The knock came soft, deliberate, and far too confident for the hour.
Nia froze mid-breath. The bat slipped in her sweaty hands. She counted to five, like that would make courage magically appear. It didn’t.
Three more knocks. Same rhythm.
She crept to the window and peeled one blind open just enough to see.
The SUV was still there, idling, its headlights cutting across the porch. A man stepped out. Tall. Hood up. He didn’t move like a stranger—he moved like he already owned the moment.
Then her phone lit up. Unknown Number.
I said open the door.
Her thumb hovered over “block,” but the next message came before she could tap.
Before I have to.
Her heart slammed into her ribs. She backed away, grabbed her purse, and bolted toward the back door.
A voice—deep, familiar—echoed through the living room. “Nia! It’s me.”
She froze again. Malik.
She peeked around the corner. He was standing inside her apartment. The lock dangled useless from the door.
“What the hell are you doing?” she whispered, half relief, half rage.
He shut the door behind him, eyes wide, movements fast. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I had to get in.”
“You broke in?”
“I had to.” He paced, running his hands over his head. “They’re serious, Nia. Those dudes you saw—they don’t play. I need to lay low for a couple days.”
Her pulse thundered. “You told me this was over.”
“I thought it was,” he said, voice cracking for the first time since she’d met him. “They think I still got something that belongs to them.”
“What—money? Drugs? What, Malik?”
He looked at her, eyes pleading. “It’s better you don’t know.”
That sentence—that line—snapped something in her. “You don’t get to bring hell into my house and tell me ignorance is a blessing,” she hissed. “I almost called the cops.”
“You can’t,” he said sharply. “They got eyes everywhere.”
Nia laughed, but it came out wrong—half-scream, half-sob. “So I’m supposed to just die quietly when your past shows up?”
He grabbed her wrists. Not hard, but firm. “Please, baby. Just trust me.”
Her chest burned. She pulled free. “Trust died two lies ago.”
He flinched like she’d slapped him. Then he walked to the window and parted the blinds. “We can’t stay here tonight.”
“We?” she asked.
He turned, jaw tight. “You think they’ll let you walk away after following me last night?”
Cold spread through her veins. “How do you know I—”
“I saw your car,” he said. “You shouldn’t have been there.”
The words were almost identical to the text she’d gotten earlier.
Her stomach dropped. “You weren’t the one who texted me, were you?”
He shook his head. “No.”
The room tilted. “Then who the hell did?”
He didn’t answer. Just picked up his jacket and motioned toward the back door. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving.”
By sunrise, they were halfway to Atlanta.
Nia’s mind was chaos—questions layered on fear, on disbelief. Malik drove like a man who’d already accepted a terrible outcome. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel in time with the low hum of tires.
“You got family up here?” she asked.
He nodded. “Cousin. Tariq.”
She frowned. “The one who used to fix cars?”
“That’s the one.”
“I thought y’all didn’t talk anymore.”
He smiled without humor. “He owes me a favor.”
Nia stared out the window at the blur of trees. “And what happens when this favor runs out?”
He didn’t answer.
They reached a narrow house on the east side of the city just as the sky started bleeding orange. Tariq answered the door shirtless, eyes heavy with sleep.
“Damn, Malik,” he said. “You look like a wanted poster.”
“Appreciate you, cuz,” Malik said, pushing past him. “We just need a spot for a few days.”
Tariq’s gaze shifted to Nia. He hesitated. “You dragged her into this?”
“She came on her own,” Malik snapped.
Tariq looked at Nia, then back at him. “You really gon’ lie in front of God and caffeine?”
“Man, just let us in,” Malik muttered.
Tariq sighed. “Two days. No more.”
Nia followed them inside. The house smelled like motor oil and coffee. A single couch, a pile of mechanic manuals, and a TV older than her first heartbreak.
She sat while the cousins argued in low tones near the kitchen. She caught bits—“owe,” “shipment,” “money missing.”
Tariq’s voice rose. “You think she’s safe here? They already tracking your phone!”
Malik slammed his hand on the counter. “I turned it off!”
Nia’s breath caught. Then how did they keep finding us?
That night, she couldn’t sleep. She went to the kitchen for water and found Tariq sitting at the table, head in his hands.
He looked up. “You still with him after all this?”
She didn’t answer.
He studied her for a moment, then said quietly, “Malik don’t mean harm, but he leaves wreckage. You seem too smart to be part of that.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Smart ain’t got nothing to do with it. I’m addicted.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s the worst kind of high.”
When she turned to leave, he added, “If things go bad, you call me. Even if it’s him you running from.”
The sincerity in his voice made her chest tighten. She mumbled a thank-you and slipped back to the couch.
In the dark, she heard Malik moving in the next room. Whispering. Phone clicks. A door creaking.
And then, faintly, another knock.
This one didn’t wait for permission.