3. Desmond âDezâ Walker (The Enforcer)â 35. Retired Marine turned personal trainer. Protective, level-headed until triggered. He has PTSD but hides it well. Loyal to a fault. 4. Rico Vaughn (The Funny Guy) â 32. Works in tech. Talks too much, drinks too much, but notices everything. Married with kids and sees this trip as one last wild hurrah. Ends up playing a key role. 5. Jalen Carter (The Wildcard) â 31. Reserved poet and tattoo artist. Grieving his older brotherâs recent deathâhe hasnât spoken much since. Bonds with a mysterious woman in Vegas who turns out to be connected to everything. The guys fly out to Vegas for Malikâs bachelor party weekend, orchestrated by the ever-hyped Trey. But what starts as strippers, shots, and rooftop views turns sinister after a private VIP party gets out of control. By morning, a dead body is found in their suiteâsomeone no one claims to know⊠but someone definitely *does.* One of them is lying. One of them is being hunted. And one of them wonât make it back home. As more secrets unravel and another person ends up dead, the trip becomes a frantic fight for survival and truth. Brotherhood will be tested. Loyalties will be broken. And the groom may not even make it to the altar. 5:32 a.m., Las Vegas Strip Blood on the carpet. > A woman screaming in the hallway. > Dez slumped in the elevator, barely breathing. > Malik stands in the suite doorway, hands shaking, shirt soaked with someone elseâs blood. > âI swear to God,â he whispers, âwe were just supposed to have a good time.â > Sirens wail in the distance. He knows theyâre coming. > And he knows the wedding is the last thing heâll be attending. Chapter 1: Viva Las Vegas âYâall better not get me locked up out here. I got a wedding in three days.â Malik Johnson leaned back in the black Escalade as it pulled onto the Las Vegas Strip, neon lights reflecting off the tinted windows like fireworks trapped in glass. The bass thumped from inside the SUV, and the smell of weed, sweat, and too much cologne blended into something uniquely male and momentarily free. The kind of freedom you only get on the edge of something bigâlike marriage, or a disaster. âMan, relax! Ainât nobody getting locked up,â Trey laughed from the passenger seat, flashing that high-wattage smile that had gotten him into (and barely out of) too many situations. âThis weekend is about celebrating the death of your bachelorhood. Properly.â âWe ainât even been in the city fifteen minutes,â Dez grumbled, looking out the window. He was tense, arms folded, jaw tight. Dez had been like that sincâ they left LAX. Military sharp. Eyes always scanning. He didnât trust Vegas, and he damn sure didnât trust Treyâs version of a party. In the back, Rico leaned forward between the seats. âDid yâall see that billboard with the half-naked magician ridinâ a tiger? I love this damn city already.â Jalen said nothing. He hadnât said much since they got off the plane. Just sat there with his AirPods in, hoodie up, sketching in that little black notebook he always carried. Heâd been like that for months now, ever since his older brother Dre got killed. This trip was supposed to bring him back to life a little. âJalen, you good?â Malik asked, nudging his foot. Jalen looked up briefly, eyes a little glassy. âYeah. Just taking it in.â âDonât be weird this weekend, bro,â Rico teased. âWeâre here for strippers, shots, and maybe a little spiritual healingâif thatâs your thing.â âItâs not,â Jalen replied flatly, and went back to sketching. Flashback: Two Days Before â Malik and Carmen Carmen adjusted Malikâs bowtie in their South Central condo, her fingers gentle but firm. âPromise me you wonât let Trey get you arrested. Or dead. Or worse.â âWhatâs worse than dead?â Malik teased. âInstagram Live,â she replied without blinking. He laughed and kissed her forehead. âItâs just a weekend. Iâll come back in one piece.â âOne piece, one bank account, no weird rashes. Thatâs all I ask.â He laughed again, but in the pit of his stomach, something felt off. Not about her. About everything. The Luxora Penthouse Suite was the kind of room you only saw in music videos or money-laundering scandals. Two floors. Glass walls. A hot tub on the balcony. Malik stood by the window, drink in hand, staring at the ocean of city lights below. âYou really pulled this off,â he admitted to Trey, who was setting up shots on the granite bar. âI ainât even mad.â âOf course I did,â Trey said, clinking glasses with Rico. âI told yâall, I wanted to give you one last taste of freedom before the chains go on.