Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 14

Two months had passed, and for the first time in a long while, life felt light. No debts hanging over my head, no fights with my mother, and no fear of running into Black. I had disappeared from his world just as easily as I had entered it, and I intended to keep it that way.

It was just me and Grandma now, and that was enough.

I found a job as a server in a strip club, thanks to my neighbor, Mia. She is a dancer there and had vouched for me when I needed work. The pay was better than most places, and the tips were decent. It wasn't exactly glamorous, but I didn't mind. The music, the flashing lights, the scent of perfume and alcohol, it was a different world, but one I could handle.

Most nights, I kept my head down, took orders, and made sure not to spill drinks when the crowd got rowdy. The dancers were cool, and the bartenders always had my back when a customer got too handsy. It wasn't the kind of job I had imagined for myself, but it paid the bills, and most importantly, it gave me control over my life.

Grandma no longer had to go to the market. I handled everything now. It felt good to come home and see her resting, without the weight of stress pulling her down. The loan shark was paid off, and we owed nothing to anyone.

For once, life was simple. Peaceful.

And I wanted it to stay that way.

The night stretched on, the bass from the speakers vibrating through my body as I moved between tables, balancing trays of drinks and dodging wandering hands. The usual routine.

Then, I felt a hand wrap around my wrist. Firm, but not rough. I turned quickly, ready to snap at some drunk customer, but my breath hitched when I saw who it was.

Black's friend.

"Zhan," he said, his eyes scanning my face like he was checking if I was real.

"Hi," I replied, my gaze darting around. I half-expected Black to be nearby, watching.

"I called you several times. At some point, I got worried because Black wouldn't tell us anything," he said, his voice barely audible over the music.

I forced a laugh. "Oh, my phone broke, and I can't afford a new one right now."

He leaned in, the scent of expensive cologne mixing with the club's hazy air. "When do you get off work?"

"6 AM," I answered, loud enough for him to hear.

"I have a party tomorrow. I want you to be my plus one."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I can't. I'm working tomorrow."

He smirked. "I'll pay you $5,000. Call in sick."

Before I could react, he slipped a card into the waistband of my work pants, his fingers lingering for half a second before he stepped back, flashing me a knowing smile. Then, just like that, he was gone.

I reached into my waistband, pulled out the card, and stared at it. Five thousand dollars. That was more than I made in 2 years.

A very tempting offer.

I bit my lip, tucking the card into my pocket. Maybe someone could cover my shift.

Maybe, just this once, I could say yes.

By the time my shift ended, the sky was shifting from deep black to soft gray. I trudged home, exhausted but restless. Black's friend's offer lingered in my mind, teasing me.

Five thousand dollars.

That kind of money could cover rent for months. It could buy Grandma medicine, fix the leaking bathroom sink, get me a new phone and save the rest.