Social media revealed all, and he took note of the location before he stood to his feet.

“I’m right behind you,” Isa said, already aware that they were about to get into some gunplay.

“I got it,” Messiah shouted over his shoulder. He pushed open the door to the diner with so much force that he cracked it. He hopped on his bike, feeling nothing but pure rage before speeding off.

He was across town in less than 10 minutes. Messiah didn’t know how he had gotten so emotionally invested in Morgan, but he hadn’t been able to take his mind off her since the night at the falls. Most girls oversold themselves. They made promises and talked too much, but Morgan just existed. He felt everything she thought she couldn’t convey, just by the way she looked at him. It was like she pleaded with him to hear her and he did. He just couldn’t reciprocate. It wouldn’t be right. The two of them didn’t make sense; but to see someone hurt her and put it out for the world to see, had him in the mood for murder. Messiah was best avoided when he was in this state of mind. Men had lost their lives for less. He wanted to be angry at Morgan, for putting herself in such a precarious position, but all he could think about was getting to her. What she had endured was punishment enough. The embarrassment, the violation. He knew she would have to walk around their small city with even more judgement than she had on her before. Walking in her shoes couldn’t be easy… he knew it. He walked into the office.

“Lucas Hill’s room. I need the key and I need the number,” Messiah said, as he placed a small knot of hundred-dollar bills wrapped in a rubber band on the countertop.

Flint was a city where everybody knew everybody. He and Lucas had been longtime rivals for years. Messiah was always one step ahead of Lucas, and it had resulted in jealousy that had compounded like interest on a loan. I should have snatched her out the club when I saw her dancing on this nigga, Messiah thought, feeling as though he was part to blame in the way the night had turned out.

The old, white woman at the desk pulled on her Newport, expertly balancing the long ash that had burned out on the end. She blew the smoke toward the ceiling, as she slid the money into her pocket. She didn’t say a word, as she slid him a key card and held up seven fingers.

Messiah rushed out, heading toward the door. He drew his pistol, and then slid the key into the door. The room was empty. The only sign that anyone had even been there at all was the crumpled sheets and empty liquor bottles that were left behind.