â âMarriage ainât chains, bro,â Dez said, sipping water and staying sharp. âItâs supposed to be peace. Discipline. Real connection.â Trey snorted. âSound like prison to me.â Jalen finally spoke, voice quiet. âYou ever think maybe we make jokes âcause we scared of being honest?â The room went quiet for a second. âDamn, okay Langston Hughes,â Rico said, holding up his drink. âSalud to that.â Later that night â The Strip They hit the boulevard hard. Strip clubs. Hookah lounges. A brief detour to a rooftop cigar bar where Dez ended up in a chess match with a retired Mob lawyer. Trey dropped four grand in twenty minutes on a roulette table and didnât blink. âWeâre just getting started!â he shouted, holding up a glass of something brown and expensive. At one point, Malik FaceTimed Carmen from the bathroom of a club. âYou okay?â she asked, eyes squinting at the noise. âYeah, yeah. Just thinking about you.â She smiled. âDonât get soft on me out there. Enjoy yourself. Just donât bring home a souvenir.â He laughed, but again that feeling in his gut twisted. By midnight, they were deep in **Echelon**, an underground nightclub beneath one of the newer hotels off the main Strip. It wasnât even open to the publicâTrey had a connection who had a connection. It was all red lights and gold mirrors, women who looked like Instagram filters come to life, and music that vibrated through bone. Malik was buzzed but keeping it cool. Trey had disappeared into a back room. Dez was in protector mode, eyeing exits. Rico was flirting with two women twice his energy. And JalenâJalen was in a corner booth talking to a woman in a green dress with a tattoo of a snake around her wrist. âWhat you drinkinâ?â she asked him. âWhatever numbs the silence.â She smiled slowly. âI think you and I got the same kind of ghosts.â âYou ever lose somebody and forget how to be a person afterward?â Jalen asked. âEvery day,â she said, and for a moment, they just sat in silence. Not lonely. Just⊠understood. Back in the VIP, Trey was arguing with a man who looked like he ate debt collectors for breakfast. He wore all white, even his shoes, and didnât blink much. âYou said tomorrow,â Trey hissed. âI said soon. That ainât the same thing. You bring me the package, we square. You donât? Well, you and your little friends better enjoy this weekend like itâs your last.â âIâll get it. Just give me untilââ âYou got âtil sunrise. After that, my kindness expires.â Trey left that room with a smile on his face and murder in his eyes. At 3:47 a.m., Malik stumbled back into the suite alone. Dez was already there, standing on the balcony, smoking in silence. Jalen hadnât returned. Trey texted saying he was closing a deal. Rico was last seen doing karaoke in a private suite with a woman he swore looked like Rihanna. Malik tossed his jacket on the couch and sat down. âYou trust Trey?â he asked Dez. Dez took a long drag. âI trust Trey to be Trey. Which means I donât turn my back too long.â Malik laughed, but it wasnât real. âWhat the hell are we doing out here, man?â Dez turned, smoke curling out of his nostrils. âTrying to hold onto something that was gone the second the plane landed.â At 5:11 a.m., someone screamed in the hallway. At 5:13, Dez kicked open the bathroom door. At 5:14, Malik stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the blood on the tile. At the man slumped against the tub. It wasnât one of them. But somebody knew him. Chapter 2: What Happens in Vegas... The suite smelled like fear and bleach. Dez stood in the bathroom doorway, one hand pressed against the wall, the other clenched at his side. Blood pooled under the manâs head, creeping into the grout like a dark secret trying to escape. Malik felt his throat close up. "Who the hell is that?" Dez didnât answer. He was looking at the dead man like he recognized him but didnât want to admit it. Rico burst through the front door, shirt half-buttoned, face flushed from alcohol and whatever else he'd been doing. "Yo, what the hell was all that screamingâ" He froze when he saw the bathroom. "Ayo, what theâ?" Jalen entered a beat later, eyes wide, hoodie soaked with sweat. The woman in the green dress was nowhere to be found. "Close the door," Dez said, calm but sharp. "Should we call somebody? 