Kamala sat in the cold waiting room of the parole office, her nerves tight with a mix of dread and determination. Araminta sat beside her, tense but quiet, her eyes focused on the door. The silence stretched on, filled only by the faint hum of the air conditioning and the shuffle of papers. Kamala had never imagined she'd be in a situation like this, but there she was, preparing to represent the man who had caused so much pain to Samara. Her gaze wandered over the room, scanning for anything to distract her from the knot in her stomach. That's when she saw her, a young girl sitting in the corner, her eyes fixed on the floor. She looked out of place, alone, like she didn't belong in such an intimidating environment. Kamala blinked, the feeling of recognition creeping up on her. The way she held herself, the subtle tension in her posture, everything about her seemed so familiar.
Kamala leaned forward slightly, her heart beginning to race. It couldn't be. Could it?
The girl looked up just as Kamala's gaze fixed on her, and for a moment, their eyes locked. Kamala's breath caught in her throat. The young girl had the same sharp eyes, she could see that same mocking smile spread across her face as she walked off with Samara. Kamala swallowed hard. There was no mistaking it now.
Siobhan.
Kamala's chest tightened as a sudden wave of panic hit her.
What was she doing here?
Why was she at Troy's parole hearing?
Kamala's mind raced, but she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn't let Araminta see her freak out, not here. She took a deep breath, her fingers tightening slightly on the armrest, willing herself to stay composed. Her mind was spinning, trying to piece together how this could even be possible.
Kamala kept her eyes on Siobhan, trying to remain inconspicuous as she watched the girl from the corner of her vision. The seconds ticked by, the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. What was Siobhan doing here? Was she here for troy? Kamala couldn't fathom the idea. After everything that had happened with Samara and her, it seemed impossible, a coincidence, but there was no denying the oddity. When Troy's number was called, Kamala stood with Araminta, her heart pounding as they moved toward the courtroom. Siobhan was still sitting there, not moving. Kamala took one last look at her before they entered. She felt like she was in a dream, trying to make sense of a reality that didn't seem to fit. It wasn't until they were inside the courtroom that Kamala's gaze drifted back to the door. Her breath caught in her throat again when she saw Siobhan walk in, her shoulders squared, her expression unreadable. She didn't even glance in their direction, as if she didn't recognize them, or didn't want to. Kamala's stomach churned as the girl took a seat behind them, quietly settling into the chair, her eyes ahead.
Kamala turned away, focusing back on the front of the room, but her mind was racing. 'That must be his daughter.' she though. It had to be.
Her thoughts scrambled. She couldn't tell Samara. She wouldn't. As long as she stayed away, it wasn't any of her concern.
Once her panic settled, the cold hit her like a wave, when she realized she was supposed to be seated in the defenses chair not in the gallery as she's grown use to. She stood up huffing, the room lined with rows of seats she side stepped around before opening the separating gate and walking into her long unseen domain, she sat at a long, polished table at the front where Troy sat, his back straight, his face set in an unreadable expression. Kamala sat next to him, keeping a professional distance, her hands folded in her lap.
"I'm Kamala Harris," she introduced herself, her voice firm but calm.
"I'm here to represent you, but after today, I want you to understand that neither Araminta nor her daughter Samara will have any further contact with you. They will both be filing restraining orders against you."
Troy looked at her like she was something beneath his notice. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a barely perceptible sneer. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, he turned to Araminta, raising an eyebrow as if to say, 'Who the hell is this?'
Araminta just shook her head, her expression resigned. Troy muttered under his breath, "I've got something for her ass."
Kamala's stomach churned, but she kept her face neutral. It didn't matter what Troy thought. He didn't have a say in the matter anymore. Either he wanted the help or not.
Before she could respond, the bailiff stepped forward. "All rise," they said, and the courtroom fell into order. Kamala stood, eyes forward, waiting for the judge to arrive and begin the proceedings.
As the judge settled in, the room quieted, and the deliberations began. Kamala took her seat, pulling her notes in front of her. The words she had prepared felt like flimsy excuses in her mind, but she pushed those doubts aside. She had a job to do.
When her turn came to speak, she stood and addressed the court, her voice steady. "Your Honor, I know that Troy Harper has spent time in prison, and while it is true that he has had good behavior during his time, He has shown reform during his time, and with proper supervision can become a productive member of society. Especially with the Jordan's decisions to file restraining orders against him, both mother and daughter. I believe without that distraction he's likely to engage in Rehabilitation programs to follow the rules of a society that he has shown to be able to apply to in the confines of prison and his made it clears that he expresses the want to make amends. all in all, I believe he is capable of reintegrating into society."
