American Sun

[Caesar]

Nulla Mutatio

The house sat off a back road in Acres Homes, pale brick and a busted gutter hanging off one side. Outside was the kind of heat that made pavement move, but inside the blinds were drawn and the air conditioner in the window choked along well enough to keep things bearable. The carpet had been there long enough to forget what color it started as. A bare bulb burned in the kitchen. Somebody's phone was connected to a small speaker in the corner, something slow and Houston-born turning over low, all thick bass and muted hi-hats.

Three guys had the dice game going in the middle of the living room floor, crouched down, calling numbers, money folded under someone's knee. They weren't loud about it. No one in the house was loud about anything. That was one of the first things E.J. had clocked when he got here.

He stood against the wall near the hallway entrance, one shoulder pressed to the drywall, drink loose in his hand. He watched the dice bounce off the baseboard and come back, watched the guy who threw them slap his knee and gather up what he'd won.

The back door opened and Bodie came through it, carrying two stacked Styrofoam cups in one hand and a two-liter of Sprite in the other. He was a thick-built dude, lighter-skinned, with a fade that had grown out a couple weeks past its cut. He moved through the house, easy and unhurried, stepping around the dice game without looking down.

He stopped next to E.J. and held the Sprite out. "Hold that, right quick for me, my nigga."

E.J. took it from him. Bodie set the stacked cups on the arm of the couch beside him and reached into his back pocket, coming out with a dark little bottle. He cracked the cap and poured a measure into the top cup, the liquid dark and syrupy going in. He took the Sprite back from E.J.'s hand, unscrewed the cap, and added it slow, then put his palm over the top and shook the cups together in a short, steady motion.

He took a sip from the rim and held the cups. "You gotta start getting on this drank, my nigga."

E.J. snorted. "Nah, I'm cool on that. That shit done took out too many niggas for me to be fucking with that."

Bodie cut his eyes over at him. He took another pull from the cup. "That's 'cause you New Orleans niggas too wild so y'all can't appreciate how this lean mellow you out." He gestured with the cup toward the dice game. "You see it. We ain't out here stepping on niggas every night like y'all be doing out there."

E.J. watched a man come up from the back of the house with a backpack slung over one shoulder, zipping it as he walked. The front door opened and closed behind him.

"That's 'cause we not the big dogs out here like we are in the city," E.J. said. "Ain't nobody got the steppers to fuck with us back home."

Bodie shrugged, a slow roll of his shoulders. He took another drink. "You ain't wrong." He let that sit a second, then looked over at E.J. again. "But if you gonna be out here, you gotta embrace this slow shit."

He tilted his head toward the dice game, toward the two guys sitting against the far wall with their phones. "These niggas ain't never went on a drill. We just sell some shit, drink, smoke, hit the lean and get bitches. They nervous around your ass 'cause you seem like you ready to go over to some other niggas' block and walk 'em down."

E.J. took a sip from his own drink. "If them niggas deserve to be walked down then why wouldn't we go walk 'em down? That's how we do business, brudda."

Bodie shook his head. He tapped E.J. once on the chest with the back of his hand, knuckles loose. "No. That's how we do business in New Orleans." He lowered his hand. "We under the radar. Same thing in Orange, even them niggas in Mississippi and Alabama. Just chill out a little bit and get this money." He paused. "Your pockets ain't hurting, huh?"

E.J. rolled his jaw once. The dice cracked against the baseboard again and one of the guys on the floor let out a low sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I mean, I ain't getting as much as I was back in the city."

Bodie leaned back against the wall beside him, cups in both hands now. "But is you hurting? You got money for a place and shit, right?"

E.J. looked at the dice game again. "Yeah."

Bodie brought the cup up to his mouth. "Well, then." He swallowed and lowered it again. "Ain't nothing else matter."

E.J. shook his head. He took a sip from his drink and watched the dice leave the guy's hand, watched them turn in the air and bounce flat across the carpet and roll up against the baseboard. One of the other guys started counting out bills from a folded wad. The speaker in the corner kept turning the same slow beat over.

~~~

The doors swung open and pushed out a belt of cool air that vanished the second they stepped into it. Mireya had her bag across one shoulder and her phone in her hand, screen dark. Frankie came out half a step behind her, still talking.

"I'm telling you that motherfucker get on my last nerve, girl. It's the same shit every class he a TA for." Frankie adjusted her bag strap, lips pulling to one side. "If he hate the shit so much then he can just go get a regular fucking job."

Mireya shook her head, a short laugh coming out of her nose. "I think that is a regular job." She dropped her phone into her pocket. "He's supposed to be the bad guy, though. That way you don't go running to Jarreau during his office hours. You ain't figure out yet that's the game they running?"

Frankie sucked her teeth. "Anything to not do what they supposed to be fucking doing."

They cut across the quad, feet finding the path. The grass on either side had gone dry at the edges, pale yellow where foot traffic had worn it down. A group of students scattered at a table under one of the far oaks, and the smell of somebody's food drifted across, hot and greasy.

Mireya's eyes moved across the quad without thinking and caught on the other sidewalk. Jordan stood next to a bench with a blonde, the two of them pressed together, her hand inside his elbow. He had his head dipped toward her and was saying something and she was already laughing before he finished.

Frankie caught it too. "See, that's why I don't fuck with no white boys." She kept walking, eyes forward. "Because they see that straw looking ass hair and run straight to them. Especially if the choice is us or y'all." She paused. "Sena ass might've been able to keep him around."

Jordan looked up.

His eyes found Mireya's across the distance. They held for a beat, his expression pulling into something small and tight around the edges. Then he looked back down at the blonde.

Mireya kept walking. "Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking," she said. "That's never been my type."

Frankie waved her hand. "You ain't gonna know until you try it. Not that I'd ever do that, but you know what I'm saying."

Mireya opened her mouth and then heard her name. She turned toward the sound before she'd consciously decided to.

Yola sat on a bench under one of the bigger trees off the main path, slouched back with his legs spread wide, elbows on his knees. He lifted a hand and waved her over, chin angling up when she didn't move right away.

Frankie looked, then let out a full laugh, shoulder pressing into Mireya's. "Now, see them roughneck looking ass niggas like that?" She lowered her voice just enough. "Where you found him at, girl?"

Mireya rolled her eyes. Yola's hands spread open in front of him, palms up.

"I'm gonna catch up to you and Sena after my next class," Mireya said.

Frankie's smile went sideways, slow and suggestive. She gave Mireya one last look and walked off, bag swinging.

Mireya shook her head and crossed the grass toward the bench. She stopped in front of Yola, who leaned back.

"How the fuck you know that I come here?"

Yola shrugged, the movement rolling through both shoulders. "That nigga Dez said it once. When he talking about how in love with you he is."

Mireya sucked her teeth. "Then what the fuck you here for?"

He gestured vaguely toward the street past the edge of campus. "I was dropping my lil' yeah off at school over there and thought she was gonna let me hit but she said she on her period so she shut a nigga down."

Mireya pointed at the ground. "Dropping her here?"

"No, that other school."

Her eyebrow went up. "Ben Franklin? The fucking high school?"

Yola sucked his teeth. "Man, she seventeen. Don't say it like that."

"You fucking nasty." She shifted her bag on her shoulder. "That still doesn't tell me why you're here."

He sat up off the backrest and smiled, hand going to his crotch. "Bitch, 'cause I'm trying to fuck something."

"I got class in 20 minutes."

"I don't need that long." He leaned forward, forearms going back to his knees. "Just 'bout four, five. A nigga been working hard and ain't had no time to enjoy some good pussy. C'mon, girl. You know you love this shit, too."

Mireya pulled her phone from her pocket and looked at the time. The screen stayed in her hand for a second, the number sitting there.

She sighed, put it back. "C'mon then. Where you parked?"

Yola stood, stretching once and rolling his neck. "Just back over here in that parking garage."

"You better make this shit quick, too."

He smiled. "Bet."

They moved off the grass and onto the sidewalk heading toward the garage. Jordan and the blonde came from the other direction, path crossing theirs at the intersection. Jordan's lip curled as his eyes moved from Mireya to Yola and back. He held the look just long enough, then turned his head back to the blonde and kept walking.

Mireya shook her head, falling into step next to Yola.

