The Gangleader's Obsessed with Me

3. Until he gets bored

The day drags by, as usual. A few customers wander in, mostly regulars stopping by to say hello. Mr. Barry leaves at four on the dot, off to tend to his wife like he always does, leaving me to close up at eight. By then, the shop is quiet, the last bit of light fading outside. I'm just grabbing my bag when a shadow falls across the door.

"Uh, Ms. Madden?"

I turn and find a guy standing there—a courier, maybe? Young, with a bike helmet and a paper bag in his hand. My pulse kicks up a little.

"Yes?" I take a careful step back.

He holds out the bag with a casual nod. "I believe this is yours," he says, thrusting it toward me. I accept it cautiously, as he pulls a clipboard from his bag. "Just sign here."

I hesitate. "Did...did they tell you who this is from?"

"They wanted to keep it anonymous," he says simply, no curiosity at all, like people send strangers anonymous packages all the time. Without another word, he hops back on his bike and pedals off into the dusk.

I double-check that the shop is locked up tight, then crawl into my car, gripping the paper bag like it might explode. I hold my breath and open it. Six thick wads of cash tumble out onto my lap, landing with an unceremonious plop.

My heart skips. Six. Thousand. Dollars.

A tiny folded note flutters out after the bills, as if mocking my shock. I unfold it, eyes widening at the single letter scrawled in elegant script:

For any trouble you may be having – S

I stare at the money stacked on my lap, reality hitting me like a slap. This is...blood money. It has to be. And suddenly, every thriller I've ever read about hidden motives and dangerous favors races through my mind.

"Oh my god," I whisper, legs twitching as I let the money slide to the floor, away from me. "Oh my god. This is insane. I have six thousand dollars just—sitting here, like it's a bag of apples..."

My fingers tremble as I start the ignition, but the car purrs to life, smooth as silk. No creaks, no stalling, just a seamless hum. Even the GPS blinks on, perfectly functional. I can feel a strange thrill at the smoothness of the drive, at how...right everything feels. It's absurd, of course, but for a moment, I almost like it.

But no. No, I can't let this get to me. This is serious. This guy—whoever he is—has dropped all this into my life like a bomb, and I don't know what to do with any of it. The car, the money... I need advice. I need James.

I grab my phone and send him a text. Meet me at the McDonald's near your place?

Surprisingly, he replies in under a minute with a begrudging Fine. He'll probably come just to chew me out for the whole car situation.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my pulse as I drive, glancing down at the cash scattered on the floor every so often, feeling equal parts terrified and...something else. A spark of curiosity. The thrill of an answer hanging just out of reach.

What the hell is happening?

###

"James!" I wave him over as he steps in, his eyes narrowing the moment he spots me.

James, a bit shorter than me with spiky black hair, is a master at delivering a good eye roll. He's also Asian and curses me out in his native language whenever I push him too far, which is often. He's been my best friend since I moved here five years ago and is—unfortunately—amazing at his job as my go-to partner in chaos.

"I see you picked a public place so I couldn't murder you," he says, sliding into the seat across from me.

"Smart thinking, right?" I say, flashing him a grin. He gives me a fake smile in return. "But actually, if you could hold off on the manslaughter, I have something...kind of important to tell you."

"Don't tell me you've got another guy bleeding out in your car."

"What? No! Don't be ridiculous." I wave him off. "If that happened, I'd bring him straight to your apartment." He gives me a flat stare as I blow him a kiss. "Anyway, I think our...'friend' has been sending me gifts."

James raises an eyebrow, looking both intrigued and mildly horrified. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." I hesitate, glancing down. "I think he bought me a car."

"A car?" James's eyebrows shoot up, practically disappearing into his hairline.

"And chocolates." I scratch my cheek, avoiding his gaze as he leans back, arms folded.

He lets out a breath, nodding slowly. "Well, I mean, he did ruin your—"

"He also gave me six thousand dollars."

James freezes. His eyes go wide as he quickly looks around, lowering his voice. "He gave you what? Where is it?"

"In the car." I bite my lip, hoping he'll know what to do with this absurd situation.

He stares at me, then shakes his head. "Well...uh...what are you gonna do with it?"

"What am I—" My mouth drops open in disbelief. "You're supposed to tell me!"

"I'm supposed to tell you what to do with your...'mysterious benefactor's' cash?"

"He's not my 'mysterious benefactor,' and his name—or at least his initial—is S."

James raises an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, right. S. Seems like he's paying you back for your 'saving grace.'" His sarcasm is thick, and I groan. "Honestly, he should be paying me."

"Do you want it? You can have it, if it bothers you that much."

"Hell no, I don't want your gang money!"

"Could you please stop putting 'gang' before everything?"

"Um, excuse me," a voice interrupts. We look up to see a McDonald's employee hovering nearby, looking equal parts polite and annoyed. "You can't be here unless you've ordered something. Would you like to place an order?"

James lifts his chin, ready to launch into one of his famous diatribes. "I'm not interested in eating your processed garbage. Actually, I don't even know why she—"

"No, thank you," I cut him off, flashing the employee a tight smile. "We were just leaving."

I grab James by the arm, dragging him outside before he lands us in a defamation lawsuit over Big Macs. We stop beside my car, and his expression shifts as he takes it in.

"Okay, wow," he says, glancing over the gleaming black finish. "I'll admit, this is...nice. Do you even know what kind of car he bought you?"

"Um...a black one?" I mutter, then hesitate. "Wait, is that, like...weird? Do you think he bought me a black car because I'm Black?"

James sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Lorelei, I'm pretty sure he didn't choose the color based on your ethnicity. It's just a common color for cars."

"Mmm." I hum, unconvinced but willing to let it go.

He runs his hand along the hood, nodding in approval. "This man bought you an Audi A8. It just came out this year."

"Wow," I say, nodding slowly, processing the reality of the sleek, top-of-the-line car that's apparently now...mine. "So...about the money..."

James shrugs, looking both baffled and reluctant. "I don't know what you're expecting me to say, Lorelei. Use it to pay some bills? Go shopping? It's six thousand dollars; I'm sure you can think of something."

I shake my head, glancing down. "I wish I could find him," I mumble, a little frustrated. I don't even know why I want to see him again. I just...need to understand.

James scoffs. "Yeah, no. Trust me, the last thing you want to do is get further involved with someone like him."

"Someone like him?"

"A gangbanger, Lorelei," he says flatly. "I don't know...just accept the gifts and wait till he gets bored."

I fall silent, the words echoing in my mind. Wait till he gets bored. As if this whole thing is a fleeting whim of his, something he'll move on from the moment he loses interest.

I glance back at the car, gleaming in the streetlight, a sleek and unsettling reminder that my life has somehow shifted. I should be panicking, running as far from this mess as I can. But there's a part of me, a tiny part, that wonders what it would mean to chase down the answers instead of waiting for them to find me.