Samara woke up to the dull buzz of her phone vibrating against the nightstand. She groaned, rolling onto her back, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as the early morning light seeped through the curtains. Kamala lay beside her, still deep in sleep, one arm draped over her waist.
Yawning, Samara reached for her phone and squinted at the screen.
Howard University Student Portal – Urgent Notification
Her stomach dropped. She sat up, wiping her eyes again, and opened the app.
A warning notice flashed across the screen.
You have been marked for immediate eviction due to non-payment. You have until 12:00 PM to vacate your dorm before authorities are contacted.
Her breath hitched, and her hands moved faster than her mind, swiping away the notification to get to the payment portal.
And there it was.
The housing payment method had been canceled. The reason? The card on file had been closed.
She swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her tuition loans were still accruing—unfortunately, no one had cut those off—but those she could handle later. For now, she needed to pay this.
Sliding out of bed as quietly as she could, she padded over to her bag, grabbing her own card and quickly entering the details. She barely blinked at the amount that drained from her account.
The screen refreshed. Payment Successful.
Samara exhaled sharply, leaning forward against the kitchen table, her palms pressing into the surface as she steadied herself.
Her mother had really done it. She had actually done it.
A warm presence pressed up behind her, and Kamala's lips landed on her cheek in a soft kiss.
"What's wrong?" Kamala murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
Samara let out a humorless chuckle. "Might as well have." She straightened up, turning to face Kamala. "My mother really cut my housing payment. I just got the notification this morning that I was about to be evicted if I didn't pay."
Kamala's brows furrowed. "Damn... did you?"
Samara nodded. "Yeah. Just now."
Kamala let out a relieved sigh. "Good." Then, after a beat, she tilted her head. "What time do you need to be on campus?"
Samara ran a hand through her hair, checking the time on her phone. "I've got Performance Arts at ten, so I've got some time."
Kamala's lips curled into a small smile. "You want breakfast?"
Samara perked up instantly, but a devious glint flickered in her eyes. She cocked her head slightly.
"... Have you ever smoked before?"
Kamala arched a brow, smirking. "What, you think I'm a loser?"
Samara laughed, shaking her head. "Just checking." Then she turned on her heel and disappeared upstairs, returning a few moments later with two joints and a lighter in hand.
Kamala took one look at them and chuckled, shaking her head. "You're lucky I don't have morning classes."
—
Siobhan woke up to an empty apartment. The quiet felt off, like something was missing.
She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and sat up, stretching before glancing toward the living room. No Troy.
Her stomach twisted.
Swinging her legs over the bed, she got up and made her way to the kitchen, where a crumpled piece of paper sat on the counter. She snatched it up, her eyes scanning the sloppy, barely legible writing.
Took your car. Probs gonna fuck it up. Ain't drove in a minute.
Be back later. Or not. Don't call me.
Siobhan froze.
Her car.
That man had just gotten out of prison, and he took her car.
Her grip on the paper tightened as irritation curled through her. Her first instinct was to call his ass, cuss him out, tell him to bring her damn car back now. But then she remembered.
He didn't even have a phone.
She stood there, seething for a solid minute, before finally grabbing her own phone and dialing the only number that made sense.
911.
The operator picked up. "911, what's your emergency?"
Siobhan exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Yeah, my dumbass father just stole my car."
—
Troy sat in the driver's seat, his knee bouncing as he unwrapped his third McDonald's burger.
He stole fifty bucks from Siobhan's wallet before taking the car, figured he might as well eat good while he waited.
He'd been sitting in the campus parking lot since noon. It was now three.
Three hours.
Three hours of cussing out two security guards who tried to tell him he couldn't park there. Three hours of mean-mugging students as they walked past, trying to see if any of them were Samara.
They weren't.
He ripped into the burger, chewing aggressively as frustration simmered beneath his skin. 'Where the hell was she?' 'She took law classes, right?'
He was ready to leave, to tear out of that lot and figure out another way to handle this, when he saw her.
And for a moment, he froze.
There she was. Laughing. Smiling.
Walking between an older woman and another girl about her age.
Troy clenched his jaw. She looked happy.
Too happy.
He'd spent years trying to force his presence into her life. Years trying to shape her into something that would reflect him, something he could call his own.