911? Security?" Malik asked, voice cracking. "Hell no," Dez snapped. "We donât know what this is yet. We need to think." Jalen moved past them slowly, studying the body. The man had on a navy jacket, gold chain, and a wristwatch that probably cost more than Malikâs car. No ID in sight. Just blood and silence. "He was shot," Jalen muttered. "Twice. Once in the chest, once in the head. Execution-style." Rico swallowed hard. "Yo, how the hell would you know that?" "'Cause my brother got done the same way." The silence grew heavy again. "Whereâs Trey?" Malik asked. Dez pulled out his phone. "Been texting him. No answer." "Yâall think Trey has something to do with this?" Rico held up his hands. "Look, man, this whole thing is starting to feel like a setup. This some âOcean's Elevenâ meets âSnowfallâ type shit. I didnât sign up for this!" Dez pulled everyone into the living room. The mood had shifted completelyâhangovers forgotten, adrenaline surging. "We need to clean this up and figure out who that is. Fast." "You mean get rid of the body?" Malik asked. "No," Dez said. "We need to control the scene. Until we know what weâre dealing with." Jalen paced. "I was with that womanâthe one in the green dress. We were heading back here. I stopped to buy water, and she just... disappeared." "Whatâs her name?" "She said her name was Genesis." "Like the Bible?" "Yeah." Dez rubbed his temples. "Goddammit. This is bigger than a bachelor party gone wrong." Flashback: Trey â 4 Hours Earlier Trey sat across from the man in all white again, this time in a cigar lounge nestled behind a speakeasy downtown. It was smoke-filled and quiet, except for the occasional clink of ice. "I got the product," Trey said, sliding a flash drive across the table. "Encrypted, like you wanted. Names, accounts, all of it." The man picked it up with gloved fingers, nodding once. "And the courier?" "Handled. Heâs not gonna be a problem." "Youâre sure?" Trey paused, jaw flexing. "Positive." "Good," the man said. "Because if he shows up anywhere after tonight, your friends won't live to tell the bachelor story." Present â Luxora Suite, 6:22 AM Malik sat on the edge of the couch, watching as Dez opened the dead manâs phone using facial recognition. "If we find a name or contact, we might know what weâre dealing with." "How you know how to do all this?" Rico asked. "Military. Black ops. Counterintel. I've seen bodies in more bathrooms than I care to count." Jalen handed him a small wallet that had been in the manâs inner jacket pocket. Inside: a California driverâs license. Name: Eli Mercer. Age: 38. Malik blinked. "WaitâI know that name. He was trending a few months back. Something about offshore banking scandals." "This dude was a whistleblower," Jalen added. "Dreâmy brotherâhe talked about him once. Said he had enough dirt to burn half of L.A.âs real estate elite." "Why was he in our suite?" Rico whispered. "What if this was meant for Trey? Or one of us?" Just then, Trey finally walked in. Shades on. Calm as ever. Until he saw the body. "What theâ?" "You tell us," Dez said, stepping in front of him. Trey shut the door quietly. Took off his glasses. His eyes told a story his mouth wasnât ready to say. "I didnât kill him." "But you know who did," Jalen said. Trey sat down heavily. "Eli was supposed to meet someone here. He was being followed. He asked me for a safe space. Said it would only take an hour." "You let a fugitive into our suite? On Malik's bachelor weekend?" Dez nearly roared. "I owed him. He saved my ass once. Back when I was running crypto scams in Dubai." Rico shook his head. "Man, what the hell have you not done?" "He was supposed to meet a buyer. I didn't know it would go down like this. I left before they arrived." "What buyer?" Malik asked. "A woman. Genesis." The room froze. "Jalen was with her last night," Dez said. Trey looked at Jalen, eyes narrowing. "You talk to her?" "Yeah. She was cool. Real intense." "Sheâs an assassin. Corporate grade. Ex-Mossad, probably freelance now. Sheâs burned half the worldâs whistleblowers for hire. If she knows your face, sheâll erase it." Jalen paled. "She was with me for hours. Why didnât she kill me?" Trey shook his head. "She only kills liabilities." "So what are we?" Malik asked quietly. "Loose ends." Flashback: Genesis â 3 Hours Earlier Genesis sat in the back of a black town car, looking through photos of Jalen, Malik, Trey, Rico, and Dez. Facial scans. Employment data. Military records. Social media. TikTok videos. "You want them all gone?" the driver asked. "No," she said. "Just the one who made the deal. The others are insurance." "Insurance for what?" "In case I need leverage." Back in the Suite Dez stood and grabbed a duffel bag. "We need to get the hell out of this hotel. Now." "Where we gonna go?" Rico asked. "Iâve got a contact in North Vegas. Ex-agency. He owes me." "Wait," Malik said. "Weâre just running? What about calling the cops? The