Page 15 of The Birthday Girl
The message was a single directive, and he almost tripped when he read it. His throat went dry, sweat turning cold against his skin as he forced one foot in front of the other, pulse roaring in his ears, louder than his sneakers hitting the pavement.
The SUV’s doors burst open, and two figures surged out. Tyriq had no time to brace. One hit him high, shoulder to chest, while the other swept his legs out from under him. His phone skittered across the pavement, the screen shattering, Tahlia’s message still glaring through the cracks.
A rag stinking of chemicals smothered his mouth before he could shout. He bucked hard, landed a fist against a jaw, but pain exploded through his ribs as an elbow crashed down, snapping bone like brittle wood. His lungs seized, vision tunneling to pinpricks.
Hands like iron clamps wrenched his arms back, a knee crushed into his spine, and then his body lifted, dead weight between them.
They shoved him into the dark trunk of the SUV. The door slammed. Tires shrieked. The vehicle vanished down the empty street.
On the asphalt, Tyriq’s shattered phone buzzed once, the screen fractured but still glowing, the words burning through the cracks:
Come home. Now.
When Tyriq eventually came to, his head was slumped forward, chin stuck to his chest by dried blood. Every muscle ached, his ribs screamed with each shallow breath, and his wrists burned where the rope bit into his skin.
The air was damp, and fear coated his tongue. His mouth was so dry he could barely form words. Concrete walls surrounded him, bare and cold, and the floor pressed against his feet like ice as a single bulb dangled overhead, leaving the room drowned in shadows.
He shifted, wincing as the chair creaked beneath his weight. His ankles were bound tight. A tremor started in his left leg, preparing him to run, but his mind knew he was trapped. There was nowhere to go.
Panic crawled up his throat, and he pulled against the restraints, but they didn't give. Whoever had tied him had done a magnificent job. They knew exactly what they were doing.
Fragments of memory cut through the haze. The black SUV. The rag. The crushing weight against his chest. He had no idea how long he'd been out. It could’ve been minutes, hours, maybe more.
The silence was unbearable. Even the sound of his breath felt strange, as if it didn't belong to him. His mind spun through the list of people who might've wanted him hurt.
Shanice. Danielle. Clients he'd screwed over. Gangsters he'd outsmarted. Detectives who'd sworn to bury him. Tahlia.
Any of them could've been waiting behind that door. Worse than the pain, worse than the fear, was knowing he deserved whatever came next.
When the door finally opened, a blade of light split the darkness. He turned his head, teeth clenched against the pain that lanced through his skull. The figure in the doorway paused, hands buried in the deep pockets of a charcoal coat. It took a moment for Tyriq’s pupils to adjust to the light, but as the silhouette resolved itself, his entire body recoiled, chair scraping noisily across the concrete.
Recognition gutted him, not with surprise but with the sickening certainty that had been waiting in his bones all along. Part of him, the part he never wanted to acknowledge, knew that his life was over. He’d done too much to too many people and had taken things too far.
“Please,” he rasped, his voice shredded. His head shook weakly as his eyes went wide. “I'm sorry. I swear I never meant to hurt you. Please… just hear me out.”
The figure stepped fully into the room, closing the door with a soft click that sounded louder than any gunshot Tyriq had ever heard. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. The glint of steel that caught the single bulb’s dim light as they pulled a knife from their coat pocket did the talking for them.
Tyriq's chest heaved, each breath sending daggers through his fractured ribs. “No—wait—” The words caught in his throat as salt stung his eyes and wet tracks collided with his cheeks.
The chair legs scraped concrete as he twisted, sending fresh blood trickling down his forearms where hemp fibers had worn the skin to a fleshy pulp.
“You don’t have to do this. I can fix it. I- I’ll do whatever you wa—”His jaw clenched, teeth clicking together. “Just put the knife down. Please.”
Angled at forty-five degrees, the blade held his gaze while his captor closed the distance with a single step.
“Listen to me!” Tyriq’s voice cracked, ricocheting off the four bare walls. “I know I messed up. I’m sorry. If I could undo it, I would. Just let me fix this. I can make things right.”
The figure dropped into a crouch, knife dancing between gloved fingers, eyes pinned to his like a predator studying prey.
Tyriq’s lips quivered. “I never meant—” His words fractured into hiccups. “Please.” Tears spilled as he broke, finally surrendering to the fate that awaited him.
The captor’s head tilted, as if savoring the moment. Then, without warning, the steel carved a silver line through the air.
Tyriq’s scream tore loose, high and ugly, echoing off the walls as the knife met with flesh and the first hot spill of blood ran down his chest.
6- Gift Wrapped
Shanice staggered up the steps, heels dangling from one hand, laughter still bubbling faintly from the tequila swirling in her veins. A red mini dress clung to her curves like it had been painted on, the hem riding high, flashing the glittery garter clasping her thigh.