And it had never worked. Her mother would let him get that close. Neither would she.
Looking at her now, he saw the truth: Samara was her own person. She had every right to refuse helping him.
She never needed him. Never loved him. Never remembered him until all of this shit happened. She never wanted him, knew him, or cared.
The only reason he was even a factor in her life was because her mother attempted, and failed, to beg her to represent him at his hearing.
She walked past the car, not noticing him.
The other girl, Tazara, he figured, didn't either.
But the older woman did.
Her eyes went wide as she caught sight of him, shock, fear, and anger flashing across her face.
Her hand instinctively gripped Samara's waist, her other arm pushing Tazara ahead, muttering something under her breath.
They picked up their pace, moving quickly, never looking back.
Troy cursed under his breath. He'd been caught. He started the car and peeled out of the lot. In the rearview mirror, he saw them—standing there, watching him go.
But he wasn't done yet.
He drove off, pulling into a spot out of view. And he waited. For a long time, nothing.
Then, finally—A car crawled out of the parking lot and onto the main road.
He saw them inside.
Samara and the older woman.
Kamala.
Troy smirked to himself as he shifted gears and followed them.
At a distance.
Unnoticed.
—
Kamala's knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
She hadn't spoken since she shoved Samara into the car, since she told Tazara to go back to her dorm, lock the door, and call the police. To tell law professor had advised them to report the incident, even if they were already gone.
Now, they were driving.
And Kamala was silent.
Her eyes darted between the rearview and side mirrors, her breath coming in ragged and labored. Her foot hovered dangerously over the gas pedal, threatening to slam down at any second.
Samara watched her for a moment before finally breaking the silence.
"What's going on?"
Kamala exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel tighter.
"Troy was outside. In a car." Her voice was clipped, rushed.
"He was staring at us. He knows where we are. And I'm afraid he's following us right now."
Samara turned her head, glancing at the mirrors, but there was no panic in her eyes.
Oddly enough, she wasn't afraid. He expected fear. Expected her to cry, to beg, to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had power over her.
But he didn't.
Neither did her mother.
She had already shed her tears, torn herself apart over them.
She wasn't going to curl up into a ball and wait for the world to come crashing down on her.
Instead, Samara sat back, arms crossed.
"Let him."
Kamala's head whipped toward her in disbelief.
"I don't owe him a damn thing," Samara continued, voice firm. "And I am nothing like him."
Kamala huffed, shaking her head. "You talk big, but you forget something." She glanced at Samara, arching a brow.
"You weren't the one who went to your mother's house to get a gun and brought it all the way to D.C."
Samara smirked. "I know. But lucky for me, I've got my big, strong girlfriend with her big, strong gun to protect me."
Kamala rolled her eyes, but a small, tired chuckle slipped out.
The moment was short-lived. As she pulled up outside her home, a car rolled up behind them–parking at a distance. Kamala sighed. She turned to Samara before unlocking the doors.
"Here's what's gonna happen." Her voice was low, urgent. "We're gonna go inside and sit for a while. Make it seem like we don't know he followed us. Then you're gonna go out back, hop the fence—"
Samara made a face. "Oh my God—"
"And hopefully not bust your ass like last time."
Samara shot her a glare. "That's not funny."
Kamala smirked but kept going.
"You're gonna hop the fence, get to your car, drive straight back to campus, and lock yourself in your dorm. Stay with Tazara. No matter what."
Samara hesitated. "And what about you?"
Kamala smirked, cracking her knuckles. "I'm not scared of some limp-dick felon."
Samara visibly shuddered. "I don't even wanna imagine that—"
"It's public info, baby," Kamala said matter-of-factly. "Man tried to take somebody's booty in prison, and when it didn't work out, the guy told the press, how I don't know, but they got transferred, and aired out all his business. Even said Troy threatened to kill him for calling him a limp dick."
Samara blinked. "I—" Samara didn't put it past him
Kamala smirked, unbuckling her seatbelt.
"Anyway. You ready?"
Kamala and Samara stepped out of the car, moving with a forced casualness, their voices light with fake banter.
Samara didn't look back.
Kamala, however, kept her eyes moving.