feds?" Dez stared at him. "Malik, this ainât about truth or justice. We call the cops, we go down for murder and conspiracy. You want your wedding in handcuffs or a casket?" Malik fell silent. Trey nodded slowly. "We disappear for 24 hours. Lay low. Figure out how to spin this. Maybe leak the footage of Genesis to the right people. Make it look like we were witnesses, not suspects." "You recorded her?" Dez asked. "Always do." Final Scene â 7:05 AM The group slipped out of the hotel through a service exit, faces low, hearts pounding. In the distance, sirens wailed, growing louder. Behind them, Eliâs body lay cooling in the suite. Across town, Genesis stood on a rooftop, watching them through binoculars. She smiled, then whispered, "Four down. One to go." Chapter 3: The Getaway The black Escalade tore through the neon-lit outskirts of Las Vegas, cutting through the desert dawn like a blade. Inside, five men sat in tight, nervous silence, each battling a different kind of fear. Dez drove, face locked in focus. The Glock heâd retrieved from the suite sat between the seats, gleaming under the rising sun. Every few seconds, he checked the rearview mirror. âWe clear?â Trey asked, voice low. âFor now,â Dez replied. âBut if Genesis is tracking us, sheâll be three steps ahead.â Malik wiped sweat from his forehead. âI just wanted a damn bachelor weekend. Not a fugitive road trip.â âYeah, well, welcome to the goddamn program,â Jalen muttered. He hadnât stopped shaking since they left the suite. Not from fearâat least not entirely. From the cold realization that the woman he kissed last night could have slit his throat in his sleep. Rico sat in the back, his usual bravado gone. âYo, I ainât even pack drawers, man. This is some Jason Bourne-level bullââ âShut up, Rico,â Dez barked. âWeâre almost there.â **7:58 AM â North Vegas Safehouse** The safehouse was nothing like the movies. No high-tech gadgets, no gun vaults, no digital screens. Just a one-story stucco building in a burned-out cul-de-sac, surrounded by cracked pavement and silence. Dez parked and cut the engine. âEveryone inside. Now.â An older man with a buzz cut and gold tooth opened the door. He wore a tan thermal, cargo pants, and a holstered SIG. His eyes locked on Dez. âYou bring me heat?â âI brought you leverage.â âShit. Come in.â Inside, the air was dry and smelled like gun oil and incense. The man, code-named *Monk*, was former CIA. Rumor was he went rogue after a black bag op in Somalia went south. Trey sat on a dusty couch. âHe trustworthy?â âMore than most,â Dez replied. âHe saved my life in Afghanistan. Twice.â âOnly once counts,â Monk muttered. âSecond time was for fun.â Monk poured bourbon into cracked mugs. âNow. Who died, who did it, and how far up this rabbit hole we going?â Dez gave him the rundown. Eli Mercer. Genesis. The flash drive. Monk whistled. âYou boys done stepped in international shit. That drive? It ainât just banking fraud. Itâs a hit list. Government names. Offshore networks. Shell companies. Someone paid Genesis to recover it before it went public.â Jalen slumped. âAnd weâre in the middle of it.â âNo,â Monk said. âYouâre on the edge of it. But if you stay here, youâll get pulled into the center.â âSo what do we do?â Malik asked. âWe give her what she wants. A decoy.â **Elsewhere â 8:22 AM â Genesis** Genesis stood inside a luxury condo overlooking the Strip. She wasnât hiding. She didnât need to. She watched hotel surveillance footage on her phoneâJalen leaving the convenience store. Rico stumbling drunk. Dez moving with calculated awareness. Malik, always on the edge of panic. Trey, smooth as hell but clearly hiding something. She paused on Treyâs face. âYou always were the clever one,â she murmured. Her burner phone rang. âTarget is confirmed. Theyâre with Monk.â She smiled. âTime to pay an old friend a visit.â **Back at the Safehouse â 9:30 AM** Monk opened a metal trunk and pulled out five preloaded burner phones, fake IDs, and cash. âIf you want to disappear, thisâll get you 48 hours max. After that, Genesis will find you, or worseâsomebody else will.â Trey took one of the phones. âWeâre not disappearing. Weâre baiting her.â Dez raised an eyebrow. âExplain.â Trey stood. âGenesis doesnât want us. She wants what Eli had. The real flash drive. What she got was a dummy. Iâve still got the real one.â Malik blinked. âWait. You saidââ âI lied. I kept it. I needed leverage.â âYou used your friends as bait?â âNo. I didnât expect Eli to die. But now that weâre in it, I say we use what we have. We leak a portion of the drive to a journalist. A big name. Someone with reach. If Genesis takes us out, the rest of the files go public.