Blood Ties

The trust fall

* 
The sun had dipped below the horizon, but the city was far from quiet. South Central LA buzzed with the familiar hum of late-night business—tires screeching against cracked asphalt, the sharp crack of a gunshot in the distance, the haggling of hustlers trying to make a quick buck. Mark Thompson stood on the corner of 7th and Broadway, his eyes scanning the street like a hawk looking for its next meal.

He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him. The city had swallowed him whole, and now there was no turning back. The envelope Los handed him earlier felt like it was branded into his skin. His fingers tingled as he thought about the money—the blood money that tied him tighter to the cartel, a chain he couldn't shake off.

But his phone buzzed again, shattering the moment.

**Detective Mitchell:** *"Mark, we're running out of time. I told you to stay low. Don't get greedy."* 

Greedy? That was laughable. Mark had no intention of getting greedy. But the truth was, he didn't have much of a choice. It wasn't about greed anymore; it was about survival. And in a world like this, you had to take every chance, no matter how dirty it got.

Maya's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade.

"You good, Mark?" 

She'd been hanging around the edges of the parking lot, watching him like she was reading his every move. He didn't like the way she looked at him sometimes. Like she was seeing something beneath the surface he wasn't even sure of himself. He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"I'm straight. Just... thinking." 

Maya leaned against a beat-up car, her arms crossed. She wore her confidence like armor, but Mark knew better than to believe anyone was untouchable. This world had a way of humbling people, and he knew it wasn't a matter of *if* something would go wrong, but *when*. 

"You ain't been straight since you stepped in the door," Maya said, her voice low and heavy with meaning. "That drop was a test, Mark. And I can see you ain't passing." 

Mark's chest tightened. He didn't like the way she saw right through him. But the truth was, she was right. That drop had felt too easy. Too clean. There had been no tension, no sense of the usual chaos that came with making moves. Los had been too calm. The crew had been too quiet. It wasn't the first time Mark had felt like a pawn in a game he didn't fully understand.

"I'm just doing what I'm told," Mark muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. 

Maya pushed herself off the car and took a few steps toward him, her boots clicking against the concrete with a rhythm that matched her cold demeanor.

"You think that's enough?" she asked, eyes piercing into him. "You think you can just play your part and slide by?" 

Mark didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. She was right. But what else could he do?

Before he could respond, a sleek black car rolled up, the engine humming with power. The tinted windows lowered, revealing Los's sharp grin. He wasn't alone. Two of his muscle—Rico and Vince—sat in the back, their faces unreadable, but their presence loud as hell. These were the kinds of guys who didn't say much. And when they did, it was usually the last thing you ever heard. 

"Yo, Mark," Los called out, his voice rough, like gravel grinding under a tire. "Get in. Time to handle some real business." 

Mark glanced at Maya. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her expression unreadable. Without a word, he climbed into the passenger seat. The door slammed behind him, and the car peeled out into the night.

---

The ride was tense. Too quiet. The hum of the engine was the only sound, but it did nothing to ease the pressure in Mark's chest. He tried to shake off the feeling that something was wrong, but it was like an itch he couldn't reach. 

Los's eyes flicked to Mark. "You nervous or something?" 

Mark shook his head. "Nah." 

But Los wasn't buying it. His lips curled into a smirk, and he laughed, a sound as cold as the barrel of a gun. 

"Don't lie to me, boy. You're gonna be fine. If you can't handle this drop, then don't bother comin' back." 

Mark didn't flinch. His heart was racing, but he kept his face calm. He didn't let the fear show, even if it was clawing at him from the inside. He'd been in tight spots before, but this felt different. There was something about Los's tone, the way the crew had been acting so quiet, like they were waiting for him to slip up. 

The car took a sharp turn onto an empty street lined with warehouses. Los glanced back at Rico and Vince, then turned his attention back to Mark. 

"Look, this drop's big. Bigger than you think. There's a lotta people waiting for this shipment, and not all of 'em are gonna be friendly." 

Mark raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means I'm putting you to the test. You pass, you stick around. You fail, you're gone." Los's eyes glinted in the dark like a snake's. "Got it?" 

Mark nodded, his pulse hammering in his neck. He had no choice but to play along. 

The car slowed as they pulled into a narrow alley behind a dilapidated building. Mark's nerves were shot, his instincts screaming at him to be ready for anything. He could see the shadows of people moving around, their faces hidden in the night. There was a tension in the air, thick enough to choke on. This wasn't just another drop. 

Mark's gut tightened as the door opened, and a figure stepped forward from the shadows. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark hoodie pulled up to obscure his face. The figure moved with purpose, and Mark could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on him. 

"Who the hell is this?" Mark muttered under his breath. 

Los's grin faltered for just a second, and then he gave a small, tight laugh. 

"This is where you find out who you really work for, Mark," Los said, his voice colder than it had been all night. "This is bigger than the cartel. This is the real game." 

Mark felt his chest tighten, his breath shallow. He stepped out of the car, eyes narrowing as the figure approached. The sound of footsteps echoed through the alley, each step like a countdown. 

"You ready to prove yourself?" Los asked. 

The figure in the hoodie stepped into the light, and Mark froze. 

It was a woman. Her eyes were cold, calculating, but there was something else there—a familiarity that sent a shockwave through Mark's system. She tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle she was on the verge of solving. 

"Mark," she said, her voice smooth like velvet and just as deadly. "I didn't expect to see you here." 

Mark's heart skipped a beat. He knew that voice. Knew that face. It was **Tasha**, his ex-girlfriend, the one who disappeared without a trace two years ago. 

He blinked, trying to process the impossible. "Tasha...?" 

Her lips curved into a smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. "Surprised to see me, baby? I see you've been making moves. Too bad you don't know the half of it."