Kamala felt the weight of her words as she spoke. She could feel the tension building in the room, could almost hear Samara's voice echoing in her mind, begging for this man to stay behind bars. She didn't believe a word of what she was saying herself, but she had to make it work, she had heard what he said under his breath, and that was only towards Araminta. Kamala never considered his feelings towards Samara what her mother had promised her help...
The minutes dragged on as the judge asked questions, but in the end, the decision came down to whether or not Troy had been reformed enough to return to society. Kamala knew it was a gamble. The system was flawed, it was going to let him go if Kamala had been convincing enough, but she hoped it wouldn't.
Finally, the judge spoke. "The board finds that Mr. Harper has met the necessary requirements for parole. He will be granted release, effective in two days."
Kamala's heart sank. She had hoped for a different outcome, but this was the reality. She had done what she could, and now Troy would be free to walk again. It wasn't fair, but it was the best she could do.
Once the proceedings ended, Kamala handed Araminta a stack of papers. "Here," she said.
"This is the paperwork to begin the restraining order process. You need to fill this out and take it to the district court clerk in this building. Once you do that, they'll give you a date for a temporary hearing. After that, you can go for the final hearing."
Araminta took the papers wordlessly, nodding her thanks. Kamala gave her a small, tight-lipped smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.
"You're welcome," she said softly, turning to leave. "And please actually file these papers that man he doesn't love you he doesn't love Samara he only wants revenge, you may have helped him get out, but he damn sure doesn't seem appreciative"
Kamala returned to her hotel room, it had been long enough for our Amen to file the papers in for them to get in the system, though she didn't check the status of this training order immediately. The weight of the day's events, Troy's parole, the court proceedings, the prior back-and-forth with Araminta about her own doubts, left her feeling drained. She hadn't unpacked everything earlier, but now, with the looming sense of finality hanging over her, she began gathering her things.
She folded the clothes from her suitcase, the routine calming her frayed nerves as she tried to shake off the weight of the day. There was a part of her that wished she could have done more, something more to stop Troy from being released, but she knew this was the only path forward.
After a while, Kamala stopped packing, standing in front of the suitcase. She wiped her hands on her pants and looked over at the clock. It was almost time to head back to DC, but before she left, she needed to check one last thing.
The restraining order.
Pulling out her phone, she sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the browser. Her fingers hovered over the search bar before she typed in the court website and navigated to the section for case statuses. As the page loaded, her mind raced through the events of the day. She wasn't sure if the order would show up yet, it had only been a few hours, but when the page finally came up, her eyes scanned it quickly.
There it was. The restraining order had officially been filed.
"Restraining order submitted against Oscar Jordan, set for release from Maryland State Correctional Facility on January 15th. Filed by Araminta Jordan."
A small, relieved breath escaped Kamala's lips. She wasn't entirely satisfied yet. There were still Samara's. One more hurdle cleared. For now, at least, her mother would have protection. Kamala's shoulders relaxed just slightly, the tension in her body easing.
Once the relief of that washed away, Kamala typed out an email to Araminta, letting her know that the restraining order for Maryland had been filed, hurting her to actually attend the hearings to have the order finalized. She wasn't sure how much Araminta trusted her yet, but this was important. She closed her laptop and zipped up the bag with one final glance around the hotel room.
It was time to leave, but as she walked past the printer by the front desk, she decided to print the documents for Samara's DC and Maryland order. She sent them to the hotel printer and picked them up on her way out, making sure everything was ready for when she arrived back in DC.
Kamala felt a small sense of accomplishment as she made her way back to her car. She wasn't sure what the next few days would bring, but she knew that for now, she was doing everything she could. The papers were filed, the process was set in motion, and she could only hope if she could.
As she drove back to DC, the sun setting in the rearview mirror, Kamala allowed herself a moment of quiet relief. It wasn't much, but it was something.
—-
The dorm room was thick with smoke, the scent of weed mingling with the faint aroma of dining hall takeout. Samara and Tazara were sprawled across the beds, plates of half-eaten food scattered around them. They were both high, cloud motherfucking nine high, giggling at things that weren't even that funny but felt hilarious at the moment.
Tazara snorted as she stuffed a fry into her mouth. "Yo, what if that nigga showed up here?" she said between bites.
"Like, on some 'I'm coming to get what's mine' type shit? And then, boom, Howard on lockdown."