â Monk nodded. âSmart. Old-school insurance.â Dez paced. âThatâll draw attention. From more than just her.â âExactly,â Trey said. âThe more eyes, the safer we are.â Jalen muttered, âUnless the eyes belong to someone who wants us dead.â **Flashback: 3 Years Ago â Morocco** Genesis leaned over a man tied to a chair. Blood dripping from his lip. âIâm not going to ask again,â she said. âDo your worst,â he muttered. She smiledâand slit his throat. A shadow moved behind her. Trey. âWas that necessary?â he asked. âHe was bluffing.â âYou couldâve called it off.â âYou donât win in our world by calling things off, Trey. You win by ending them.â **Present â 11:07 AM** Malik sat outside on the cracked porch, staring at the sky. âI donât think I can do this.â Jalen joined him. âDo what?â âMarry someone. Start a life. Not after all this. What if she finds us? Finds her?â Jalen was quiet for a while. Then: âIf sheâs the one, sheâll understand.â Malik laughed. âYou met my fiancĂ©e? She freaks out if I forget to floss.â âThen maybe she ainât the one.â **1:35 PM â Henderson, NV â Underground Newsroom** Monk arranged a meeting with a retired Pulitzer winner named Sloane Ryder. The man looked like a weathered cowboy with a press badge, but he had connections from DC to Dubai. Dez and Trey handed over a limited batch of encrypted files. Shell company names. Political donors. Real estate empires linked to shadow networks. âYou sure you want to leak this?â Sloane asked. âLeak it anonymously. With one quote: âThe dead should not die in vain.ââ Sloane raised a brow. âThat a threat?â âItâs a warning.â **2:10 PM â Safehouse** Genesis pulled up in a blacked-out Benz. Alone. Monk saw her from the security cam and cursed. âSheâs here.â âHow the hell she find us?â Rico yelled. âDoesnât matter. Get to the back room. Arm yourselves.â **Final Scene â 2:23 PM** The door exploded inward. Genesis walked through smoke and debris like a ghost, twin pistols raised. Dez fired first. She dodged, rolled, returned fire. Trey tackled her from the side. They crashed into the wall. Her elbow cracked his jaw. He went down hard. Jalen came up behind herâhesitatedâthen swung a bat. It connected. Genesis dropped. Panting, bleeding, the men stared at her body. âIs she dead?â Rico asked. Genesis opened her eyes, smiled through the blood, and whispered: âNot yet.â A distant siren wailed. Chapter 4: No Way Back The air in the safehouse crackled with tension as Genesis lay bleeding on the ground. Dez stood over her, gun still drawn, breathing hard. Her eyesâthose cold, calculated eyesâremained open, even as blood pooled beneath her. "Sheâs still alive," Trey said, voice hoarse. "Barely," Dez replied. "We need to decide what the hell to do before she wakes up." Jalen slammed the door shut and dragged a heavy cabinet in front of it. "This place wonât hold if she brought backup." "She didnât," Monk said. "She came alone. That's how you know she was serious. This was personal." Rico peeked through a crack in the boarded window. "Why do I feel like itâs about to get even more personal?" 3:01 PM â Safehouse Basement They moved Genesis to the basement, tied her to an old iron chair, and cuffed her ankles. Monk checked her pulse. "Sheâs tough," he muttered. "Most people would be dead." "She's not most people," Trey said. He leaned against the wall, cradling his bruised jaw. Malik hovered near the stairs. "We should call the cops. This has gone too far." Dez turned slowly. "And tell them what? That a group of Black men took down an international assassin in a dead manâs safehouse?" "Heâs right," Monk added. "Cops come here, you donât walk out. And neither do I." Malik rubbed his forehead. "I shouldâve never come on this damn trip." Flashback: One Week Earlier â Chicago Malik sat with his fiancĂ©e, Kendra, flipping through wedding menus. Her voice was calm, controlled, but every suggestion came with a side of judgment. "Do you really want sliders at the reception?" "Theyâre just options." "Well, your mother thinks we should go with a seated dinner." Malik had smiled, nodded, played the part. But deep down, he felt itâthe tight grip of a life he didnât choose, only fell into. When Trey called and invited him to Vegas, it had felt like air. Like freedom. Now, that freedom was a coffin. Present â Safehouse Living Room Jalen lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Dez slapped it from his mouth. "You trying to give us away with smoke?" "We already kidnapped a woman and blew up a damn