~~~

The parking lot sat flat and wide, the pavement gone pale at the edges where the sun had been working it all summer. Heat came off it in slow, invisible sheets. The rehab center's front was plain brick, three steps up to glass double doors, a couple of hedges trimmed low along the walk, a sign bolted to the wall in neutral lettering.

Ramon had the engine off. The car ticked. He had one arm up along the back of Nina's headrest and his other wrist hanging over the steering wheel, and he was looking in the rearview at Asia.

She sat in the middle of the backseat with a bag pinned between her ankles and her hands loose on her thighs. Her eyes were on the building. She hadn't moved since he pulled in.

Ramon watched her in the mirror for another second, then turned in the seat. "C'mon, bitch." He kept his voice even. "You said you want to go. We here now. Why you still sitting your ass up in the car?"

Both Nina and Asia sucked their teeth at the same time, the sounds stacking on each other.

Asia's hands pressed flat against her thighs. "Let a bitch take her time, damn." Her eyes stayed on the building. "You ain't never been in one of these motherfuckers for months so you don't know shit."

"Yeah," Ramon said, “’cause I ain't never been on that shit."

Nina's hand came across the console and caught him on the arm, a solid smack. "Quit." She turned to look back at Asia through the gap between the seats. "Give her a minute. You ain't got nowhere to be anyway."

Ramon rubbed his forearm once and shifted back in the seat. He looked back through the windshield. A woman in scrubs crossed the far end of the parking lot toward a side entrance, ID badge swinging on a lanyard, a travel mug in her hand. He tracked her until the door swung shut behind her and the lot went still again.

Asia's fingers curled in the fabric of her jeans, knuckles going pale for a second before she let them flatten out again. She kept looking at the building. The glass on the doors caught the sky.

"Would y'all," she started. She stopped, looked down at her hands, then back up. "Well, you, Nina. Still help me if I decide I ain't going in that motherfucker and I want to go back to the city?"

Nina shifted in her seat, turning more fully. "Yeah," she said, her voice even, "but I think you should at least give it a few weeks before you decide if you need to find another center." She let a beat pass. "Ramon's already paid for it."

Ramon's eyes went to the rearview again. "Yeah. Paid for the whole fucking program for the whole fucking time. So you better stay your ass up in there for the whole fucking time."

Asia's lip moved. "It wasn't even that fucking much," she said. "I could've got that shit together in a couple weeks."

"You got some high opinion on how much these motherfuckers want to fuck you," Ramon said.

Nina lifted her hand and waved it at him, the motion quick and dismissive. She kept her eyes on Asia. "You won't know if you don't try," she said, "but you already know that." Her voice stayed level, no performance in it. "You've been in this same spot before. You gotta take this step again if you want to make that change."

Asia held her breath for a second, chest visibly full. Then it dropped out of her in a slow exhale. She looked at the building one more time, at the plain brick and the trimmed hedges and the glass that caught sky.

She reached down and grabbed her bag.

She pushed the door open and the heat came in immediately, damp and thick after the car's air. She swung her legs out and stood, the bag hanging from her hand, the door clicking shut behind her on its own. She moved around toward the trunk without saying anything.

Ramon got out. Nina got out on her side, door pulling quiet.

Ramon reached back and hit the trunk release. The lid lifted. Asia leaned in and got both hands around her bag's handle, dragged it up over the lip of the trunk, and set it down on the ground beside her. She straightened. She turned toward the front doors of the center, bag in hand, and took two steps.

Then the weight left her hand.

Ramon had the strap, and swung it up over his own shoulder, the bag settling against his back.

Asia looked at him. Her eyebrow went up.

He gestured toward the doors with a small tilt of his head. "C'mon then. Let's fucking go."

She looked at him for another beat. "Nigga, fuck you." The heat that was usually in it wasn't there. "You ain't shit because you carrying a bag."

