Chapter 2
Drone
The phone starts ringing while I’m in the shower. At first, I ignore it, dismissing it as spam or something that can wait. But when it rings again… and again… and again, a cold twist tightens in my gut.
Four calls. That’s not normal.
I turn off the water and step out quickly, droplets still racing down my skin as I wrap the towel around myself. My fingertips are still damp when I snatch the phone from the vanity.
“Hello?” I answer, breathless.
Silence.
“Hello?” I try again, brows pulling in.
Still nothing.
Then click. The line goes dead.
I blink at the screen, my stomach unsettled. A part of me wants to brush it off, but something about that quiet, that nothingness, clings to my skin worse than the water.
Weird. Creepy even.
I set the phone down and pull my hair into a high ponytail, securing the edges with a soft bath headband. I move through my skincare routine slowly, more to calm my thoughts than out of habit. My reflection looks back at me, damp, flushed, a little anxious.
After slipping into my favorite purple pajama set, worn just enough to feel like home, I crawl into bed and check the time.
Its been over two hours since Nickoi left.
I try not to overthink it. I scroll through Netflix until I land on The Harder They Fall. Within minutes, I’m pulled in. The music, the energy, the characters, it’s all a perfect distraction. Especially when the Jamaican tracks start playing. I hum along, even laugh out loud once or twice.
And somehow, even though I know he’s one of the villains, I find myself rooting for Cherokee Bill. Figures.
You really do have a thing for badman, don’t you, Zara?
I laugh under my breath. That voice in my head is always too loud. I grab some fruits from the nightstand, snacking as the story unfolds on-screen. It’s a good movie. Good enough that I almost forget how long I’ve been waiting.
Almost.
By the time the credits roll, reality returns and so does the worry. It’s after eleven. And still, no sign of Nickoi.
I sit up straighter and dial his number. The phone barely rings once before he answers.
“Hey,” I say, my voice softer than I expect.
Relief spreads through my chest like warmth, and before I can stop it, I’m smiling. Just hearing his voice is enough to quiet the storm I didn’t even realize was building.
“Mi think you did a sleep, b,” Nickoi says. His voice is soft, but the background noise is loud, people laughing, a bass line thumping through the phone. I ignore it.
“I was just checking on you,” I say, twisting my still damp hair around my finger. The ends brush my collarbone, cold against my warm skin.
Yuh see you, my inner voice says, teasing.
He chuckles. “Mi soon link yuh, man. Still out here.”
“Okay,” I murmur, settling into the pillows. The sheets are cool against my thighs, but my skin’s still warm from the shower.
“Wah yuh eat since mi lef?” he asks. He always asks that. Always checking, always looking after me in his quiet way.
“I ate what I cooked earlier and some fruits.”
“So yuh nuh hungry?” he asks.
“Not really. Maybe soon,” I say, and then I ask, “What about you?”
“Mi nuh really eat nothing yet… Just a salmon burger when mi just lef.”
I glance at the time. It’s past eleven. “Nickoi… look at the time. Yuh affi hungry now.”
He mumbles something I can’t hear, and I turn over, lying on my stomach. My thighs shift against each other. The heat in me spreads slowly, uninvited.
“Mi a go get summn soon,” he says, then quieter, “A you me nuh want a’ eat bad.”
Cause you a carry likkle Zara or Nickoi…
My lips curve into a smile, but my body tightens. It’s the way he says it, low and knowing. Like he already feels how much I want him here.
“Okay, baby… hurry up and come home,” I whisper.
He chuckles again. “Alright, mami.”
He hangs up, and I stare at the phone for a second too long before placing it beside me on the bed. The room feels still now. Empty. Like it’s waiting with me. I pull the blanket up to my chest. The air is cool but my skin hums with leftover heat from him, even through a phone call.
I want to talk to Mommy about graduation.
It’s right around the corner, and everything feels so close now.
I want to make sure I’m prepared, make sure I’m doing it right.
But the clock is ticking toward midnight, and I know she and Mama are probably wrapped up in sleep by now, their phones tucked far from their ears. So I don’t call.
I miss Nickoi. I hate falling asleep without him next to me, it’s like the silence presses harder when he’s not here. I fight the drowsiness until it pulls me under.
But I don’t stay asleep. The phone rings again.
I jolt up, blinking against the light from the screen.
I press the phone to my ear and say nothing, waiting for whoever’s on the other end to speak first. A voice cuts through the quiet, but it’s altered, robotic, like it’s been run through some broken machine.
“Hello… goodnight. Trying to reach Zara,” it says. Something’s off.
I swallow hard. “Goodnight. Who is this?” I ask, forcing my voice steady.