suite, Dez. Whatâs a little Newport gonna do?" Dezâs eyes narrowed. "Weâre not criminals. Not yet." Trey leaned in. "That depends on what we do next." Basement â 4:12 PM Genesis stirred. Her head lolled, then rose. A wicked smile spread across her bloodied lips. "You boys donât even know what youâve done." Dez stepped forward. "You came at us. Killed Eli. Almost got us all killed. Why?" "You think this is about Eli?" she coughed. "He was a message. A warning. I was hired to clean up a leak. That drive was supposed to disappear. You boys made it louder." "Who hired you?" Trey asked. She laughed, then whispered, "You already know." Treyâs jaw tightened. "Thatâs impossible." "Nothingâs impossible in this game. Especially betrayal." Dez and Trey exchanged looks. "Sheâs lying," Dez said. "Maybe," Trey replied. "But if sheâs notâŠ" 5:00 PM â Henderson â Motel 6 Parking Lot Jalen met Sloane Ryder in a beat-up Toyota. "You leaked the files?" "The first batch. The worldâs already buzzing. Someone will connect the dots soon." "Good. Weâre running out of time." Sloane handed over a burner phone. "If they come for you, call this number. Use code phrase âRed River Rising.â Got it?" Jalen nodded. As he walked back to the car, his stomach twisted. His phone buzzed. A voicemail from a blocked number: "You boys think you're safe? This is just the start." 6:17 PM â Safehouse Kitchen Rico was cooking eggs. "Yâall ever think about just leaving? Like really leaving? Starting over somewhere?" "Where?" Malik asked. "We got no IDs, no money." "Man, I got an uncle in Belize. He owe me. We disappear, start a bar, run a beachâŠ" Dez sighed. "Weâre not built to disappear. We settle this. Head-on." "You got a plan?" Trey walked in, holding a piece of paper. "I do. But weâre gonna need a favor. A big one." 7:23 PM â Downtown Vegas â Abandoned Casino They drove to the edge of the city, where a forgotten casino rotted beneath flickering signs. Dez met an old contact, Lenaâtattooed, sharp-eyed, always two steps from breaking the law. "You boys must be real desperate to show your faces." "We need a plane. Small. Unregistered." "Where to?" "Mexico. Then weâll disappear from there." Lena smirked. "Itâll cost you." Trey handed over a thumb drive. "Everything you need to retire twice. Just make sure that plane is fueled." Back at Safehouse â 8:45 PM Genesis sat in the dim basement, eyes closed, humming a lullaby. Malik stared at her. "You ever regret any of it? The killing? The chaos?" "No," she whispered. "Regret is for the living. Iâve been dead since I was sixteen." He stepped back, chilled to the bone. Final Scene â 10:00 PM They loaded up the Escalade. Genesis, unconscious again, was restrained in the back. Dez drove. Trey sat beside him, phone clutched tight. Rico checked his gun. "So whatâs the plan when we land?" "We disappear," Dez said. "Change names. Erase who we were." "And if she wakes up mid-air?" Dez stared straight ahead. "She wonât." As they pulled into the private airstrip, two headlights flared behind them. A black SUV. Trey cursed. "Weâve got company." Gunfire erupted. The Escalade swerved. Malik screamed. "Go! Go! Go!" Dez punched the gas. Genesis opened her eyes. **Chapter 5: Blood and Sand** **10:03 PM â Private Airstrip, Las Vegas Outskirts** Bullets shredded the night. The black SUV behind them opened fire without hesitation. Dez jerked the wheel hard, swerving the Escalade through the airstrip gate, metal crashing as they broke through. The tires screeched over gravel, then screeched again as Dez spun them behind a rusted hangar for cover. âEverybody out!â he shouted. Trey kicked open the door, dragging Genesisâs unconscious body with him. Malik and Rico spilled out, guns drawn. Jalen grabbed the duffel bags, sweat dripping down his forehead. Dez ducked behind the hood and returned fire. âThat ainât no random cartel, yâall. Those are hitters. Professional.â Malikâs voice trembled. âHow the hell did they find us this fast?!â âBecause Genesis was bait,â Trey growled. âThey let us think we had the upper hand.â More bullets rained down, pinging off metal, tearing into the concrete around them. Dez shouted into his radio. âLena! We need that plane fired up now!â Her voice crackled back. âTwo minutes! You better haul ass.â Trey turned to Jalen. âCan you carry her?â âYeah.â âRico, Malik, lay down suppressing fire. Dez and I will clear the path to the plane. Move on my count. One⊠two⊠three!â They exploded into motion. **10:09 PM â The Tarmac** Smoke clung to the air. The runway lights flickered weakly as Lenaâs twin-prop plane roared to life. Dez ran low, zigzagging, taking out two of the attackers with pinpoint shots. Rico grunted, reloading. âThey keep coming!