The three of them started toward the front doors.

~~~

The heat came off the sidewalk in a steady press. Downtown Statesboro moved at its usual late-morning pace, a couple of people out on errands, a delivery truck idling at the light with its hazards blinking. Caine walked with his hands in his pockets, sunglasses on, heading toward Bethel's office.

He glanced up out of habit when he heard the rigging above him.

The workers had the old panel half-down already, the new one going up in sections from a hydraulic lift, the crew moving it piece by piece with a practiced efficiency that was the opposite of how the whole thing had been arranged. His own face went up in pieces. Jersey first, then the arm cocked back, number across the chest.

He knew the shot. He remembered the afternoon it took to get it, standing on an empty section of turf at the stadium with a handler calling adjustments while the photographer kept shifting angles and the PR coordinator said one more, just a few more. Two hours of faking a throw while the sun worked its way across the sky.

He was still looking up when he heard footsteps slow and stop beside him.

Tommy stood there with his eyes up, hands easy at his sides, not in uniform for once.

Tommy tilted his chin toward the billboard, eyes still up. "Do they always try to find the worst people on the team to put up on those, or you just get lucky because you're the quarterback?"

Caine looked over at him. "I don't know. They put you up on those for the Army?"

Tommy shook his head. "Nah. They just put Chargers on them and all your brothers come running down to the recruiting office to get one."

Caine snorted a short laugh. "Were you racist before, or did you become racist when you married a woman that prefer Black dick?"

Tommy shrugged, slow and unbothered. His eyes went back up to the lift where the workers were fitting the top panel into place.

"She's not going to leave me." His voice had the ease of someone who had turned the thought over enough times to be done with it. "I'm sure she's tried to reach out to you again by now. She does the same shit over and over again. The definition of a crazy bitch. Insanity at its finest."

Caine's hands stayed in his pockets. "I can see why you're the motherfucker they putting on the front line and not doing spy shit, because you bad at it. We went through this shit already."

Tommy looked at him, a slow turn, eyes level. "I been thinking about it. Talking it over with some friends. The other ones she's fucked, they were pretty similar to the ones she fucked back in the day." His eyes tracked Caine's face. "You, though. You're the odd one out."

"I guess I was just special," Caine said.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Was?"

Caine shrugged. "Was."

Tommy chuckled. His gaze moved back to the billboard, the last panel corner locking into place. The crew on the lift started backing it off.

"I figured it out though. You're the worst of the worst of you people. A terrible fucking person." He said it at the same volume. "She wanted to really slum it. Then when you leave, probably because you're going back to prison, she'll go back to the usual ones. Maybe she'll jump up a few notches to a doctor or something next time." He let a beat land. "I bet you can't even imagine being a doctor. Too stupid."

Caine looked at him steadily. "Maybe you're right." A pause. "But at the end of the day, what that say about you? Maybe you like the shit and that's why you stay. You one of them weird ass motherfuckers who like their wife getting fucked by other men?"

Tommy's eyes came back to him, measured and unhurried. "You're not good at the spy shit either."

Caine laughed. "Look at us. Got some shit in common."

He turned toward Bethel's office. The sign above the door sat against the brick. He stepped to the door and put his hand on the knob.

Tommy looked at the sign. He read it, then let a short laugh out through his nose. "I should've known that's what you were out here for."

"Felonies," Caine said with a shrug.

He stepped inside without waiting for a response and let the door swing shut at his back.

Bethel was behind his desk with a plate in front of him, a chicken wing raised near his mouth. He looked over when he heard the door. His eyes moved from Caine's face to the window where the billboard was framed in the glass, both panels fully up now, clean in the midday light. He gestured toward the street with the chicken wing.

"You're telling me that I got to see your ugly mug every time I come to work now?"

Caine held both hands up, palms out. "Just imagine how your homeboys in Athens feel with all them motherfuckers getting arrested."

[Captain Canada]

Tommy playing a weird ass game, because his motivations almost as weird as his "wife's".

Silver lining of the update is Asia finally (hopefully) taking a step towards getting clean.

[redsox907]

it almost feels like Tommy enjoys fucking with Caine. Go figure, both the Matthews' like fucking with Caine

Mireya getting slutted out for real for real now. Got the homies showing up whenever to crack. Tell me again how this is for Mila now? Cause she ain't get paid to get stretched out by Yola in the school parking garage.

Good on Asia. And Ramon, for supporting her.

[Sonny]

Mireya is making it hard to defend her now. I said before, maybe she just enjoys sex but a guy showing up for a quickie with no prior knowledge is crazy behavior.

[Caesar]

Tommy playing a weird ass game, because his motivations almost as weird as his "wife's".

Silver lining of the update is Asia finally (hopefully) taking a step towards getting clean.

Why you put wife in quotations?

it almost feels like Tommy enjoys fucking with Caine. Go figure, both the Matthews' like fucking with Caine

Mireya getting slutted out for real for real now. Got the homies showing up whenever to crack. Tell me again how this is for Mila now? Cause she ain't get paid to get stretched out by Yola in the school parking garage.

Good on Asia. And Ramon, for supporting her.

Tommy trying to needle him to get him to react but Caine don't see civilians (in the street versus non-street sense since Tommy is not a civilian) as issues.

No one said everything she does is for Camila, but her work is. We do need to applaud Yola for not pressing to fuck a 17 year old and instead going find Mireya. Or did no one notice that in the chapter?

Ramon, a drug dealing gang member who has caught bodies, having a recovering addict sister and a anti-gun violence activist girlfriend may cause some issues though.

Mireya is making it hard to defend her now. I said before, maybe she just enjoys sex but a guy showing up for a quickie with no prior knowledge is crazy behavior.

She has had relations with Yola before to be fair.

[Caesar]

Corruptum

Trell sat with his forearms on the tabletop, the newspaper spread open in front of him. A breakfast burrito rested on a white plate to his right, foil peeled back and folded under itself, grease already soaking through in a dark ring.

Across from him, Ant leaned back in his chair, legs set wide, elbows loose. He worked a toothpick at his molar, eyes on the water.

Trell turned a page with two fingers, the paper crackling.

“Cass came over here the other day, said that weird country ass nigga Meechie wants to kill us for going around him to Terrance.”

Ant slid the toothpick out, rolled it between his fingers then leaned in.

“I could take Yola, Shad, couple other niggas up to Little Rock and switch them niggas down.”

Trell’s mouth twitched. Trell folded the paper and pointed at the headline. A short snort broke out of him, half laugh, half disgust. He lifted the paper and pointed at the line with two fingers.

“Motherfucking white folks about to get us into another war.”

Ant’s shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug. He pulled the toothpick from his mouth again and dragged it across his front teeth.

“They love to fight. It’s in they DNA. That’s why them peckerwoods in the pen always fighting they own.”

Trell laughed. He let the paper sag, his wrist loose, and shook his head once like Ant had just said something too obvious to argue with.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

He folded the paper again, smaller, and set it to the side, making sure the edges lined up with the table. His hand went to the burrito. He chewed slow, watching the pool surface ripple once and smooth back out.

He set the burrito down.

“I ain’t worried about them niggas. They got a couple dozen niggas in the clique. Half of them probably ain’t never shot a gun in their life. It’s Cass that’s the problem. She plotting some shit.”

Ant’s gaze finally left the bayou. He kept the toothpick working..

“You always knew that shit was coming. Either ‘cause she found out about Peanut bitch ass or she tired of having to beg for money.”

He turned the burrito once in his hand.

“Well, she definitely don’t know about P or she would’ve showed up here and shot my ass by now.”

Ant’s lips pressed around the toothpick. He pulled it out, wiped it on the side of his thumb, then set it back between his teeth.

“She could be playing the long game.”

Trell leaned back in his chair.

“That bitch don’t know about shit but taking long dick. She ain’t crazy enough to kill a nigga because she ain’t smart enough to get her own thing running.”

Ant shrugged. He and snapped it between his fingers, tossing it onto the table.

“You the one fucking her. What you want me to do about Meechie and them then?”

Trell rubbed his chin for a moment, scratching at the stubble there.

“Staff up. Start putting the word out that we need some new niggas on the roster.”

Ant nodded once, already moving in his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another toothpick, the plastic wrapper whispering as he tore it open.

“They got a little clique out in the East. New niggas. Trying to make some moves. I’ll go see them today.”

Trell nodded once, satisfied.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

