“I don’t like to wait.”

“You’ll live,” I answer.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

“You told me to come alone.” My voice is cold and empty, much like how I feel.

“You look like you’ve been crying. I take it he wasn’t too excited about you coming alone. Honestly, I’m surprised he let his girlfriend do his dirty work.”

“What now?” I ask, feeling more and more impatient.

“Now you give me the cash.”

I pull the envelope out of my purse, my hand shaking. It’s almost over, I tell myself. I just hand it over, and everything is done.

“This is everything you made?” he asks, and I feel my blood go cold.

“This is exactly what we owe you,” I answer with a harsh stare.

“I gave you a kilo to sell.”

I don’t answer. Red flags are going off in my head. I need to do something, say something, but I can’t process what is real and what is not real. I just want him to take the money. So, I nod.

“And this is the ten G’s from what you sold? Of the Wicked mix?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” I bark back at him. “You know exactly what this money is for. We owe you ten thousand, so here it is.”

He laughs. “Okay.” He’s toying with me, and my skin feels on edge as I stare at him. Like the gazebo is getting bigger and smaller at the same time.

Quickly, I shove the envelope in his hands and turn to walk away. Behind me, he’s still laughing. Nausea rolls through me like getting toppled over by a large wave in the sea.

“Freeze,” a harsh voice barks from the side of the gazebo.

My heart hammers in my chest. And for a moment, I tell myself that I have nothing to worry about. I’m innocent, just dropping off some money that was owed to a friend.

But I know better.

As the man in black walks toward me, I realize that he doesn’t have a gun pointed at me, but he does have his hand ready like a cowboy during a shoot-out. I stop dead in my tracks and put my hands up slowly. I can see his badge now, hanging on his hip.

And when I look up into his eyes, I realize that I’m not who he was expecting. He’s a good-looking man, in a black shirt and pants with shoulders as broad as Logan’s and tattoos peeking out from his short sleeves. His forehead creases when my eyes meet his. And we share a moment. I don't know if he’s pleading with me or I’m pleading with him.

From the other side of the gazebo, another cop in uniform ambushes me. He grabs my arm abruptly and twists it behind my back.

The young cop in black barks at him. “Easy! She’s not resisting.”

Before I can blink, my hands are in cuffs and tears are pooling in my eyes.