Love & War

Fold Under Pressure

Layla had been waiting for Stitch to come home, but he never showed. She called his phone over and over again, but it went straight to voicemail every time.

Finally, she called Fatima.

"Hey, Fatima... sorry to bother you, but Stitch isn't answering. I just wanted to make sure he's okay."

"No bother at all. But he probably won't be available tonight. He went down to the station to cooperate in a little situation they're questioning them about. They don't have anything to hold them on, so he should be out in no time. Everything okay?"

Layla was silent for a moment.

"Yeah... everything's okay. I was just getting worried. He normally checks in, so I wanted to make sure everything was good."

"All right. How are you and the little man?"

"We're good. He's good—sweetest baby ever."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do. Thank you, Fatima."

Layla hung up. It looked like she'd have to take care of the situation on her own. She still didn't know what she wanted to do to that nosy bitch. She wished the woman had minded her damn business.

Once Layla had her son, she promised herself she would turn over a new leaf. She wanted to do everything right, everything by the book. Even though Stitch was still in the streets, she wanted at least one parent to stay clean—just in case something ever happened.

But Layla knew she couldn't let the woman go. If she did, the lady would run straight to the cops—especially with her husband being a police officer. Layla had to make sure nothing traced back to her. She couldn't go to jail. She couldn't get caught.

She watched the camera feed. The woman was still knocked out cold. They had acres of land out there... maybe Layla really could cut her up and feed her to the pigs. No one would ever know.

Layla's nerves were bad. She needed something to take the edge off. She poured herself a drink and ended up finishing the whole bottle, but it wasn't helping. She needed something stronger.

She pulled a small white package from her pocket and tossed it onto the table. Her eyes stayed locked on it.

Maybe just one hit... just to calm down.

But she knew better. One hit would have her hooked on that shit again—another promise she made to Stitch after he told her that if she ever went back to it, he'd kill her himself.

Layla shoved the package under the kitchen sink and went to check on her son.

Nairobi

Nairobi was out for blood. She wanted to know who killed her son and why. She didn't care how much money it took—she would get to the truth.

She sat watching the surveillance videos she'd taken from the store owner. The quality was terrible, making it hard to get a good visual. But she caught one clear glimpse of a man with a scar running down his face. She paused the video, rewound it again and again, trying to remember where she'd seen him before.

"I know I've seen this person somewhere... but where?"

She sat in silence until it clicked.

"The work gala," she whispered. "He was talking to Mr. Taylor. I saw him talking to his date too. And speaking of Mr. Taylor, he never got back to me about my proposal to invest in his charity. I know for a fact he's doing more than just that business. That charity is just a front."

"What business are you referring to?" someone asked her.

"The drug business. The business I want in on. I'm trying to build my own empire."