Samara burst out laughing so hard she almost dropped her plate, that wasn't funny, but god was it funny right now. "Oh my God, not a campus shutdown."
"I'm serious!" Tazara cackled. "You'd have to go out there and do an interpretive dance to get him to leave."
Samara wheezed, slapping her knee. "You gonna have me out there doing swan lake to keep that man from stepping foot on campus?"
"Yes! You better twirl for your life."
They both dissolved into laughter, barely breathing as they shook with uncontrollable giggles. Samara wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling as she grabbed another bite of food. But as the laughter died down, her mind shifted to something else—Kamala.
She turned her head toward Tazara, the grin still lingering on her face. "I wanna do something nice for her."
Tazara arched a brow, reaching for the blunt on the nightstand. "Like what? You tryna write her a thank-you card or something?"
"Nah," Samara said, shaking her head. "I mean nice-nice. I want to treat her. Like, go all out."
Tazara exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and hummed in thought. "Alright, alright. What about a fancy-ass dinner? Get dressed up, rent a private room or the whole restaurant if you're feeling baller."
Samara's eyes lit up. "Hell yeah."
Tazara smirked. "See? That's what I'm talking about. Big moves."
Samara sat up and grabbed her phone, her mind racing with ideas. She started typing furiously, looking up five-star restaurants in D.C., luxury car rental services, and upscale dress boutiques. She was planning something major.
Tazara squinted at the screen. "Damn, you tryna rent a Mercedes or Rolls-Royce? You got it like that?"
Samara laughed, still slightly slurred from the high. "I'll figure it out. This woman deserves the best night of her life."
Tazara grinned and took another hit, exhaling slowly. "Girl, you whipped."
Samara didn't even deny it.
Tazara watched as Samara scrolled through endless options, her stoned enthusiasm practically radiating off her. "So, you really about to blow a bag on this woman, huh?"
Samara smirked, not even looking up from her phone. "I mean, yeah. I got it."
Tazara squinted. "You got it?"
Samara shrugged like it was nothing. "Yeah. My dad left me a shit ton of money when he died. That's how I'm getting to stay at Howard, my mom's ass wasn't gonna pay." she rolled her eyes
She still loved her mom, just a little angrily now.
Tazara nearly choked on the smoke she was exhaling. "Excuse me?"
Samara finally looked up, her face completely unbothered. "What?"
Tazara sat up, pushing her plate aside. "So, you telling me you been sitting on generational wealth this whole time, and I've been spotting you for snacks?"
Samara busted out laughing. "Not generational wealth!" She cackled, waving her hand dismissively. "I mean, it's not that much, but it was enough to keep me here without worrying about tuition or really anything after college, actually honestly yeah you could call it that this nigga had money."
"I never knew about it though, neither did my mom. But I don't intend on blowing it, I actually want to become an attorney n' shit, so ima sit on it and use what I need"
Tazara shook her head. "Damn. Can't argue with dead man's money."
Samara grinned, but then suddenly launched herself at Tazara, knocking the blunt out of her hand and tackling her onto the bed. "THANK YOU, BITCH!" she yelled, squeezing her tight.
Tazara groaned, struggling under Samara's weight. "For what?!"
"For convincing your mom to offer paying my tuition! "
Tazara snorted, still pinned under Samara. "I almost did save your ass, huh?"
"You did!" Samara giggled, squeezing her tighter before finally rolling off.
Tazara sat up, shaking her head with a smirk. "You better remember this when I start asking for my reparations."
Samara threw a pillow at her. "Girl, shut up and pass me the blunt. I didn't end up needing your money"
"Girl, I'm kidding, the hell I look like asking for some damn reparations? White?"
They both burst into laughter.
—
Kamala pulled into her driveway, the hum of her car fading into the quiet night. She sat there for a moment, her hands still gripping the wheel, staring at the darkened windows of her home. It had been a long-ass week.
She grabbed her bags and made her way inside, kicking off her shoes at the door. The silence was immediate, pressing, unfamiliar after the past few days of constant movement, stress, and being around Araminta and a crying Samara. Kamala exhaled and ran a hand through her hair. The place felt empty.
She climbed into bed, sinking into the mattress with a sigh. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed over the spot where Samara usually slept when she stayed over. It was cold now, untouched for what, days?
She hadn't called. Hadn't texted. Not because she didn't want to, but because she had been drowning in Araminta's breakdowns, second-guessing everything she was doing. Kamala had spent the past week holding that woman together while trying to make sure she and Samara would be fine.