They made it inside without issue, heading straight for the kitchen. Kamala turned to Samara, expression tense but steady.
"Be safe. Don't do anything stupid. Just get in the car and go, no matter what."
Samara nodded.
She took a quiet breath before opening the back door and slipping into the yard.
The cold air hit her skin as she moved carefully, creeping along the side of the house. When she reached the gate, she pressed against it, peering through the gaps.
Then the doorbell rang.
Samara froze.
A few seconds passed before she heard Kamala's voice, calm.
Then another voice.
His voice.
"Samara Jordan here?"
Kamala didn't miss a beat. "No."
Silence.
Then laughter.
A yelp.
The door slamming.
Samara's heart jumped.
"No matter what"
She turned, gripping the fence. It was taller than she liked, and her first attempt was shaky—but this time, she didn't fall.
She landed on her feet.
She grinned, fist-pumping in a tiny victory— Then crashing. Banging.
Her stomach twisted. Shit. Her first instinct was to run back. But Kamala's voice echoed in her head.
Just get in the car and go.
So she ran.
She got in, started the engine, and pulled off—but not before she saw the front door swing open.
And there Troy stood.
Gun in hand.
A deep, nasty claw mark ran down the middle of his face, over his eyes, nose, and lips.
Samara's breath caught.
"Come back here!" he roared.
But in the rearview, she saw Kamala launch onto his back.
One arm wound tight around his throat, choking him. Her Glock smashed into the top of his head, again and again.
Her legs wrapped around his arms, keeping him from aiming.
And she had no shoes on.
She looked insane as they staggered backward into the house, locked in a violent struggle.
Then—Samara lost sight of them.
But she didn't stop driving.
Kamala swung the door open, jaw tight.
Troy stood on the other side, shoulders broad, gaze dark and searching.
"Samara Jordan here?"
Kamala didn't flinch. "No."
Silence.
Then, a slow, cruel laugh.
Before Kamala could react, he shoved past her.
She yelped, stumbling back as the door slammed shut behind him.
Troy stalked through the house, tearing through her things, knocking pictures off the walls, sending books and papers flying off tables.
"Where is she?!" he bellowed.
Kamala pushed herself up, her heartbeat hammering as she chased after him. "Get the fuck out of my house?!"
He ignored her.
He stormed up the stairs, throwing doors open, ripping through closets, yanking sheets off beds, kicking over chairs.
Kamala clenched her fists.
Then, he spotted it.
Samara's bag. Sitting by the front door. He started down the stairs.
Troy's lips curled into a grin as he snatched it up, unzipping it and rummaging through the contents.
School ID. Wallet. Her phone. Little things Samara needed.
He shoved what he wanted into his pockets. Phone. Wallet.
Kamala still hadn't stopped him. Not because she was scared.
Because she was calling 911. Her voice was calm.
"Yeah, hi, I have a bald, ugly Black man who just barged into my house and started wrecking shit. He's stealing in front of me. Has a gun. Name's Troy Harper."
Troy's head snapped up.
She put the call on speaker.
"Ma'am," the operator said. "We've received multiple calls about him tonight. Officers are en route. Please get to safety."
Troy's lip curled.
Kamala arched a brow. Daring him.
Then—A car engine.
Troy's head jerked toward the front window. He threw the door open. Samara. Driving away.
"Come back here!" he roared, drawing his gun.
But before he could fire, Kamala was on him, screaming in his ear.
"I told you—"
Her arms wrapped around his throat.
"I ain't letting you hurt her!"
Her Glock crashed into the top of his skull.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Troy staggered.
Kamala held on tight. Legs around his arms, keeping him from aiming.
They tumbled backward—
Into the house.
Kamala slammed into the wall with a grunt.
The moment her grip loosened, Troy ripped free.
He spun.
Gun pointed.
Right at her chest.
Kamala froze.
Then, by the grace of god, sirens came blaring. Troy's eyes widened. He turned and bolted for the back door. Kamala shoved herself up, groaning, watching as he hit the yard.
He ran for the fence
Tried to hop it
And face-planted straight into the same bush Samara had. Kamala snorted. Troy groaned, pushing up, showing his age as he struggled over the fence with all the grace of a drunk uncle. Kamala stumbled out onto the front porch, chest heaving.
