Collection of story ideas I may or may not make into a full book.
This book contains sexual content and explicit language. Reader discretion is advised.
Inspired by: "We both reached for the gun" by Chicago
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Onika Maraj
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
The lights above flickered as the door to the tiny, windowless room creaked open. I was sitting there, hands cuffed to a cold metal table, feeling the steel pressing against my wrists.
The walls were bare, almost like they were taunting me with how empty they were. I was mad, but there was no way I was letting them see that.
He walked in-just your typical detective, with a receding hairline and that "seen it all" attitude. His eyes scanned me, probably thinking I'd crack and spill everything they wanted. But I've faced worse situations, handled bigger threats than some badge-wearing bitch.
"Onika," he began, dragging out the chair across from me and sitting down with a sigh, like this was just another boring day on the job. "We're just trying to figure this out. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you can walk out of here."
I couldn't help it-a smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Is that right?" I tilted my head a little, keeping my eyes locked on his.
He didn't flinch, but I could see the frustration bubbling under the surface. "Let's skip the games, Nicki. You and Beyoncé were both at the scene. Witnesses saw you arguing with the victim earlier that night. The guy turns up dead, and you two were the last ones with him. Doesn't look good."
I leaned back as much as the cuffs would let me, letting out a small laugh.
"Oh, sweetie, you think I'd get involved in something that messy? That's cute, really. But no, I'm not about that life. And Beyoncé? You're really trying to drag her into this? That's a bold move, Detective."
His eyes narrowed. "So, you're saying neither of you had anything to do with his death?"
I locked eyes with him, feeling that defiant spark flare up. "What I'm saying is, if you think either of us did this, you're barking up the wrong fucking tree. I get it-your job's a pain in the ass, and you need someone to blame. But let me save you the trouble: you're not finding your answer here."
He leaned in closer, like getting in my face was supposed to scare me. "You think this is a joke, Nicki? You think you're untouchable?"
I raised an eyebrow, giving him a stare cold enough to cut through ice. "No, I think you've got jack shit. If you had anything real, you wouldn't be sitting here trying to squeeze a confession out of me. You'd already have me and Beyoncé locked up. But here we are, you fishing for answers, and me? I'm just fucking bored."
His frustration was all over his face now, though he was trying hard to play it cool. Not doing a great job, either. "You know, that attitude isn't going to help you."
