Addicted 2 Moni

Hearts On The Line

Caleb POV

I wake up slumped over, cheek pressed against the cold concrete floor, still tied to this heavy-ass steel chair. My shoulders ache like hell, my wrists are raw from the rope, and the blindfold's digging into my face. I shift, making a few careful test movements, trying to feel out if I'm alone in the room.

Silence. No footsteps. No voices. Just the buzz of flickering overhead lights and the faint drip of water echoing off concrete.

I try to reposition myself upright but the chair don't budge much—it's too damn heavy. I tense as I hear footsteps approaching. Loud ones. Purposeful. I go still, body limp.

"Man, get this nigga up," a voice laughs.

I know that voice. Anthony.

Rough hands yank me upright, and the blindfold gets ripped off. I wince hard—the lights hit me like a slap. My eyes blink against the sting, and I drop my gaze to the blood-smeared floor until I adjust.

Anthony's standing over me, grinning like the devil himself, his phone in one hand, scrolling like he ain't got a care in the world.

"Aye, this nigga ain't ate in a week. Shit sad, bro. Send one of them bitches down with some food for his ass," he says like he's doing me a favor.

He doesn't even look up. Just laughs again. "I might be a killa, but I ain't that mean."

A few minutes pass and the door creaks open again. A girl walks in—white, petite, short black hair, dressed like she got lost on her way to a desk job. She's holding a plate and a cup. Her expression softens when she sees me, like she wanna look away but can't.

She barely gets three steps in before—

POP! POP!

Gunfire rips through the air outside the room, and the walkie on Anthony's hip starts squawking like crazy.

"Aye yo! We got niggas at the gate shooting! Get up here now!"

"Shit!" Anthony curses, jumping to his feet. "Y'all two, come with me. You—stay with him," he points to one of his henchmen, who lights a square like this is just another Tuesday.

Then they rush out. The room shakes as a boom goes off, like a small explosion. The girl jumps.

"Feed his ass," the guy grunts before flicking ash on the ground and rushing after them.

Now it's just me and her.

She hesitates, then moves toward me, holding up the plate with trembling hands. "Sorry... all we got is leftover Chinese," she says quietly.

Shrimp fried rice and two egg rolls. I nod—food is food. I open my mouth and she starts feeding me, slow and careful. Her hands are still shaking.

Another explosion echoes. Screams follow. She flinches again, blinking at the door.

"Shrimp fried rice with a side of panic," I mutter with a dry chuckle, chewing. She lets out a nervous smile.

I blink again, and suddenly my left eye goes blurry. Something warm trickles down my forehead.

"I... I think it's something in my eye," I wince, blinking rapidly.

She leans in and gently wipes at my face with a napkin, revealing it's not just something—it's blood.

"It's blood," she murmurs.

She ain't no typical trap girl. Up close, I can see her makeup barely covers the dark circles under her eyes. This ain't her world. She don't belong in a place like this.