Rain. That was the first thing she remembered.
It came hard and sideways, hitting the car like the sky wanted to erase everything they’d just done.
Tariq’s hands gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles went bone-white. Malik was slumped in the back seat, blood soaking through the hoodie she’d pressed against his side. His breathing was shallow, erratic, the kind that made silence feel cruel.
“Hospital,” Nia said. It wasn’t a question.
Tariq didn’t answer. His jaw was locked, eyes scanning the rearview mirror.
“I said—”
He cut her off, voice sharp. “We can’t take him to a hospital. They’ll trace the car, trace us. That bullet wasn’t random.”
Her throat went dry. “So what—let him die in the back seat like roadkill?”
Tariq slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “I’m trying to keep you alive, Nia!”
The car went quiet again except for the windshield wipers slapping out a rhythm that didn’t match her heartbeat.
Malik groaned, barely conscious. “Nia…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry, baby. I’m good.”
She turned around, eyes burning. “You’re not good. You’re bleeding out and lying about it, same as everything else!”
He smiled weakly. “Still got that fire, huh?”
Then his head slumped to the side.
Tariq drove to an old body shop on the outskirts of town—metal roof, rusted sign, no lights. He jumped out and opened a side door with a key.
“You own this?” Nia asked, hauling Malik’s dead weight with him.
“Used to,” he said. “Now it’s just where I keep the kind of secrets you don’t write down.”
They carried Malik inside and laid him on a tarp-covered workbench. Tools hung from the wall, and a single bulb buzzed overhead. The place smelled like oil and regret.
Tariq ripped Malik’s hoodie open and inspected the wound. “It’s clean through. Missed the lung.”
“You sure?” she whispered.
“I used to patch him up all the time when we were kids,” he said. “This ain’t new.”
Nia stared at the blood pooling under Malik’s back. “It’s not stopping.”
Tariq grabbed a rag, pressed it hard, and muttered a prayer under his breath. Something old. Something not quite church.
When he looked up again, his eyes were different—hard, certain. “He’s gonna live if you help me.”
She nodded without hesitation.
“Hold him,” Tariq said.
She did, trembling.
Malik screamed when Tariq poured alcohol into the wound. Nia flinched but didn’t let go.
His eyes shot open. “You trying to kill me, man?”
Tariq snorted. “Not yet.”
An hour later, Malik was asleep again, bandaged and breathing steady.
Nia sat on the floor with her back against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees. Her clothes were stained red. Her heart felt the same.
Tariq sat across from her, elbows on his knees. “You should leave him.”
She laughed bitterly. “You sound like my friends.”
“Then maybe they were right.”
She met his eyes. “You ever love somebody so wrong it started to feel right?”
He didn’t answer for a long time. “Once,” he finally said. “That’s how I know it doesn’t end with a wedding. It ends with a body.”
Something in his tone made her look at him differently. He wasn’t warning her as a friend. He was confessing something.
“What did you do, Tariq?” she asked softly.
He looked away. “Doesn’t matter now.”
“It does to me.”
He sighed. “I covered for Malik years ago. He was running jobs for a dealer named Cas. Things went sideways. Somebody died. I helped bury the truth. Been paying for it ever since.”
Nia’s stomach twisted. “You think Cas is the one who shot him tonight?”
“I think Cas doesn’t miss twice.”
They sat in silence for a long time.
Then Tariq said, “You’re not going back home. They’ll look for you first.”
“Where do I go?”
“With me,” he said simply.
Nia stared at him. “And Malik?”
He glanced at his cousin’s sleeping body. “He made his choices. You still got one left.”
Morning crept through the cracks in the roof. Malik stirred, mumbling her name. Nia went to him, brushed his hair from his face.
“You need to rest,” she said softly.
He caught her wrist. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” he said, eyes glassy but focused. “I can feel it. You and Tariq… you think I don’t see the way he looks at you?”
She pulled her hand away. “You’re bleeding and still jealous?”
He smirked weakly. “Love’s a disease, baby. Doesn’t heal easy.”
Later, when Malik finally fell asleep again, Tariq packed a small bag.
“We leave tonight,” he said. “Before Cas realizes we’re still breathing.”
Nia hesitated. “And if Malik wakes up?”
Tariq zipped the bag shut. “Then he’ll have to choose which side of the blood oath he’s on.”