~~~

The TV threw a wash of color across the living room. Caine sat on the couch with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, remote loose in his hand.

His laptop sat open on the end of the couch, charger cord pulled straight, the screen dimmed but awake. An online class portal waited behind a tab. He flipped his phone in his hand, letting it roll from palm to fingers and back again.

Caine’s gaze drifted to the coffee table.

Tatum Reese’s card sat on the edge of it, corners lined up with the table’s corner. White stock. Clean lettering. Name. Title. A Los Angeles address. The phone number printed bold.

He flipped the phone once more and stopped, thumb resting along the edge.

His eyes went back to the card.

He leaned forward, the couch cushion giving under him, forearms landing on his thighs. His hand reached out and pinched the card at two corners. He held it in front of him and stared at the number.

He flipped the phone once more and stopped, thumb resting along the edge and clicked his tongue once. Then again.

He keyed in the number and called. It connected after a few rings.

“I’m gonna assume that a 504 number could only be my potential new favorite quarterback from New Orleans.”

“Yeah, it’s Caine Guerra.”

On the other end, he could hear movement. Not office noise. More like a man shifting in a chair, maybe walking while he talked. A faint clink, like ice in a glass, then nothing.

“Look at me knowing the fucking area codes around the country. Shouldn’t you be getting on a plane to head to Little Manhattan about now?”

Caine glanced toward the laptop, the class portal still waiting.

“Leaving tomorrow morning. How does this agent shit work?”

“Straight to the point with you, huh, kid? Long story short is that I have the conversations with people that you can’t have without the NCAA kicking up a fuss,” Tatum said.

“Sounds like how motherfuckers on the street move.”

A laugh came through the speaker.

“Ain’t too far off. I just do it in boardrooms wearing a suit.”

“Being white has its privileges,” Caine said.

“I did some research on you, my friend. Popped up out of nowhere and now you’re balling out in bumfuck Egypt. I thought it was one of those things where a kid just starts playing football late, but you got sophomore tape. Spent a year in jail or something?”

Tatum paused. The silence sat just long enough to register.

“Just messing. That would be quite the story though.”

Caine snorted once, a short laugh. “It wouldn’t, wouldn’t it? Nah, I was on a fucking mission trip in Honduras.”

The laugh on the other end came quicker this time. “I ain’t take you for a Mormon.”

“I’m all about having forty-five sister wives.”

Tatum laughed. “I got one. Fucked her sister for a bit behind her back. Wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Caine laughed, once.

Tatum spoke again, shifting gears, letting the bullshit fall away.

“So, you want to talk business? See if we can make some fucking money together?”