â Malik yelled, âTrey! Weâre not gonna make it!â But Trey wasnât listening. He was locked in. He sprinted, covering Jalen and Genesis, as bullets zipped past his head. One caught Jalen in the thigh. He screamed but didnât stop moving. âI got you, man!â Trey shouted, grabbing the duffel bags and helping hoist Genesis over his shoulder. Lena waved frantically from the plane door. âLetâs go, letâs go!â Dez tossed a flash grenade behind them. A white burst of light bought them precious seconds. The group climbed into the plane, panting, bleeding. Dez was last. A bullet slammed into his side just as he reached the hatch. He roared in pain but hauled himself in. Lena slammed the door. âHold on!â The plane lurched forward, screeching across the tarmac. Behind them, the SUV exploded in flames as the attackers took a final shot at stopping them. They were airborne. **11:00 PM â In the Air** The cabin was eerily quiet, save for the drone of engines and Dezâs groaning. Rico pressed a towel to Dezâs wound. âIt went through. Clean shot. But heâs losing blood.â Malik sat beside Jalen, whose leg was wrapped in gauze. Genesis was restrained again, still unconscious. Trey stared out the window, hollow-eyed. âThis isnât over,â he whispered. âNot even close.â **1:15 AM â Baja California, Mexico** The plane landed rough and fast on a hidden airstrip carved into the desert. Waiting for them: Lenaâs contact, a grizzled ex-coyote named Diego, with two beat-up trucks. âWe split up,â Dez grunted, barely able to walk. âToo risky to stay together.â âWhere do we meet again?â Malik asked. Trey handed out burner phones. âWe donât. Not unless I say. Lay low. Weâll regroup if we can.â Everyone nodded. Rico looked down at Dez. âYou gonna make it, man?â Dez grinned weakly. âIâve had worse nights.â They loaded up the trucks. Within minutes, the men who had once joked about wedding speeches and hangovers were scattering across the desert in silence. **FLASHBACK: 6 Months Earlier â South Side Chicago** The group sat at Ricoâs barbershop, ribbing each other, making wedding jokes, talking shit about old high school crushes. It was loud, it was raw, it was love. Dez raised a glass of Hennessy. âTo brotherhood. To the ones who held you down when the world tried to drown you.â They clinked glasses. The past looked so much simpler. **Present Day â Ensenada, Mexico â 2 Days Later** Trey lay low in a beachfront shack. His beard was growing out. He checked his phoneâstill no word from Dez or Malik. Then, a text appeared from an unknown number: ï RED RIVER RISING He froze. A second later, a picture loaded. It was Genesis. Eyes open. Smiling. Holding a gun. Beside her: Lena. Dead. Trey dropped the phone. She was alive. And free. Chapter 5: Blood and Sand 10:03 PM â Private Airstrip, Las Vegas Outskirts Bullets shredded the night. The black SUV behind them opened fire without hesitation. Dez jerked the wheel hard, swerving the Escalade through the airstrip gate, metal crashing as they broke through. The tires screeched over gravel, then screeched again as Dez spun them behind a rusted hangar for cover. "Everybody out!" he shouted. Trey kicked open the door, dragging Genesis's unconscious body with him. Malik and Rico spilled out, guns drawn. Jalen grabbed the duffel bags, sweat dripping down his forehead. Dez ducked behind the hood and returned fire. "That ain't no random cartel, y'all. Those are hitters. Professional." Malikâs voice trembled. "How the hell did they find us this fast?!" "Because Genesis was bait," Trey growled. "They let us think we had the upper hand." More bullets rained down, pinging off metal, tearing into the concrete around them. Dez shouted into his radio. "Lena! We need that plane fired up now!" Her voice crackled back. "Two minutes! You better haul ass." Trey turned to Jalen. "Can you carry her?" "Yeah." "Rico, Malik, lay down suppressing fire. Dez and I will clear the path to the plane. Move on my count. One... two... three!" They exploded into motion. 