"Ty."
The sound of my sister's voice dragged me awake. "Ty," at first I hated that nickname, but I'd gotten used to it.
"Finally you're awake. Been calling you."
I could see her braids in the driver's seat and sat up—hearing her Camaro roar past the empty streets.
I looked through the foggy window, watching streetlights and dark buildings slide past.
Then—
It came back.
Our goal. Our destination.
I turned to my sister and said, "Kyra. We should head back."
"Dude, chill. These streets aren't that scary."
My gaze shifted toward the boy in the front passenger seat. My little brother, Josh.
"That's not my biggest concern."
"Then what?"
It was true that these streets were dangerous, but being caught in trouble was worse. I shot a look at Kyra. She'd know I meant her.
Instead, she laughed hysterically—clearly unbothered. "Okay, okay. I'll try, but I'm not promising anything."
"You're not turning back?"
"I'll just have a quick chat with Leroy. Don't worry."
Josh shifted in his seat when he noticed me staring at him. Of course he told her. He knew what he'd done, he knew I knew.
I leaned back on my seat, tired of arguing. If Kyra's mind was made up, there was nothing I could do. Whatever happened, happened.
The rest of the ride fell into an awkward silence until the car rolled to a stop along a curb.
If it were safe, I would've preferred to stay inside. So I got out with them anyway.
Outside, cars were parked everywhere. Too many for a quiet night.
In front of us was a three-story Greystone house—the only one on the block that glowed with light. Our destination. They were probably having a party.
By the time we got to the front door, I could hear the thump of loud music. I was right.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Each hit louder than the last.
The door slid open, stopped by a chain.
"Who's there?" a boy peeking through said.
Kyra got straight to the point: "Where's Leroy?"
The boy froze when he saw who she was. "Leroy isn't here."
"This is his house, isn't it?"
Sweat ran down his forehead as he attempted to cook up a good lie, "Uh-uh, wanna come in?"
He said, opening the door.
Kyra quickly walked past him. She probably wanted to knock his teeth out, but she'd assured me she wouldn't.
"Shit," the boy murmured in regret as I passed him.
The hallway reeked of sweat and smoke. The music got louder, James Brown blasting through the worn-out speakers.
In the living room was a crowd of seventeen-year-olds—dancing, laughing, chatting. No one was thinking past the moment.
Josh felt the groove and stopped to dance along, "I'm black and I'm proud! That's my jam."
I noticed Kyra push ahead, her gaze locked on something. So I pulled Josh away.
"Come on, man, can't I enjoy."
We were here because of him. His protest made me want to drag him out. Hell—I wanted to hit him.
I saw Kyra approach Leroy, who sat on the couch, surrounded by girls, laughing with no worries.
She came from behind and grabbed both his shoulders. He nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Damn, Kyra? What're you doing here?"
"Ladies, excuse us," she said, as Josh and I stepped in.
One of the girl stood, pissed, "Bitch, I know you're not talking to me."
Leroy held up a hand, his way of telling them, "It's okay."
"Leroy are you serious? You're to ditching us for this—"
"Why the fuck are you still here!?"
She stared at him, then turned, "Come on girls, let's leave Leroy and his lonely tramp."
They left shouting "Boys!" on their way to the next targets.
"What do you want?" Leroy asked Kyra.
"Touch my brothers again and it will be the last thing you ever do."
"Oh, they snitched did they?"
He turned to look at us, grinning, "Boys, I'll see you tomorrow."
We didn't flinch.
To make him understand, Kyra tightened her grip. The sounds that tore out of him cut through the room. Music stopped. Heads turned. All eyes were on us now. One thing I'd hoped to avoid.
"Alright, alright. I'll leave them alone. Please, just stop."
She was convinced, but didn't stop—for pleasure. Another thing I'd hoped to avoid.
"Let him go." He came out of nowhere—Leroy's friend, gun raised, holding Kyra at gunpoint. The crowd backed off fast, as startled as I was.
Kyra raised both hands. She didn't flinch. She looked pissed. "Go on, shoot."
The boy hesitated, gripping the gun tighter. "Whore, are you crazy!?"
She had that look—the look of trouble. And I was worried.
She got tired of waiting. Her hand moved fast, toward the boy.
He panicked.
Then—
The gun went off. The shot cracked through the room. Glass shattered a second later.
The audience screamed, bolting out of the room. Soon after, I heard tires screeching in the streets. They thought she was dead. But to my surprise, she was still standing—in the same spot, unscathed.
Leroy and his friend went pale. We all must've been thinking the same thing—she wasn't normal.
Kyra spun around, pushed the gun aside, and kicked him hard in the head. The boy hit the floor with a thud. He lay there, unmoving.
"What have you done!?" Leroy said, scrambling to his friend's side. "Couldn't you leave us alone?!"
Kyra stared at him coldly for a moment, then turned—leaving no remorse.
As I followed her out of the room, I couldn't help thinking about the consequences of her actions. They were coming back to bite us.