“Mr. Duncan,” the voice replies, but the distortion warps the name beyond recognition.
Kiss mi teeth. It sounds fake. Forced.
“Zara isn’t here right now,” I say carefully. “This is her sister. Do you have a message for her, Mr. Duncan?”
The voice stammers, confused. “U-umm, who am I speaking with?”
Didn’t I just say? “Sarah. Her sister.”
This name a fi everything.
A pause. Faint murmurs in the background like someone is whispering instructions. This is exactly how I sound when I run out of words and want Gavin to tell me what to say.
“Oh…” The voice trails off, uncertain. I grip the phone tighter. This call isn’t just a call.
“Tell her… an old friend called,” he says, then hangs up. What?
My brows pinch. That shit is weird as hell. Old friend? I suck my teeth and immediately start dialing Nickoi’s number, my fingers moving faster than my thoughts.
NICKOI
“You’re going back to Mexico,” I say, tone sharp and final.
She gasps, her brows pulling together. “No quiero irme,” she says softly.
(I don’t want to leave.)
She’s pleading now, eyes wide, lashes fluttering, trying to make herself small. Sweet.
“Talia,” I say, stepping closer, “That wasn’t a question. You don’t have a choice. What I say is law. Understand?”
She lets out a shaky breath and steps toward me, like she’s about to try something. Her lips part as she leans in, slow and careful, reaching for a kiss.
I stop her with one hand, firm on her shoulder. “Don’t,” I say, voice low.
She falls back into the seat, frustrated, jaw clenched. “How can you send me away like this? After what I saw you do to my papá?”
I reach into my jacket, pull out a small black tracker, and toss it onto the table beside her.
She looks at it like it’s about to explode. “What the hell is that?”
“A tracker,” I say. “You’ll wear it.”
Tired a tell yuh seh yuh smart enuh.
Her mouth drops open. “You’re gonna spy on me?”
I laugh once, cold and sharp. “I don’t care enough to watch your personal life. But my people will. Every step, every word, every move, you’ll be monitored.”
She shifts in her seat, and I can see it, the panic, the confusion, the fight rising in her chest.
“And if you even think about running to the police, or opening your pretty little mouth to the wrong person?” I lean in, letting the threat settle in her bones. “I’ll know. Immediately.”
She’s quiet, but her hands are shaking. I nod at the tracker. “That remind you of your father doh?”
Her eyes flick up to mine, wide, wet, furious. “Good,” I say. “Because if you forget how this works even for a second, you’ll end up just like him.”
“I don’t want this, Nickoi,” she says, barely above a whisper.
I stare at her, face unreadable. “A you cause all a dis,” I say coldly. “Every piece of it. So don’t act like you innocent now.”
She exhales, tired. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
I almost laugh. She really expect me to buy that? “As mi seh, we’re monitoring you,” I tell her, stepping closer, voice like a warning wrapped in ice. “You basically get weh. But hear mi good, if you ever try anything, if yuh think yuh slick, if you open your mouth to di wrong person…”
I lean in, voice dropping. “Mi a come fi yuh. And mi nah have no mercy.”
She nods fast, eyes wide. She fraid. Mi like that. Then— “Can I date… other guys?” she asks, hesitant.
I raise a brow, amused. “Date who yuh want. Fall in love, get married, have kids. Mi nuh care.”
Jah know, my subconscious laughs.
Her face changes. Softer now. Sadder. “You really hate me that much?”
I pause. “Nah,” I say, calm. “If mi did hate you, you’d be dead already. Mi wouldn’t waste time, wouldn’t spend money, wouldn’t bother giving you a second chance.”
I pull the chair back and sit, eyes on hers. “But instead, mi let yuh live. Risky, yeah. But mi still show yuh where yuh stand. Because at di end of the day, you decide if you live or not. Not me. You.”
She swallows hard and nods, but her mouth moves again. “I still don’t want to go.”
I push out of the chair, done. “Mi done talk,” I mutter and turn for the door.
But she grabs me. “Wah yuh—?”
Before I finish, she pulls me in, mouth brushing mine. She takes my bottom lip between hers while her hand slides over my crotch, slow and dangerous.
I shove her back, jaw tight. “Weh yah do?” I snap, my glare sharp enough to cut glass. We stare at each other, the air thick with everything unspoken.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide, glassy. “I… I’m sorry. I just wanted to feel your lips one last time,” she says, voice cracking mid-sentence.
Gal ya ridiculous enuh.
I don’t say anything. Just stare at her for a long second before turning and walking out the room. Enough of this.
I step into the hallway and head toward where the others are gathered.
“Bredda, yuh phone wouldn’t stop ring,” Junior says, catching me off guard.
I pause. “So yuh couldn’t answer it?”