She stared at the ceiling, exhaustion creeping in. She still couldn't believe how erratic Araminta had been, how she so easily could back track on her promises, ones that protected her and her daughter from a man's wrath.
Kamala closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, but her last thoughts were of Samara—of how much she missed her.
January 14th
Kamala stood at the front of the lecture hall, flipping through her notes, as the steady hum of students settling into their seats filled the room. It was just another day, business as usual.
She adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat. "All right, let's pick up where we left off. I've been gone for a while, but today, we're breaking down the more nuanced interpretations of the Fourteenth Amendment in modern constitutional law. Specifically, I want to focus on..." She paused, scanning the room.
A passage from their reading stuck in her mind, one that had tripped up more than a few students in past years. She glanced at the class. "Before we move on, can someone explain the legal significance of substantive due process in a landmark Supreme Court cases?"
A student near the middle raised their hand and answered confidently. Kamala nodded, satisfied.
"Exactly. Well put." With that, she carried on, guiding the class through the day's discussion.
As always, Samara and Tazara sat in their usual seats, and as always, neither of them looked particularly invested. They weren't disruptive, weren't outright ignoring the lecture, but it was clear they had already mastered the material. Kamala didn't mind, she had seen their work, seen the grades to back it up.
She let them be.
Class wrapped up, students filtering out in small groups, the murmur of conversation trailing behind them. Kamala gathered her things, not expecting anything out of the ordinary, when she noticed Samara lingering by her desk, waiting for the room to empty.
Kamala raised an eyebrow as Samara finally stepped forward. "What size are you?" she asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Kamala blinked. "Excuse me?"
"And do you like Indian food?" Samara added, completely ignoring Kamala's reaction.
Kamala scoffed, amused. "I love Indian food. You are talking to an Indian woman." she then gave her size.
Samara just grinned and laughed before turning on her heel, already walking away.
Kamala frowned slightly, watching her go. "What are you planning?" she called after her.
But Samara didn't answer. She just disappeared through the door, leaving Kamala at her desk, wondering what the hell that girl was up to.
—
Samara stepped into the boutique, the soft hum of jazz playing overhead as she ran her fingers over the racks of dresses. She knew exactly what she wanted, something that made her look good, sure, but more importantly, something for Kamala.
She picked out a short, sleek black dress for herself, one that hugged her curves just right, but when it came to finding something for Kamala, she hit a wall. Every dress she came across was either too extravagant or too plain. Kamala could pull off anything, but Samara didn't just want her to look good, she wanted something Kamala would actually want to wear again. Something classic, something sexy, but not over-the-top.
Then, she saw it.
A deep red satin dress, fitted but with just enough flow to move with her, a slit that pulled the eye but stayed classy. The neckline was elegant, just low enough to tease but not reveal too much. Samara could already see Kamala in it. The way the fabric would hug her frame, the way her skin would contrast against the color, 'yeah, this was it'.
Without a second thought, she grabbed it, paid, and practically ran out of the store, excitement buzzing through her. Once she was in her car, she checked the time, noon. Still hours away from their reservation at Rasika. She couldn't just show up to Kamala's home unannounced and say, Hey, we're going on a date.
So, she called.
Kamala answered instantly. "Hey, you," her voice warm, soft.
"Hey, yourself," Samara said, biting back a grin.
"You sound excited about something," Kamala mused.
"Maybe I am."
Kamala chuckled. "And what exactly are you so excited about?"
Samara inhaled, biting her lip before saying, "I wanna take you out tonight."
There was a pause, short, but enough for Samara to imagine Kamala's eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.
"You wanna take me out?" Kamala echoed.
"Yeah," Samara said, grinning. "I got everything covered. I just wanna know if you'd wanna go."
Kamala hummed. "Well, where are we going? I'm sure I could find somewhere nice for us."
"Nah, I'm handling all of that," Samara cut in. "I just need a yes or no."
Kamala sighed in amusement. "You're not even gonna give me a hint?"
Samara smirked. "Dinner. And then maybe afterward... dessert."
Kamala let out a soft laugh, but Samara could hear the blush in her voice when she said, "Dessert means both things, doesn't it?"
Samara grinned. "It absolutely does."
Kamala giggled, the sound making Samara's stomach flip. "Alright, fine. Yes. I'll go out with you."
"Good," Samara said, satisfied. "I'll be there at seven."
"I'll be waiting," Kamala said, her voice softer now.