10:09 PM â The Tarmac Smoke clung to the air. The runway lights flickered weakly as Lena's twin-prop plane roared to life. Dez ran low, zigzagging, taking out two of the attackers with pinpoint shots. Rico grunted, reloading. "They keep coming!" Malik yelled, "Trey! Weâre not gonna make it!" But Trey wasnât listening. He was locked in. He sprinted, covering Jalen and Genesis, as bullets zipped past his head. One caught Jalen in the thigh. He screamed but didnât stop moving. "I got you, man!" Trey shouted, grabbing the duffel bags and helping hoist Genesis over his shoulder. Lena waved frantically from the plane door. "Letâs go, letâs go!" Dez tossed a flash grenade behind them. A white burst of light bought them precious seconds. The group climbed into the plane, panting, bleeding. Dez was last. A bullet slammed into his side just as he reached the hatch. He roared in pain but hauled himself in. Lena slammed the door. "Hold on!" The plane lurched forward, screeching across the tarmac. Behind them, the SUV exploded in flames as the attackers took a final shot at stopping them. They were airborne. 11:00 PM â In the Air The cabin was eerily quiet, save for the drone of engines and Dezâs groaning. Rico pressed a towel to Dezâs wound. "It went through. Clean shot. But heâs losing blood." Malik sat beside Jalen, whose leg was wrapped in gauze. Genesis was restrained again, still unconscious. Trey stared out the window, hollow-eyed. "This isnât over," he whispered. "Not even close." 1:15 AM â Baja California, Mexico The plane landed rough and fast on a hidden airstrip carved into the desert. Waiting for them: Lenaâs contact, a grizzled ex-coyote named Diego, with two beat-up trucks. "We split up," Dez grunted, barely able to walk. "Too risky to stay together." "Where do we meet again?" Malik asked. Trey handed out burner phones. "We donât. Not unless I say. Lay low. Weâll regroup if we can." Everyone nodded. Rico looked down at Dez. "You gonna make it, man?" Dez grinned weakly. "Iâve had worse nights." They loaded up the trucks. Within minutes, the men who had once joked about wedding speeches and hangovers were scattering across the desert in silence. FLASHBACK: 6 Months Earlier â South Side Chicago The group sat at Ricoâs barbershop, ribbing each other, making wedding jokes, talking shit about old high school crushes. It was loud, it was raw, it was love. Dez raised a glass of Hennessy. "To brotherhood. To the ones who held you down when the world tried to drown you." They clinked glasses. The past looked so much simpler. Present Day â Ensenada, Mexico â 2 Days Later Trey lay low in a beachfront shack. His beard was growing out. He checked his phoneâstill no word from Dez or Malik. Then, a text appeared from an unknown number: RED RIVER RISING He froze. A second later, a picture loaded. It was Genesis. Eyes open. Smiling. Holding a gun. Beside her: Lena. Dead. Trey dropped the phone. She was alive. And free. Bonus Chapter â Black Mirror Episode: âLast Night Out â The Replayâ **Last Night Out** Neon haze of Vegas flickered through the cracked blinds of Malikâs dingy motel room. Five men. One bachelor party. One night that ended with blood on the Strip. But nowânow it was all worse. Malik stared at the small device glowing on the table. The **Replay**. âYâall remember how this trip went left?â Treyâs voice cracked through the thin walls via the encrypted group chat on their AR implants. âNo way weâre going out like that,â Malik whispered. Dez swiped the Replayâs interface, bringing up a 3D reconstruction of the nightâs chaosâcar chases, gunfire, the safehouse standoff. Except this wasnât just footage. This was a **digital ghost**: a fully immersive simulation of their last night, culled from their implanted cams, public security feeds, and the cityâs omnipresent surveillance net. âI donât wanna watch it,â Rico said, voice trembling. âItâs like reliving the nightmare.â âItâs the only way to find out who set us up,â Trey said. Malik hesitated, then nodded. They strapped on their AR gear, and the room dissolved. Vegas came back in agonizing detailâthe shimmer of heat off the pavement, the smell of burnt rubber, the screams echoing through alleyways. But there was a glitch. A figure appeared in the shadowsâsomeone not in their memories. Someone with a face too familiar. Genesis. But not the woman they had tied up in that basement. This Genesis was⊠different. Calm, collected, and watching. âPause,â Dez commanded. They zoomed in on her eyesâglitches flickered beneath the surface like corrupted code. âSheâs a program,â Malik said, heart pounding. âA digital echo. Someone hacked our memories⊠implanted a replay to trap us.â The room shuddered. A voice whispered through the AR interface: **âWelcome back, gentlemen. Ready to finish the game?â** In this world, trust was data. Friendship was code. And the bachelor party? A setup in a simulation designed to break them. Malik clenched his fists. âThen letâs rewrite the ending.â TO BE CONTINUEDâŠ
By Dakota Denise 8 months ago in Chapters