Caine tapped his fingers against his knee. “Yeah, I ain’t never been against making money.”

~~~

Rylee killed the Jeep. The heat had been baking the dash so long it held onto it even after the air stopped moving. Brice pushed his door open first and stepped out into the gravel, stretching one arm across his chest as his eyes moved over the property.

He looked toward Laney’s then Caleb’s, then tipped his chin up, eyes tracking to Pastor Hadden’s place sitting off in the distance. The houses stacked up in his line of sight, yards bleeding into each other. He let out a small laugh.

“This some weird shit, dude,” he said, still staring. “Y’all just live on top of each other like this?”

Rylee slid out behind the wheel and shut her door, palm flat against the metal. She rolled her eyes and started walking toward the side door. Her shoes crunched in the gravel, steps clipped.

“I ain’t tell you to come here to talk ’bout how my family live,” she said, not slowing. “I told you to come here so we can fuck.”

Brice lifted both hands, palms out, grin creeping across his face. He followed behind her, still glancing around as he walked.

“We could’ve gone to my place,” he said.

Rylee stopped at the side door where the siding met the frame and bent down. She slipped her fingers under the edge of a siding panel and pried it up. The panel flexed against her knuckles, then gave.

“You got five roommates,” she said, voice muffled from being bent over. Her fingertips searched along the hidden lip. “Do I look like the gangbang type?”

Brice leaned his shoulder against the wall, eyes dropping to her as she crouched. His mouth curled.

“You could be,” he said.

Rylee shook her head once, already done with him. Her fingers found the key. She pulled it out, metal flashing in the sun, then straightened and slid it into the lock. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Her footsteps softened on the floor the moment she crossed the threshold. Brice came in behind her and shut the door, the latch clicking into place.

Rylee jogged straight across the entry space to the alarm panel on the wall. Her ponytail bounced against the back of her neck. She punched the code in quick. The panel beeped once, then went quiet. The little light flipped off.

She exhaled through her nose and turned back toward him, shoulders loosening just a notch.

Rylee walked back to Brice and hooked her fingers in the front of his shirt, pulling him down. Their mouths met hard. His hands came to her waist.

Rylee kissed him hard. She took his bottom lip between her teeth and let it go. Brice made a low sound and leaned into her, trying to deepen it, trying to steer. His hand slid around her hip and squeezed.

Shouting cut through the house from the backyard.

It wasn’t right on the door, but it was loud enough to scrape across the room and make both of them freeze mid-kiss. Rylee’s mouth stilled against Brice’s. Brice pulled back first, blinking, breath hot as it hit her face.

Another shout followed, words blurred by distance and glass.

Rylee turned her head toward the sound, eyes narrowing. She stepped away from Brice and crossed to the window. Brice followed, slower, curiosity pulling him.

They leaned toward the glass and looked out.

Blake stood in the backyard waving toward the house, shouting, a beer bottle in his hand. He wore only a pair of dingy white underwear, waistband sagging, legs bare, stomach and chest flushed. Even from inside, the way he moved read loose and unsteady. He shouted again, face tipped up, arm swinging wide.

Brice barked a laugh and leaned closer to the glass, squinting.

“Who the fuck is that?” he asked.

Rylee’s jaw tightened.

“My fuckin’ brother-in-law,” she said.

She turned from the window and walked straight to the back door. Her hand closed around the knob and she yanked it open hard enough that it banged against the frame.

“Fuck do you want Blake?” she shouted.

Blake stopped waving long enough to point at her. He stumbled toward the steps and grabbed the railing to keep himself up as he climbed, pulling himself up one step at a time.

As he climbed, his eyes slid past Rylee and snagged on Brice standing against the jamb behind her.

Blake took a swig from the beer. His words came out thick and slurred. “I thought that was you,” he said, then nodded toward Brice with the bottle. “Who that you got with you?”

Rylee glanced over her shoulder at Brice. Brice’s gaze met hers and he shifted his weight, heel scraping once on the floor. Rylee turned back to Blake, face set.

“Mind you’re fuckin’ business,” she said. “Just tell me what you want and get on.”

Blake hit the top step and stopped too close. His eyes moved over Rylee’s body, slow and lazy. His mouth twitched.

“You got like $20?” he asked.

Rylee’s eyebrows jumped. “You serious?” she asked. “For what?”

Blake shrugged, bottle tipping with the motion. “Some H.”

Rylee shook her head, a short, sharp motion. “Ain’t even gonna lie?”

Blake shrugged again, smaller. His eyes drifted off toward the yard.

Brice stepped forward then, toe crossing the threshold. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten, crumpled and soft. He held it out between two fingers, arm extended past Rylee’s shoulder.

“I got more if you can get us some favors,” he said.

Rylee snapped her head back toward him, eyes narrowing. “You cain’t be serious.”

Blake’s attention sharpened at the money. His hand moved quick, faster than the rest of him had been moving. He grabbed the ten out of Brice’s fingers and folded it into his palm, then tucked it down into the waistband of his underwear.

“I got you, buddy,” he said.

Brice leaned back against the jamb again. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

Blake lifted two fingers in a sloppy salute, beer bottle still in his other hand. He turned, careful on the first step down, then less careful once his feet hit the grass. He ambled off toward the RV, shoulders loose, humming something under his breath.

Rylee watched him until he disappeared. Then she turned back inside.

She looked at Brice, shaking her head slow, irritation sitting plain on her face. The back door creaked slightly as it settled on its hinges.

Brice spread his hands, palms up, eyebrows lifted.

“What?” he asked.

~~~

The Lexus sat alone where Laney had told him to pull off, far enough from the road that the only sound that reached them was wind in the trees and the faint scrape of insects in the grass. Caine had backed in until the rear tires kissed a patch of dirt, then killed the engine. The hatch was open above them, lifted high, framing a stretch of field that looked cut out of the world.

Caine sat in the back with his legs hanging out, shoes planted in the grass. The carpeted lip of the trunk pressed into the backs of his thighs.

Laney sat beside him with one hip angled toward the open air, knees bent. A High Noon can sweated in her hand. She lifted it and took a slow sip, throat working once, then lowered it to look at the watch on her wrist.

She turned the can in her hand, then said, “I started markin’ the days until you leave down on a calendar.”

Caine’s eyes shifted to her, brow lifting.

“Ain’t you the one that said we shouldn’t be reckless with this?” he asked.

Laney tipped her head, mouth tightening like she was holding back a laugh. She rolled the can between her palms, then raised it again and took another sip.

“I don’t think no one gonna know why I’m countin’ down to December 1st,” she said.

Caine let out a short breath through his nose and leaned back, shoulders against the inside wall of the trunk.

“First of all, the fucking Sun Belt championship game on December 4th so you already off there,” he said. He lifted one hand and ticked the point off with a finger. “And we gonna be playing in the CFP so you should be counting to the end of the month.”

Laney laughed, head tipping back against the hatch strut. The sound was bright but brief. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, then set the can against her thigh.

“My bad for not havin’ faith in y’all,” she said. She swung her feet once, heel tapping the bumper lightly. “I ain’t think they’d be so generous after y’all got your ass beat by Miami last year.”

“You supposed to be on my side,” he said.

Laney’s smile stayed. She shifted her weight, the trunk carpet giving a little under her hip, and lifted the can again. She drank, swallowed, then lowered it and looked at him .

“You talkin’ to someone who could’ve been where you is,” she said. “Ain’t sides. Y’all got took out behind the woodshed.”

Caine laughed under his breath and shook his head.

“I’m gonna remember that when you out here trying to pretend that you been a diehard since day one,” he said.

Laney shrugged, shoulders rising and falling easy. She angled her knees toward him, her free hand resting on the trunk edge.

“Baby, I’m a Georgia girl,” she said. “I only go to y’all games ‘cause I live here and the boys like to go.”

Caine laughed. “Fair enough.”

The wind shifted and pushed a soft rustle through the grass. Laney checked her watch again.

Caine watched her hand leave it, then looked back at her face.

He asked, “Why you counting shit down? You waiting for this to be over, huh?”

Laney’s fingers closed around the can again. She lifted it and took a longer sip this time.

“Cain’t get ready for somethin’ you let sneak up on you,” she said. “You gotta remember that I’m gonna have to go back to pretendin’ to be the good wife for a few years ’till everyone forget I exist and I can find a new man to give me a few months of joy so I don’t swallow a bottle of pills.”

“That’s some morbid ass shit, Laney.”

Laney shrugged again. Her gaze dropped to her nails, then to the grass below their feet, then back up.

“It is what it is,” she said. She tipped the can toward her mouth and took another sip. “Maybe when Hunter graduates from high school, I’ll be ready to get divorced.”

“Waiting 12, 14 years to leave a man that you don’t want to be with and he don’t want to be with you is stupid,” he said. “I ain’t gonna lie to you. And you can’t even hit me with the ‘if you had kids’ because I got one.”

Laney’s eyes stayed on him.

“You ever think ’bout the fact that you were able to just up and leave and your daughter’s mother cain’t?” she asked. “It’s easy to say just leave when the whole world don’t expect you to keep doin’ everythin’ you were doin’ when you had some little bit of help.”