Red and blue lights flooded the street.
Cops swarmed her yard.
One rushed forward. "Ma'am, are you hurt?"
Kamala waved him off. "I just got the wind knocked outta me."
The officer insisted she get checked out anyway, leading her toward the ambulance as the rest pushed into her house, guns drawn, shouting for Troy to surrender.
Kamala exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her ribs.
Her whole body ached.
But she had no regrets.
She let them do what they wanted. Troy was long gone, and her house was already wrecked—at least now, someone else would have to clean up the mess.
But as she stood there, catching her breath, letting them poke and prod at her, she could feel the weight of their stares.
Skeptical. Searching.
The cops weren't saying anything yet, but she knew how this worked. She'd jumped on his back. Put her hands on him first. That was the part they'd latch onto. So she shifted. Straightened. Slipped into her legal mind. She wasn't reckless. She wasn't the aggressor. She was a woman defending her home.
And as they stepped closer ready to spew their questions, she lifted her chin, voice steady.
"I only fought back after he pulled his gun. I wasn't about to let him shoot my friend. Or me."
Let them pick holes in that.
—
Samara sat on her bed, her leg bouncing anxiously as Tazara paced the length of their dorm room, arms crossed, face tight with frustration.
"How the hell did you leave your phone and ID behind?" Tazara finally snapped, spinning around to glare at her.
Samara groaned, rubbing her face. "I was in a rush! Kamala told me to go, so I went. I didn't exactly have time to double-check my pockets."
Tazara shook her head, muttering under her breath as she went to her drawer, yanked it open, and pulled out a spare key. She tossed it to Samara.
"Use that until you get your stuff back."
Samara caught it, giving her a grateful look, but before she could say anything, Tazara's phone rang.
Kamala.
Tazara picked up, but before she could even get a word out, Samara snatched the phone from her hands.
"Are you okay?!" Samara blurted, panic clear in her voice.
Tazara rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck.
Kamala let out a tired chuckle. "Put me on speaker." Samara did as told, holding the phone between them.
"Troy took your phone and wallet, but, lucky for us, when his dumb ass tried hopping the fence, he dropped the wallet.= when he busted his ass, but he made off with your phone..."
Samara let out a sharp breath of relief. "Do you have it?"
"Thankfully yes. The cops didn't find it, so I snatched it before they did, and could take it for evidence and freeze all your cards."
Samara groaned. "You're a lifesaver."
Kamala snorted. "I almost got shot, but yeah, sure, let's focus on that. Honestly? No regrets. I feel alive. I haven't had an adrenaline rush like that since that one law professor tried to come for me in a debate and got cooked."
"Okay old lady!" Tazara joked
Samara laughed. Tazara just shook her head.
"Okay, but what do we do now?" Tazara asked. "We're basically trapped in here since we don't know where Troy is—"
"Hang on." Kamala's voice cut her off. "This horse-faced whore just walked onto my lawn."
Samara and Tazara exchanged a look.
They could hear Kamala moving, her footsteps crunching against the grass as she approached whoever it was.
Then—her voice, sharp with irritation.
"Siobhan, what the hell are you doing here? And what the hell is wrong with you and your crazy-ass dad?! First, you pistol-whip Tazara, now your dad basically tries to kill me, and is playing duck hunt with Samara"
Through the phone, Siobhan snapped, "Shut the hell up. I'm not here for you or Samara. My car was stolen. The cops called and told me it was here."
Then, from the other end of the line, Tazara yelled—
"That's the one who pistol-whipped me! I, Tazara Mac, was pistol-whipped by Siobhan harper, and whatever cop is standing there better arrest her, because I know damn well there's a warrant out for her ass!"
A beat of silence.
"Fuck you bitches!" Siobhan yelled, then Kamala burst out laughing.
"Oh shit, she's running!" Kamala gasped between laughs. "They're chasing her down! hang on—"
Samara and Tazara could hear the commotion through the speaker—cops yelling, feet pounding, Siobhan screeching something unintelligible.
"I want her car from out front, my house?!" Kamala yelled, adding to the commotion
Then more noise.
Then a new voice, firm and authoritative, cut in.
"Her vehicle is being taken to the pound."
A pause.
