The Plug's Daughter

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The Plug's Daughter
Chapter 8: Playing With Fire
Later on that evening...

The low hum of my Jeep's engine was the only thing steady about the drive back to the spot. My phone buzzed in the cupholder, Romani's number still lighting up the screen from when he texted earlier. I wasn't even five minutes out of the gas station, and he already had me second-guessing myself.

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, annoyed. Not at him. At myself.

Romani wasn't just bold—he was reckless. The kind of reckless I wasn't supposed to entertain. Everyone knew who my pops was, and that meant I came with boundaries nobody dared to cross. But Romani? He didn't care, and for some stupid reason, that made me curious.

I turned into the driveway of the gated house, letting the Jeep idle as I sat there for a second. The streets outside were quiet, the air heavy with that Houston humidity. In here, though? It wasn't much better. Pops' people were always posted up, watching my every move like it was their full-time job.

But none of them could see inside my head. None of them knew how much Romani's defiance got under my skin.

The front door creaked as I stepped inside, my sneakers hitting the hardwood. Pops wasn't in sight, but his voice carried through the house. Probably in his office, handling whatever empire-building he had going on.

I slipped up the stairs to my room, locking the door behind me. Dropping my bag on the bed, I grabbed my phone and flopped down, staring at the unread message.

Romani: Don't make me wait too long. I'm not that patient.

I snorted, shaking my head. The nerve.

I was about to leave him on read, but my finger hesitated over the keyboard. Against my better judgment, I typed back.

Me: You got time to kill then, 'cause I'm not that easy.

His reply came back fast.

Romani: Good. I like a challenge.

I let out a low laugh, catching myself before it turned into something more. He was smooth, but that didn't mean I was about to let him in. Not yet, anyway.

The thing about Romani? He wasn't just reckless. He was real. You could feel it in the way he talked, the way he carried himself. Most dudes who tried to step to me were scared of what Pops might do, but Romani didn't even flinch. That kind of confidence could either get him killed or make him unstoppable.

The knock on my door snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Zhá," Pops' voice came through the door, steady and calm like always. "We need to talk."

I tucked my phone under the pillow and opened the door. "What's up?"

He looked me over, his sharp eyes narrowing just enough to let me know he wasn't here to play. "You been out tonight?"

"Yeah, just ran to the gas station," I said, leaning against the doorframe like it wasn't a big deal.

"See anyone you know?" His tone was casual, but I could hear the weight under it.

I shrugged. "A couple folks from around the way. Why?"

Pops tilted his head, studying me. "You know how this works, Alazhá. Some people see you, and they get ideas. Ideas that don't work in their favor."

I kept my face neutral, but my heart was racing. Did somebody see me with Romani? Did word already get back?

"I'm good, Pops," I said evenly. "Ain't nobody stupid enough to step to me."

His lips curled into a slight smirk, but his eyes stayed cold. "Good. Keep it that way."

He turned and walked off, leaving me standing there with a knot in my stomach.

The second I shut the door, I grabbed my phone, pulling up Romani's number. If Pops was already sniffing around, this whole thing might've been a mistake. But instead of warning him or cutting it off, I sent another text.

Me: Don't think I don't know what you're doing. You're playing with fire.

His response came almost immediately.

Romani: Then why ain't you put it out yet?

I stared at the message, my lips twitching into a grin despite myself.

He had no idea what kind of game he just stepped into. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to see if he could survive it.