"I saw the body too," he laughed darkly. "I didn't know you were so creative ."
It struck me in that moment.
He thought I was the one who had killed Campbell.
My grip tightened slightly around the phone.
"Wonder what he did to piss you off that much?" he continued casually.
When I didn't answer immediately, his tone shifted a little.
"What's wrong? You sound nervous."
"No," I lied as firmly as possible.
I forced myself to take a slow breath before speaking again.
"How many people know?"
"Not many." I could hear movement on his end, something metallic clinking softly in the background. "Only the underboss and the gang leaders." A brief pause followed. "I dealt with the ones who couldn't keep their mouths shut."
A cold feeling crept down my spine.
"Hmm."
A few quiet seconds passed.
"Why are you so worried about this, though? From what I've heard, you've done worse things back when you were here," he asked eventually.
Think fast, Shayna.
"Campbell had a huge reputation there," I said carefully. "I don't want his brother or somebody else coming after me."
"They won't."
The way he said it made my stomach tighten slightly.
Then came the question I had been dreading.
"So why'd you kill him?"
Shit.
"He stole money from me," I answered as firmly as possible, forcing the lie out as naturally as I could. "I tried threatening him into paying me back, but he kept pushing me."
I paused briefly.
"I didn't actually mean to kill him."
"He had that reputation here, too," the man replied easily. "Cheated people for years. Built an empire off stolen money." A faint chuckle followed. "You probably did everyone a favour."
"And next time you need money," he added, "you could just ask me."
I'd rather rob a bank.
The silence between us lingered for a moment before he spoke again.
"So," he said lightly, "what are you doing tomorrow evening?"
I felt my stomach churning again.
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Darling." His voice lowered slightly. "Don't start taking advantage of me just because I'm being nice to you."
"You know how quickly I can get to you."
"I don't like being in public."
"Well then..." I could practically hear the amusement in his voice. "How about Tijuana? Less crowded."
I almost laughed.
"Are you insane? That place is crawling with murderers and traffickers."
"Exactly," he replied. "People like us."
"Which is exactly why I don't want to be seen there," I snapped. "What if somebody recognises me?"
"Relax." He sounded completely calm. "They'll just assume you're one of my girls."
Shayna physically recoiled from the phone.
"I'm not one of your girls."
"But it's a good cover," he replied smoothly. "And the liquor's top-notch."
God. Why did this man know every single one of my weaknesses?
"But—"
"I'll meet you there at seven."
The line went dead before I could answer.
I stared at the phone for several seconds.
I'm definitely going to end up killing this piece of shit.
Shayna went home to yet another amazing surprise.
Her clothes and books were thrown all over the lawn. Some of her notebooks had fallen open into the damp grass. A hoodie was hanging halfway off the fence. The alarm clock lay broken near the doorstep, one battery missing.
Her watches had been tossed around carelessly near the bushes like somebody had emptied her drawers straight onto the ground.
She just stood there for a second, staring at everything, expecting herself to break down after the day's events.
But instead she felt a strange sense of relief wash over her.
The house was anything but alright. The bathroom ceiling peeled every monsoon. Half the pipes leaked. There were termites in the kitchen cabinets, ants in the sugar, cockroaches that practically paid rent, and some weird insect infestation that neither of them was bothered to identify anymore.
The whole apartment permanently smelled like weed, cheap liquor, vomit and occasionally meth.
Liquor, fine. Tolerable.
But meth had this nasty chemical smell that settled into the walls along with everything else people had thrown up over the months, because apparently her definition of "being young and enjoying life" involved fucking every unstable human being she found on the streets.
Drug dealers. Random men from clubs. Homeless addicts. Weird ass rappers. People who looked like they would drop dead any moment.
They had thrown up on the walls. Somebody once pissed near the washing machine. Another guy straight-up shat in the upstairs bathroom and left without flushing.
And she would still somehow defend all of them.
"They're just troubled people."
Troubled my ass.
She'd tolerated almost all of it without saying much.
The loud sex in the adjacent room at three in the morning. The screaming fights. The broken bottles. The random strangers sleeping on the couch were living there.
She, in fact, had only truly lost her temper once.
One night, she'd woken up to somebody standing inside her room.
She still remembered the pure confusion on her face seeing a completely naked man holding his dick while staring at me in the dark, like he was the victim there.
The bastard actually tried pretending he was drunk and had entered the wrong room.
Then denied everything when she caught him two minutes later trying to steal cash from her table.
And somehow she still ended up being called a bitch afterwards.
The time when she finally decided that enough was enough was after she'd caught her watching porn on my laptop while she was on a bathroom break in the middle of a client meeting.
Her eyes drifted toward her portable charger lying neatly on top of dog shit near the gate.
"Oh yeah," she said from the doorway after noticing where I was looking. "Sorry about that."
Shayna looked up at her.
That bitch stood there with folded arms and that same smug expression she always had whenever she thought she'd won something.
"I talked to the landlord," she announced proudly. "He said my boyfriend was a much better fit for the apartment than you. So you can take your shit and get out."
Her boyfriend briefly appeared behind her before disappearing back inside almost immediately.
Coward.
She really thought I was gonna break down.
Screw this place.
I'm a millionaire now.
Shayna looked around at the stuff.
Honestly, half this stuff wasn't even worth picking up anymore.
She grabbed her documents first. Passport. IDs. Notes. Hard drives.The things that actually mattered. Then the watches.
Then, the charger that she wiped aggressively against my jeans with visible disgust.
Shayna felt her glaring at the back of her head for not having the reaction she wanted.
She just kept quietly gathering her things and stuffing them into her bag.
"Well then," Shayna said finally, giving her a small wave, "enjoy the rest of your life with your two-inch boyfriend's dick."
"What about the rest of this stuff?" she asked, suddenly sounding less confident as Shayna started walking away.
She adjusted the bag over her shoulder.
"Your house, your problem."
She was already pulling her phone out before the bitch could call her back.
A number stared back at her from the screen — one she'd saved months ago as a joke more than anything else.
Turned out being rich did solve a lot of problems.
The call connected after a few rings.
A tired man's voice answered from the other side.
"Hello. How may I help you?"
"I need a fully furnished apartment with a swimming pool."
There was silence for a second.
Then:
"Ma'am... right now?"