'Siobhan Harper has been apprehended.' Samara's jaw dropped. Tazara let out a smug, satisfied hum. Kamala picked up the phone again, still chuckling.
"I'll call you back."
The line went dead.
—
Troy banged on the door like a man possessed.
"Open the damn door!"
It took a few seconds before the lock clicked, and the door swung open. Daniel stood in the doorway, brows raised, lips already curling into a smirk.
"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."
Troy shoved past him without a word, knocking Daniel slightly off balance.
"Rude," Daniel muttered, shutting the door. "Where's Siobhan?"
Troy threw himself onto the couch, legs spread wide, head tipping back against the cushions. "I don't fucking know."
Daniel's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't push. Instead, he moved to perch on the armrest, fingers idly tracing the seam of his jeans. "You look like shit, babe," he cooed with a small smirk.
Troy ignored him, reaching for the remote. He clicked on the TV, flipping through channels mindlessly, until something familiar caught his eye.
Siobhan's mugshot. His grip on the remote tightened.
On-screen, a polished news anchor was in the middle of her report:
—arrested for breaking into Howard University dormitories, forcefully entering a student's room, and assaulting them with a firearm. The victim, identified as Tazara Mac, is a pre-law student at Howard and is currently recovering from the attack. Authorities have reason to believe that Siobhan Harper and her father, Troy Harper, were working together in an attempt to murder Mac's roommate, Samara Jordan, a student and witness in a case that led to Troy Harper's murder conviction.
Troy's jaw clenched. "Little shit wasn't, no witness" he muttered
Harper was recently released on parole but has failed to check in with his assigned officer. Officials warn that he is armed and dangerous. If seen, citizens are urged not to approach and to contact authorities immediately. Siobhan Harper is currently being held until charges are filed.
Troy shut off the TV with a sharp click, the room plunging into silence.
Daniel hummed, tilting his head. "Well, that's not good, is it?"
Troy tossed the remote aside, then let himself sink further into the couch. "If you call the cops," he muttered, "I'll kill you."
Daniel tsked, rolling his eyes.
"Relax, sweetheart. I wouldn't do that to you." He pushed himself up, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. "But I am gonna go bail out my girl. Lord knows, she's useless in a holding cell, she knows where our lease papers are."
He grabbed his purse, slinging it over his shoulder with a dramatic flourish.
"Try not to get yourself killed while I'm gone." And with that, he sauntered out the door. Troy exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling.
He was going to get her ass, one way or another.
—
Samara and Tazara were practically in tears, doubled over with laughter as Kamala recounted the news interview she'd just given.
"And then—oh my god—then the reporter asks me if I felt safe now that Siobhan was caught, and I just looked her dead in the eye and said, 'no because her dad I had to stop from shooting from someone is still out there, the unhinged folk is out and y'all not stopping them"
Tazara wheezed, clutching her stomach. "Not unhinged folk!"
Samara wiped at her eyes. "You are messy for that, oh my god."
Kamala smirked, leaning back on her pillows. "I had to say it."
They laughed again before the energy started to settle, the weight of everything that had happened creeping back in. Tazara exhaled and shook her head.
"You know," she said, stretching her arms above her head, "I don't even know why I said I was pressing charges. I am kinda butt hurt that I got pistol-whipped, but like... I don't care that badly."
Kamala and Samara immediately looked at her like she'd grown a second head.
"No, screw that," Kamala said.
Samara nodded. "You should be pressing charges. If it weren't for kam, I could be dead right now."
Tazara sighed, clearly unmoved. "Nah, I'm just gonna get the charges dropped."
Samara rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, before pushing off the bed and flopping onto her own. Kamala shook her head but didn't push further.
"Well, I'll leave y'all to that. Have a good night," she said, standing up and stretching.
"Try to track Samara's phone, maybe he dumped it somewhere."
Samara groaned. "Already shut it off and backed everything up. I'll just go get a new one tomorrow."
Kamala tsked. "Hurry up and do it, actually go tonight, I don't want anything happening to either of you because you don't have a phone."
Samara smirked. "Aw, you care."
"Be quiet and go get a new phone"
The line went dead.
Tazara watched her go, then turned to Samara. "She definitely cares."
Samara just smiled.
January 17th