“Get in,” he said. Messiah was up and coming. After his partner had been murdered in cold blood, Messiah had stepped into a position of power, taking over a cocaine operation that ran half the city. Not only was he moving weight, but he wasn’t afraid to lift anything of value that came into town. He often sought guidance from Ethic. She would catch him at Ethic’s body shop, sitting for hours, as they read The Wall Street Journal and Ethic taught Messiah about stocks and bonds. She had seen him around town with different women, but none of them seemed to stick around long. She was just waiting to turn 18, so that she could shoot her shot. He could have his pick of any woman in the city. He’s not checking for me, she thought. “Pretty girl,” he said, as he snapped his fingers to jolt her out of her reverie. “Quit daydreaming and get in. I got to shoot you all the way out to Grand Blanc, before I go handle this business,” he said.

She nodded, as he opened the door for her and she stumbled into the car. She knew if she walked into Ethic’s house drunk and high, he would overreact and she sighed at the thought of the argument that was to come. He thinks he’s my father, Morgan thought. When Messiah slid into the driver’s seat, she turned toward him.

“Can you at least give me a few hours to sober up?” she signed.

She could see the confusion on his face, but he was too polite to ask her what she was trying to say. She grabbed his phone from the cup holder of the Range Rover and called herself so that his number would pop up on her screen. She denied the call and then opened a text message.

If I walk in the house like this, Ethic will kill me. Can we go somewhere for like an hour, so I can sober up?

He read the text and sighed, before swiping a hand over his full beard. “Yeah, alright,” he said, as he put the car in drive and maneuvered his way through the crowded parking lot. Morgan rolled down her window. She didn’t mind all the gawking women, looking at her in shock, as she rode shotgun next to Messiah. All his groupies were present, and she knew leaving the club with him would cause nothing but speculation.

“I’m not a catch, shorty. You brag about the good boys. I’m the type you keep a secret,” he said, honestly. If only you knew, Morgan thought, as she bit her bottom lip. She felt privileged just to have her hips spreading in those buttery leather seats.

They rode through the city and Morgan wondered if Messiah was as comfortable in the silence as she was. Silence was all that existed for her, but she hoped it wasn’t awkward for him.