"And don't worry about what you need to wear, I have a surprise"
"Samara, if you bring a thong and-" Samara hung up with a laugh
For a moment there was silence, to she let out an excited squeal, kicking her feet against the floor of her car like a teenager before pulling off, heading straight for the car rental place. Tonight was going to be perfect.
—
Troy leaned back on his cot, laughing with his cellmates as he recounted the parole hearing.
"Man, y'all shoulda seen it. Ol' girl, Araminta brought some random bitch in there to defend me. But hey, she was good, so I ain't mad about it." He grinned, shaking his head.
"Still funny, though. She straight-up lied about Samara reppin' me. Told me she'd get her on board, make it seem like I actually got some forgiveness from em? Like she ain't mad about me 'killing her father. Ya know?'" He threw up air quotes, rolling his eyes.
One of his cellmates, a scruffy dude with a busted lip, scoffed. "Didn't that bitch tell you she was gonna get that little girl to represent you?"
"Yeah, and that's messed up she ain't do it," another chimed in. "But didn't she also tell the girl you weren't her real father anyway?"
Troy waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah, but that was, what—ten, twelve years ago? Hell i don't know; she probably don't even remember that shit."
That set them all off, laughter bouncing off the cement walls.
Troy smirked, shaking his head. "Anyway, I'm outta here tomorrow. Got all my shit packed up, ain't keepin' a damn thing from this place. I'm Scott-free, baby." He tapped his chest.
"And guess what? My daughter, my real one's coming to pick me up. Matter of fact, she's comin' today in a few minutes to talk."
His cellmates perked up. "Oh shit, she tryna tell you somethin'?"
Troy shrugged. "Says she met somebody, got some shit to tell me about it."
One of them snorted. "Oh, your daughter, she 'bout to get married? You ain't know?"
Troy let out a loud laugh. "Nah, nah, she one of them bulldaggers, but I still love her."
The room erupted in laughter, a couple of them slapping their knees as they howled.
Before the jokes could keep going, an officer appeared at the door. "Harper, you got a visitor."
Troy smirked at his cellmates as they whooped and hollered, hyping him up. "Showtime," he muttered, standing up and adjusting his jumpsuit.
As the officer led him through the hallway, he rolled his shoulders, shaking off the stiffness of years spent locked up. When they reached the double doors leading to the visitation room, he could see through the glass.
Siobhan.
She was sitting at one of the tables, her posture poised but guarded, waiting for him. A slow grin spread across Troy's face. As soon as he stepped inside, his entire demeanor softened. "Siobhan, baby girl," he greeted warmly, arms wide.
She stood, letting him pull her into a hug.
They held it for a beat longer than expected before stepping back, sharing a quiet chuckle. Then, they sat down. Siobhan didn't waste time with pleasantries. As soon as they sat down, she leaned forward, voice flat. "I know the woman who represented you."
Troy raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," she scoffed.
"It's the same bitch that took my girl from me back in D.C. She teaches at Howard, and guess what? She's dating the same chick I was messing with."
Troy frowned slightly. "How you even meet her?"
Siobhan huffed. "Met her at a club. I was about to take the girl home with me, and she popped up, trying to get her to come back with her instead. The girl was all fucked up, barely standing straight, and this bitch wanna act like she was some saint, tryna act like she ain't a grown-ass woman snatching up someone my age. Please." She flicked her nails
Troy snorted. "That Kamala Harris chick? Yeah, she a damn good attorney. But she told me she and Araminta and her daughter, are filing restraining orders against me now?"
Siobhan blinked. "Hold up. Her daughter? I though minta ain't have no children"
"Yeah, baby, I told you this, minta got a little girl that around your age now" Troy grumbled.
"Samara Jordan."
Siobhan froze for half a second before her lips curled into a slow smirk. "Ain't no fuckin' way. That's the girl I was with in the club?" She shook her head, laughing. "Man, her weird, bitch-ass daughter is just like her."
"Don't have a clue what the fuck to do with themselves" she laughed
Troy let out a chuckle. "Yeah, them Jordan women don't know how to treat the Harpers."
Siobhan pointed at him. "Say that shit again."
"Minta said she'd rep me, but as you saw that fell through, but I ain't worried about it, I got some shit in mind for her momma, bitch can keep a secret about killing somebody but can't keep a damn promise. Restraining order, my ass..."
Siobhan snorted. "You really think she could've done much?"
He shrugged. "Maybe not, maybe yeah, she's the 'daughter' of the man I 'killed.'" He threw up air quotes again, smirking.
