What Could Have Been : Yellow Jackets

Saints

Amelia sat on the edge of her bed when the doorbell rang, her body tensing immediately. "She had one job—not to ring the doorbell," she muttered under her breath, hurrying down the hallway. Her kids were nosy, and the last thing she needed was one of them opening the door and starting a barrage of questions.

Swinging the door open, she glared at Shauna, who stood there awkwardly.

"I told you not to ring the bell," Amelia hissed, keeping her voice low.

Shauna winced. "Yeah, I know. Realized it the second I did it." She slipped inside quickly, shutting the door behind her.

"You look like hell," Natalie said, casually leaning against the kitchen island, eyeing Shauna up and down. Her tone was half-mocking, but there was something else there too—a tension none of them could shake.

"Right back at you," Shauna shot back, her eyes flicking over to Amelia, who looked just as worn.

Natalie smirked and folded her arms. "How's Jeff? Still hocking futons?"

Before Shauna could respond, Amelia snapped, "We are *not* doing this right now. Not after everything we've been through." Her voice was steely, determined, and Taissa nodded in agreement, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Taissa added, "We have a situation to handle—together."

Shauna sighed, her mockery deflating, knowing that this was not a conversation for idle banter. "Okay, fine. What's going on?"

Amelia handed her a stack of photos. Shauna's breath caught in her throat. "Is that... Travis?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Amelia gave a slow nod, her arms folded as if she could physically hold herself together.

"Someone strung him up," Natalie said, her voice flat. There was no room for comfort here—only facts. "Then they tried to cover it up."

Amelia let out a heavy sigh, part of her wishing it had been suicide. It would've made all this easier. The truth—the *why*—was gnawing at her.

"And we think it's the same person who's blackmailing us," Amelia added, her voice sharper now, as she handed Taissa the cigarette she'd been clutching.

Shauna's brow furrowed. "What? Blackmail?" She glanced between them, her pulse quickening. "You didn't think to tell me?"

"You didn't get one of these?" Natalie said, holding out a weathered postcard, the same one they had all received—the jagged, haunting message scrawled on the back.

Shauna stared at it in disbelief. "No... What do they want?"

"Fifty grand in cash. To keep their mouth shut. We don't know how much they know, but..." Taissa's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "I sure as hell don't want to find out."

Shauna's mind raced. "So all of you got one?"

"Misty did too," Natalie added, her jaw tight.

"It's got to be someone from the team, right?" Shauna asked, her voice quieter now, eyes darting between them. "Who else would know?"

Natalie raised an eyebrow, "That reporter. Roberts."

Amelia, still taking slow drags from the cigarette, sighed. "Wait. I thought you were handling her, Tai?"

Taissa tensed. "I threatened a lawsuit. Told her to back off."

Natalie shook her head, chuckling darkly, her hands already reaching for her phone. "Screw this. I'm calling her. I'll tell her I'm ready to spill everything, get her in front of us—"