He took a breath and let it out slow through his nose.

“I ain’t gonna lie,” he said. “I ain’t never really thought about it. I just had to do what I had to do.”

Laney watched him for a beat. She shook the can lightly near her ear, listening to what was left. The aluminum rattled once. She tilted it back and finished it, throat working through the last of it. When she lowered the empty can, she held it a second, then set it down between them with a dull tap.

“Y’all always do,” she said.

~~~

Mireya sat at her station with her laptop open, shoulders slightly forward, fingers moving in a steady rhythm across the keys. Her bag sat tucked under the chair with the strap looped around one leg so it couldn’t walk off. A half-finished bottle of water rested by the mirror, cap on tight. Her phone lay face down beside it, silent.

She typed a sentence, paused, then backspaced three words and redid them. Her eyes tracked left to right across the screen. Her mouth pulled tight once, then eased. She kept going.

A yawn came up on her before she could stop it. Her jaw stretched wide. She closed her lips and pressed them together, blinking hard twice. The cursor waited. She rolled her neck once, small, then dropped her hands back onto the keyboard and kept working.

On the other side of the room, laughter flared up, sharp and loose. She looked through the mirror instead, eyes lifting.

Sydney sat with C.J., Brooke, and Maren, shoulders angled in, knees close. Sydney’s mouth was open in a laugh, head tipped back. C.J. had one hand up, talking with her fingers. Brooke covered her smile with her palm like it was too good to show. Maren leaned in, chin tucked, eyes bright.

Sydney’s gaze flicked up and caught Mireya’s in the mirror.

The laugh died in her throat. Her smile dropped off her face. Her eyes shifted down, then up again, then she sat up straighter.

Mireya sucked her teeth. She turned her eyes back to the laptop screen and typed another line.

In the mirror, Sydney’s hands started working each other. Fingers twisting, palms rubbing. Her shoulders rose and fell once. Then she pushed up from the bench.

Sydney crossed the room slowly, steps careful on the worn floor. She stopped a few feet behind Mireya’s chair and hovered there, eyes on Mireya’s back in the mirror.

Mireya kept typing for another two seconds, then stopped on purpose. Her fingers lifted. She leaned back a little in her chair and looked at Sydney through the mirror, face flat.

“The fuck you want?” Mireya asked.

Sydney swallowed. Her hands stayed together at her stomach, fingers knotted. She tried to hold Mireya’s eyes in the mirror and couldn’t do it for more than a moment.

“I just wanted to say sorry,” Sydney said. “For, you know, almost getting you in some shit.”

Mireya glanced at Sydney’s hands, then back to her face.

“It doesn’t look like it mattered one bit that you almost died in a BnB after getting fucked,” Mireya said.

Sydney’s mouth tightened.

“Everyone isn’t as hard as you,” Sydney said. “Or Ale, or Jaslene, or Bee, or Haylz. Even Liana and Mari struggle with it.”

Mireya turned her head slightly then, just enough to look at Sydney directly instead of only through the mirror. Her eyes cut up and down Sydney once, quick, then settled back on her face.

“Neither Liana or Mari turn to coke to get through so don’t compare yourself to them,” Mireya said.

Sydney’s lips parted as if she wanted to argue. Her hands squeezed together harder, knuckles paling under the light.

Mireya lifted one finger and pointed over her shoulder toward the corner without fully turning.

“That’s the hoes you need to be comparing yourself with,” Mireya said. “This shit is risky enough without worrying about snorting powder that’s been cut with fetty.”

Sydney flinched at the word and then steadied herself, chin lifting like she was trying to keep control of her own face.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay,” Sydney said. “I’m not going to make a thing about it. We all have to work, together, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Mireya said, “but I ain’t going to not a single private if your fucking ass is there.”

Sydney’s throat bobbed. Mireya’s chair creaked as she shifted her weight, one knee sliding outward.

“Stick to the ones your homegirls need a token Asian at,” Mireya said. “Because you only get one chance to fuck me over.”

Sydney’s eyes widened for half a second. She drew a breath, lips parting like she was about to say something back.

The dressing room door banged open hard enough to rattle the metal frame.

Hayley burst through wearing just a thong. She moved fast, eyes scanning the room. Her feet slapped on the floor.

She spotted Mireya and headed straight for her station.

“I need your help,” Hayley said.

Mireya lifted her eyebrows and leaned back in her chair, eyes locked on Hayley.

“With what?” Mireya asked.

Hayley stopped at the edge of the station and planted both hands on the counter, shoulders rising with her breath.

“One of my regulars is here with his wife—” Hayley said.

Mireya cut her off immediately, palm lifting.

“His wife?” Mireya asked. “I’m not fighting any bitches tonight, Hayley.”

Hayley shook her head fast, waving it off.

“No,” Hayley said. “It’s nothing like that. They’re one of those dominatrix couples.”

Mireya stared at her, face blank.

“He brought two strap-ons with him and his wife wants to watch two of us fuck him,” Hayley said.

For a beat, Mireya just held the stare. Then she cracked up laughing, sharp and disbelieving. She tipped her head back once, then looked at Hayley again.

“You’re fucking joking,” Mireya said.

“I’m serious,” Hayley said.

Mireya’s laugh died off into a snort. She angled her chin toward Sydney. “I’m busy. Ask her.”

Sydney’s eyes snapped to Hayley. Her hands lifted, palms half-open. She shook her head once.

“I’ve never done anything like that,” Sydney said.

Mireya let out another short laugh, flat.

“Me neither,” Mireya said.

Hayley’s fingers drummed on the counter, quick taps that matched the bass thump leaking through the wall.

“It’s gotta be you, because there’s something else they want,” Hayley said.

Mireya leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

Hayley spoke faster.

“After we fuck the husband, we gotta kick him out and the wife wants to watch me fuck you in the ass,” Hayley said. “And you and Jaslene fuck so—”

Mireya scoffed, loud enough to cut the room.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Mireya said. “You’re out your fucking mind.”

Sydney made a sound that wasn’t a laugh and wasn’t a gasp. She backed up a step, then another, shaking her head.

“Oh, no,” Sydney said. “I’m out.”

She turned and walked back across the room.

Hayley stayed leaned over Mireya’s station.

“It’s five hundred fucking dollars,” Hayley said. “C’mon.”

Mireya’s arms stayed crossed. Her gaze dropped to Hayley’s hands braced on the counter, then lifted again.

“You’re not fucking me in the ass with a fucking strap on,” Mireya said, leaning forward to make her point .

Hayley’s shoulders sagged for half a second, then she hooked a thumb over her shoulder toward the door.

“Can we at least go talk to them about it?” Hayley asked. “Negotiate?”

Mireya stared at her a long moment, face still. She looked past Hayley to the door, then back to her laptop screen, the cursor blinking.

She exhaled once, short. Then she uncrossed her arms, reached forward, and closed the laptop with a firm click.

Hayley’s face lit up. She clapped twice, quick and loud.

“You’re the fucking best,” Hayley said.

Mireya rolled her eyes as she stepped around the chair and headed out of the dressing room.