Siobhan's expression shifted. "Look, I know exactly what dorm she's in. She's got a roommate. Since we both got a bone to pick with her, why don't we go get her ass together? Get back at her?"
Troy leaned back, considering it, then nodded. "Yeah... yeah,"
Siobhan crossed her arms. there ain't anything you want me to do in the meantime? I still got her number, I can call her, mess wit her or something"
"Nah, just wait," Troy said, shaking his head. "I got somethin' for her mama ass. And for her ass."
Siobhan's grin widened. "So we about to start wreckin' shit?"
"Hell motherfuckin' yeah."
Siobhan nodded, satisfied.
"Go back to wherever you stayin'," Troy told her. "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't say shit to Samara. We're headin' to D.C. together after I go talk to Araminta."
Siobhan stood, stretching. "This gon' be fun."
Troy just smirked. "Real fun."
—
Araminta stood before the judge, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She spoke clearly, but there was an edge of unease in her voice.
"Your Honor, I am requesting this restraining order because I do not feel safe. Troy Harper is being released on parole, and given our history, I have reason to believe he may hold resentment toward me. I failed to fulfill a promise I made to him, and I fear there will be consequences."
The judge adjusted their glasses. "What promise was that, Ms. Jordan?"
She hesitated for just a moment before answering.
"I told him I would help secure his parole, specifically by providing the assistance of a family member in his defense. I was unable to deliver on that promise. Considering what happened all those years ago and how deeply personal this situation is, I believe this order is necessary for my safety. And my daughter too is in the process of trying to obtain one against him for both "
The judge studied her, then nodded. "I will grant you a temporary restraining order effective immediately. This will remain in place until your next court appearance, at which point we will determine whether a permanent order is warranted."
Araminta exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders as she murmured, "Thank you, Your Honor."
"Court adjourned, miss Jordan, ill hear from you again in three weeks"
Her stomach dropped, but for right now the temporary one gave her some peace.
She left the courthouse without looking back, stepping into the gray afternoon. As she drove home, she gripped the wheel tight, her mind drifting to Samara. A part of her wanted to call, just to hear her daughter's voice, to check in, but she stopped herself.
It wasn't her place anymore.
The last time she called, she'd cussed her daughter out, told her she was coming home, and then all this.
The house felt hollow when she stepped inside, the silence pressing in around her. She hadnt noticed the silence before, she'd grown use to it when Samara left for college. But she had once imagined that when Troy got out, he would be here, back in this space that was once theirs.
Now, she had taken the steps to keep him away.
The shrill ring of her phone jolted her, cutting through the quiet.
Her stomach dropped at the automated voice.
'You have a collect call from, Troy Harper, an inmate at—'
She pressed, except before she could think better of it.
"When you get out, don't come to my house," she said flatly. "The judge granted me the restraining order."
Troy let out a bitter laugh. "I don't give a damn, minta? I fuckin' know, bitch. But I'm still comin' up there. And if the police are outside when I get there, I swear to God, I'll hurt your ass worse than what I was gonna do."
Araminta's breath caught. "And w-what were you gonna do?"
"I don't know," he admitted.
"But if the police are there, I'm gonna kill your ass." His voice was cold, sure.
"All I wanna do is talk and get my shit back. I left some things under your floorboards- don't go lookin' for it."
Her skin went ice-cold. "And if I do look?"
Troy scoffed. "Then you might find some shit you don't wanna see. Just know, it ain't for your ass. Unless, of course, you got cops sittin' outside that house when I get there, or you touch my shit."
Her hands shook. "Then who the hell is it for?"
"That ain't important." His voice was distant now, like he was already thinking five steps ahead. "But maybe you should ask your daughter. And that bitch Harris about Siobhan"
The line went dead.
The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering against the hardwood as she stood frozen. Her pulse roared in her ears.
She turned and hurried upstairs, heart hammering.
In her bedroom, she shoved the bed back, revealing the old loose floorboards beneath. Her hands trembled as she pried one up, dust swirling in the dim light.
There, beneath the wood, sat two stacks of cash, covered in thick dust and yellowed with age. And next to them—
A gun.
Not the one Troy had used to kill Oscar.
Another one.
She inhaled sharply, her chest tight. A wave of guilt crashed over her, guilt for never knowing this was here, for never thinking to look, why the hell did she think his ass came and went, he was stashing stuff here.
Then, a darker thought crept in.
If it wasn't for her, then there was only one person.
She needed to call her daughter.
She needed to tell Samara to run.
Chapter Twenty One, Protection