Boca grins. “Good girl.”
I look at him. “Call me that again and I’ll bite your face when Shady cuts me loose.”
His grin falters.
Toro chuckles once. “Set it up.”
Boca drags the table closer. Another man brings a small ring light because apparently kidnapping has production values now. That almost makes me hysterical. I perform for cameras every week. Clubs, charity sets, livestreams, brand deals, glossy interviews where men ask what it is like being a woman in the nightlife and expect me to answer like I’m grateful for the microphone.
Now I’m tied to a chair in a flower warehouse while a rival MC films me with a ring light.
They fix my hair first. Boca steps behind me with his hands in my curls, arranging them over one shoulder like I’m about to take a promo shot. His fingers snag on tangles. I grit my teeth. His knuckles brush the mark Shady left on my neck.
“Pretty,” he murmurs.
I turn my head enough to look at him from the corner of my eye.
“Dead,” I whisper.
He steps back.
Toro places a white rose across my lap. The bloom is cold through my jeans. Another goes on the table near the camera. He sets a phone where I can see myself on the screen.
I look like hell. Lip split. Cheek red. Hair wild. Eyes wet but still sharp. Shady’s bite peeks above my collar like evidence. I don’t look fragile.
I look furious.
Perfect.
Toro studies the screen. “Say exactly what I tell you.”
“Sure.”
He smiles like he doesn’t believe me.
Smart.
He presses record.
A little red dot appears.
For one second, all I see is myself.
Then I imagine Darling seeing this.
My chest cracks.
I picture her at Vice Ink, probably wrapped in Diablo’s arms and fighting him because she will want to come herself. She will cry my name. She will remember every hallway we ran down in high school, every bathroom floor where we hid from mean girls and worse men, every night she vanished into survival and I didn’t know how bad it had gotten.
The guilt flashes hot enough to make my voice rough when I speak.
“Darling,” I say, ignoring Toro’s script immediately. “Don’t do the thing where you make this your fault. I swear to God, I will come back just to yell at you.”
Boca curses. “That ain’t what we said.”
Toro holds up a hand.
I keep my eyes on the camera.
