Tᴏʀʏ's Dᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs Gᴀᴍʙʟᴇ

Crossroads

The beeping of the heart monitor was the first thing Malik heard when he woke up. Slow, steady, like a metronome keeping track of time he didn't remember losing. His whole body felt heavy, like he was strapped to the bed, and his throat was dry as sandpaper. He tried to swallow, but the effort made him wince.

The memories came in flashes—Dre, Tory, the gun. He should've been dead. He should've been gone. But somehow, here he was, staring up at sterile white ceiling tiles in a room that smelled like antiseptic and hopelessness.

He tried to move his arm, but pain shot through his chest, forcing him to stay still. His eyes flickered around the room, taking in the tubes running from his body, the machines keeping track of his fragile life. The last thing he remembered clearly was the weight of the gun in his hand. The cold steel had felt like the only thing real in a world that had crumbled around him.

And then, Tory.

Malik closed his eyes, guilt knotting in his stomach. Tory didn't deserve to be dragged into this. She was supposed to be safe, supposed to escape the life that had swallowed so many of them. But now, she was trapped, same as him.

He heard the door click open, and his eyes snapped to the figure stepping inside. His heart leapt for a second, thinking maybe it was her—maybe Tory had come to see him, to tell him everything was okay.

But it wasn't her. It was his mother.

"Malik," she whispered, her voice thick with worry and exhaustion. She looked older than he remembered, her eyes hollow from sleepless nights spent by his side. She moved to his bedside, taking his hand in hers. Her grip was tight, desperate, as if she was afraid he'd slip away again.

"You had me so scared, baby," she choked out, tears spilling from her eyes. "I thought I lost you."

Malik tried to speak, but his throat was too dry, too raw. He squeezed her hand, hoping it was enough to let her know he was still here, still fighting. His mind was racing, though. He needed to know what had happened, what Tory had done. He needed to know if Mason was still out there, or if Dre had finally taken care of him like they had planned.

"Mama," he croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Where's Tory?"

His mother's face crumpled, her tears coming faster now. She shook her head, her lips trembling. "I don't know, Malik. She hasn't come by. No one's heard from her since... since that night." She paused, her voice shaky, "What happened Malik? Why were you there? Why were you with Dre?"

Malik's heart sank, a wave of guilt crashing over him. His mind raced, piecing together the last moments before he'd been shot. He could still hear the gunshot echoing in his mind, the way Tory's eyes had looked when she saw him with that gun. She had been terrified. Of him.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered, his voice cracking. He didn't have the energy to explain, didn't know how to. How could he tell her that everything she'd feared for him had come true? That he'd let her down, let Tory down?

He swallowed hard, his throat burning. "I have to... find her," he rasped, trying to push himself up, but the pain in his chest flared up again, and he collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for breath.

His mother's face softened, her hand stroking his forehead gently. "No, Malik. You need to rest. You're not strong enough yet, we'll deal with everything else later."

But Malik knew better. There was no "later." Not with Dre, not with the streets. He wasn't naïve. The moment he got involved, he signed himself over to a life that didn't let go. And now Tory was mixed up in it, too.

The drive was everything. It held the truth—the proof of Dre's dirty deals, of Mason's betrayal, of how deep the corruption ran in the streets they had all grown up in. And if Tory still had it, she was in more danger than she knew.

He couldn't protect her, not from here. Not like this. He could barely protect himself.

"Mama," Malik whispered, his voice shaking. "You gotta find her. Please. Tory... she's in trouble."

His mother's face softened, but the worry never left her eyes. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, her fingers brushing against his cheek like she was afraid he'd break. "I'll try, baby," she promised. "But you need to rest. Let me handle this for now."

As she left the room, Malik stared up at the ceiling, feeling helpless. He had spent his whole life running from the streets, trying to build something better. But the streets had always found him. They found him through Dre, through Mason, through Tory. No matter how far he ran, they always dragged him back in.

He had to warn her. Had to tell her to stay away from Dre, from Mason, from all of it. But before he could say anything, the door to his room creaked open, and a figure stepped inside.

It was Tory.

She looked tired, her eyes shadowed with worry, but there was a fire in her gaze, something fierce and determined. She walked over to the side of his bed, her hand brushing her hair back as she looked at him.

"You're awake," she said softly, her voice tight.

Malik managed a weak smile. "Barely."

Tory's eyes searched his face, and for a moment, she seemed like she was holding back tears. But then her expression hardened. "We need to talk."

Malik's chest tightened. "Tory, I—"

"I found the flash drive," she interrupted, her voice low and serious. "I know about Dre, Malik. I know about everything."

Malik's heart sank. "Tory, you shouldn't have—"

"No," she cut him off again, her voice trembling with anger. "You shouldn't have. You told me you were getting out. You promised. But instead, you got in deeper. And now look at you!" Her hands shook as she gestured to his bandaged body. "You almost died, Malik."

He had no words. She was right. He had promised her, promised himself, that he'd leave that life behind. But the streets had a way of pulling you back in, and once Dre had his claws in him, it felt like there was no way out.

"I didn't have a choice, Tory," Malik said, his voice strained. "Dre... he owns people. It wasn't just about the money. It was about survival."

Tory shook her head, her jaw clenched. "And what about me, Malik? What about our family? You think surviving is just staying alive? Because you're barely doing that right now. And Dre, Mason—they're coming for us."

Malik's blood ran cold. He had hoped Tory wouldn't get dragged into this, but it was too late now. If she had the drive, if she knew what was on it... they were both in danger.

"We have to end this," Tory said, her voice softer now, but laced with determination. "We have to take them down. It's the only way."

Malik shook his head. "Tory, you don't know what you're dealing with. These people... they don't stop. They'll come after you, after Mom—"

"I'm not scared of them," Tory said firmly. "I'm scared of losing you."

Her words hit Malik harder than any threat Dre or Mason had ever made. He stared up at her, his sister, who had always been stronger than him, always believed in him—even when he didn't deserve it. And now, she was willing to fight, not just for herself, but for him.

"You're right," Malik said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We have to end this."

Tory's eyes softened, and she reached out, taking his hand in hers. For the first time in days, Malik felt a sliver of hope. They were in too deep, but maybe together, they could find a way out.

Maybe they could finally be free.