~~~

She stood in the living room with a black garbage bag opened wide in front of her, the plastic stretched between both fists. She grabbed a handful of what Mireya had left when she moved out from the top of a stack and shoved them down into the bag. The bag crinkled and sagged as the weight hit the bottom. She pressed it down with her forearm until it held.

Footsteps came and went outside her door. The front door stayed open to the night, letting in a thin band of streetlight and the low, steady sound of a moving truck idling out front.

Two of her nephews moved through the space in a steady loop, arms full, shoulders tight from carrying. They lifted and angled and backed out, then came back in with empty hands to grab the next piece.

She kept her eyes on the pile that was shrinking. She reached for the next item and the next, dropping them into the bag without folding, without sorting. The apartment already looked different with every trip they made to the door.

One of the nephews, Obispo, paused near the doorway with something held in both hands. He tipped his chin toward the hall, catching Maria’s attention.

“Do you want us to bring this to Tia Carmen’s storage or we can take it?”

She tugged the mouth of the bag higher, shook it once so the contents settled, then pushed another armful down.

“I don’t care. Do what you want with it.”

Obispo let out a breath that sounded like a laugh. He shifted his grip and stepped back into the room where his brother was.

Obispo slapped Cristobal on the chest, smiling. “Podemos vender esta mierda por un par de cientos de dólares, cabrón.”

Cristobal’s response came sharp and tired. His feet shuffled, the sound of something dragging following him toward the door. “No one wants this shit. Come the fuck on and let’s finish. It’s late as fuck.”

Maria turned her head just enough to see them in her peripheral vision. The two of them were braced around the dresser now, fingers hooked under the edges, shoulders pressed in close. They argued while they worked, their words bumping against the effort of moving something heavier than it looked.

Obispo kept smiling. Cristobal kept shaking his head. Their hands adjusted. The dresser scraped an inch, then lifted, then scraped again.

They dragged it toward the door.

The dresser’s feet caught on the threshold and jolted. Obispo cursed under his breath, then repositioned. Cristobal leaned his weight into it and shoved. The dresser slid free with a loud rasp that made Maria’s jaw tighten once.

They kept talking at each other as they moved out of the apartment, their voices rising and falling with each step.

Maria watched them go until the dresser cleared the doorway and disappeared toward the moving truck outside. She stayed where she was, bag in front of her, the open door breathing night air into the room.

Maria turned back to what was left. She reached down and grabbed more of Mireya’s things from the floor and shoved them into the bag. Fabric bunched. Plastic crackled. She used her forearm again to push it down, compressing it until the bag held its shape.

She set the bag aside, still open, then took another step toward the TV stand.

A small picture frame sat there, angled slightly toward the room. Maria stopped in front of it. Her fingers hovered, then closed around the frame and lifted it.

The glass was cool against her thumb.

She stared at the baby picture inside. Mireya as an infant, cheeks full, eyes dark and steady. Maria held it close enough to see the grain of the print, close enough that the rest of the room blurred around the edges.

Mireya’s baby face still held Mireya’s shape, but she saw it in Camila now, clear as day. The same set to the eyes. The same little mouth. The same look.

And mixed into that resemblance, there were the small stubborn pieces that didn’t belong. The parts that clung on no matter how much time passed. Little bits that came from Caine.

Maria’s thumb pressed hard on the edge of the frame. Her nail scraped lightly against the glass.

The sound of the nephews returned in the hallway, distant now. A short laugh. A curse. Footsteps shifting. The truck outside idled on.

She flipped the frame over. The tabs at the back bent under her fingernail as she worked them loose. She slid the backing out and lifted the photograph free with two fingers, pinching it at the corner.

For a second, she held it up in the air, the paper thin and stiff between her fingertips.

Then she dropped it into the open garbage bag at her feet.

The picture hit the pile inside with a soft slap and disappeared under the edge of fabric that slid over it. She slid the backing back into the frame and pressed the tabs down one by one until they held.

She turned the frame over again. Glass caught the room light.

Maria set it back on the TV stand in the same spot.

She reached for the garbage bag and shoved another handful of Mireya’s things down on top of the photograph, burying it deeper. Her hands moved with the same speed as before, the same force.

