Page 17 of The Prodigy

“Yeah. I heard about that.”

It was always some shit going down at Spinners, even back when I was in high school. Mostly fights. You didn’t have to worry about niggas pulling out guns back then, though. We threw hands, and if you lost, you just dealt with that shit. Nowadays, niggas had to let off and air shit out.

“Am I allowed to ask you a question?” she said softly.

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I’m your prisoner. Or hostage, or whatever. I don’t…I don’t know the rules.”

I wanted to be mad at that, but I couldn’t. From where she sat, she was right.

“What’s your question?”

“Why did you kill that man?”

I rolled my eyes in the dark. Shorty was real bold asking me that shit. I almost had to respect it.

“He had a gun,” I answered. “It was either me or him, and I wasn’t about to let it be me.”

“Were y’all arguing?”

“Nah. Somebody sent him to kill me.”

“Why?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, Malika.”

She took a deep breath. “What are y’all into?”

“Y’all, who?”

“Your family. Why would anybody send somebody to kill you? And why do you hang with people who have a secret stash of zip ties? And why does your sister carry a pink gun like it’s a cute accessory and not a deadly weapon? And why didn’t anybody bat an eye when you dragged me in this house against my will? What the fuck is goingon?”

She was breathing hard like she was about to hyperventilate. I didn’t know how to help her with that, so I just waited until she calmed down.

“Let’s just say we got enemies.”

She didn’t respond to that.

Instead, she called her sister. I listened closely for some coded words or help signals, but there weren’t any. She was straight up, telling her sister she was fine and would call tomorrow. After she hung up, she sat there and looked like she was staring at the wall. I tried to think of something to say to her so she would know she was safe…for now. But I couldn’t find the words.

She laid back down, finally, and she was still for so long, I thought she was sleep. I stared up at the ceiling, knowing my own sleep wasn’t coming any time soon. Insomnia was my fucking demon, following me around everywhere I went, stalking me, lurking in the shadows, waiting for my head to hit the pillow. The only cures were weed and sex, and I didn’t have access to either one right now.

Alone—kinda—in the darkness, with silence all around me, the whole marriage thing started to sink in. When I was all keyed up and geeked up on adrenaline and fear, it seemed like the logical thing to do to keep my ass outta prison. Way better than catching another body, especially a woman. But now? That shit made no fucking sense.

This chick was a total stranger.

“So how is this gonna work?” she said. “This whole marriage thing?”

“Damn, I thought you were sleep.”

“No. Just thinking.”

“It’s funny, cuz I was just thinking the same thing.” I pushed the covers down to my waist. I was starting to get hot. “Honestly, I have no fucking idea. I just know it’s the best play for me at the moment.” I paused. “And for you.”

“I won’t testify against you. I swear, I’ll just go on about my business like it never happened. No snitching.”

“It don’t work like that. If they subpoena you, you won’t have a choice.”

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