Outside, the nephews’ voices rose again as they argued while they worked, the sound of their effort carrying through the open door.

~~~

Mireya’s keys clicked against each other as she walked, wrist loose, steps steady. The strap of her bag cut into her shoulder. Glitter clung to her forearm and the back of her hand in a faint sheen that caught the overhead light when she moved.

She stopped at her door, slid the key in, and turned it with a firm twist. The lock gave with a soft clunk. When she pushed inside, the apartment’s quiet swallowed the building noise immediately. The air-conditioning had been running. Cool air hit her face first, then her neck. The living room was lit by the dim spill from the kitchen.

Sena was on the couch with a throw blanket bunched at her waist. She’d fallen asleep sideways, one arm tucked under her head, the other draped off the cushion. The door closing made her flinch awake. Sena pushed herself upright, blinking hard, hair messy, eyes half closed. She rubbed at them with the heel of her palm, then dropped her hand to her lap.

“Sorry,” Sena said, voice rough with sleep. “I was trying to stay awake until you got home.”

Mireya let the door shut behind her and slid the chain into place with a small metal rasp. She kicked her shoes off by the entry rug, one after the other, then rolled her shoulders.

“It’s three something in the morning,” Mireya said.

She glanced down the hall toward Camila’s door. Mireya’s mouth curved slightly.

“How was she?” she asked.

Sena nodded, yawned wide, and pressed her lips together afterward. “Good,” she said. “She’s a really cute kid. I thought it was going to take a while for her to warm up to me since this was my first night watching her, but she showed me all her toys and taught me some Spanish.”

Mireya’s mouth curved before she meant to. She crossed the living room and sat down next to Sena. The couch cushion dipped under her weight.

“Serás un experto en una semana,” Mireya said.

Sena blinked at her, then smiled, still half asleep. “Damn,” she said. “Or that’s crazy. Whatever works there.”

Mireya laughed quietly, the sound small.

Sena shifted on the couch, pulling one knee up and hugging it loosely. Her gaze drifted toward the hallway again. “It’s cool that you and her dad teach her Spanish though,” she said. “I know some Korean, but not a lot.”

Mireya lifted one hand to her hair and ran her fingers through the base of her ponytail, loosening it enough to relieve the pull on her scalp. The motion brought her hand into the light. Glitter stuck to the side of her palm and the creases of her fingers. Fine, stubborn. She stared at it for a beat, then wiped her palm down the thigh of her leggings, smearing a faint sparkle trail.

“We’re both fluent,” Mireya said. “Didn’t even think about it. Just always talked to her in it.”

Sena nodded, eyes tracking Mireya’s hand, the glitter, the casual way she treated it. She tipped her chin toward the kitchen. “That’s him on the fridge, right?”

Mireya followed the gesture. Mireya’s eyes landed on the fridge and stayed there a fraction.

“That’s him,” she said.

Sena hesitated. “Is it weird I looked him up?” she asked. “After Camila told me all about him playing football?”

Mireya’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. Her gaze stayed on the blank TV screen, black glass reflecting a dim smear of the room.

“As long as you didn’t start fangirling over him,” Mireya said.

Sena laughed, a short sound, and lifted both hands in surrender. “You don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “He’s a good looking guy. But he’s too tall. Not my type.”

Mireya turned her head toward Sena slowly, one eyebrow lifting.

“Too tall?” Mireya asked.

Sena nodded. “Never been a fan.”

Mireya held the stare a beat, then her mouth curved slightly. The room stayed quiet around them, the AC humming softly. Somewhere outside, a car rolled past and the sound faded.

Sena shifted again, the blanket sliding down her lap. Her voice changed, less joking now, still gentle. “Can I ask why you didn’t move to Georgia with him?” she asked. “I don’t know what it means but this website said he’s making like two hundred grand this year.”

Mireya didn’t answer immediately.

Her eyes stayed on the TV screen, the black reflecting her shape and Sena’s beside her, both of them framed by dim light. Her fingers rested on her own knee, still, nails neat. She swallowed once.

Then she spoke, voice even. “That’s probably a question for normal working hours.”

Sena nodded once. “Fair enough,” she said.

She yawned again and started to get up, bracing one hand on the couch cushion. Her joints popped quietly. She dragged the blanket off her lap and folded it once, then stopped.

“Well,” Sena said, voice soft, “let me get out of your hair.”

Mireya’s hand went into the front pocket of her hoodie. The fabric was still warm from her body. Her fingers found a small fold of bills and pulled it out. The cash was creased and flattened from being carried close.

Sena froze mid-stand. Her eyes widened a little, the sleep slipping away.

Mireya peeled off a hundred with her thumb. She flipped it over and fanned out three twenties, then held the money out toward Sena.

Sena stared at it, then at Mireya’s face. “Mireya—”

“You can sleep here if you want,” Mireya said. Her tone stayed casual. “I don’t want you falling asleep driving.”

Sena’s hands hovered, unsure. “I can’t impose,” she said as she took the money.

Mireya didn’t wait for the refusal to finish. She pushed up from the couch, bones cracking slightly as she stood. She started walking toward the hall, one hand already tugging at her hoodie hem. The cropped hoodie lifted as she pulled one arm free, fabric sliding up her ribs. She moved like she was alone.

“As long as you don’t mind potentially seeing me naked when I walk up hungry in two hours,” Mireya said over her shoulder. “I don’t mind.”

Sena looked down at the bills in her hand, then back up. Mireya was already in the kitchen, turned away from the couch, hoodie halfway off one arm. The light from the fridge panel blinked when she opened it. Cool air spilled out. Mireya’s bare back showed, glitter dusting one shoulder blade.

Mireya leaned in and grabbed a bottle of water. The plastic crinkled in her grip. She shut the fridge, continuing down the hall.

Sena watched her a second longer, then exhaled. She shrugged, small.

“Okay,” Sena said, folding the bills carefully and tucking them into her pocket. She laid back down on the couch and pulled the blanket up over her waist again. “If you insist.”

[Captain Canada]

Trell gonna give Cass her long-awaited dirt nap huh. So now Mireya just taking it in the ass now? How low are we going, brudda?

[Sonny]

“They love to fight. It’s in they DNA. That’s why them peckerwoods in the pen always fighting they own.”

The irony of saying that line right after he offered to go “switch” some guys up and then casually talk about killing.

Mireya just being a good friend and coworker now. Doing the dirty work (pun intended)

[redsox907]

interesting that Hayley went to Mireya for that and not Ale, who has openly talked about taking it up the ass and not complaining lmao

we all know she did it

Maria just showing how little she thinks of Mireya now. It isn't even about trying to "save" her daughter anymore or whatever he justification used to be, its purely spite now.

Laney treating Caine like he just another piece of ass got him in his feelings eh?

Blake tripping balls and Rylees new boytoy sees it as an opportunity to get some acid lol Rylee sure picks good ones

Sena gonna peep the work

[Caesar]

Trell gonna give Cass her long-awaited dirt nap huh. So now Mireya just taking it in the ass now? How low are we going, brudda?

There is no proof Mireya did that, sir.

“They love to fight. It’s in they DNA. That’s why them peckerwoods in the pen always fighting they own.”

The irony of saying that line right after he offered to go “switch” some guys up and then casually talk about killing.

Mireya just being a good friend and coworker now. Doing the dirty work (pun intended)

Irony is rife in this story, good sir.

interesting that Hayley went to Mireya for that and not Ale, who has openly talked about taking it up the ass and not complaining lmao

we all know she did it

Maria just showing how little she thinks of Mireya now. It isn't even about trying to "save" her daughter anymore or whatever he justification used to be, its purely spite now.

Laney treating Caine like he just another piece of ass got him in his feelings eh?

Blake tripping balls and Rylees new boytoy sees it as an opportunity to get some acid lol Rylee sure picks good ones

Sena gonna peep the work

Ale wasn't there. But also, you want to do that with your roommate?

No proof

Maybe she feels like there is no saving her anymore and she's washing her hands of her.

Is she?

New guy is a sharp departure from Caine to be sure.

Ms. Rosas was certainly less guarded about what she was doing there.