In the bustling metropolis of Dallas, amidst the towering skyscrapers and vibrant streets, a clandestine mission was unfolding. As the evening cast its shadows, Symere boarded a private jet bound for Los Angeles. Accompanying her were her loyal companions Artist, Mizani, Michael, and Chosen, her estranged father who had reluctantly agreed to test her skills.

Their destination was a secluded warehouse on the outskirts of Hollywood, the headquarters of a ruthless drug cartel. The cartel, having heard rumors of Symere's abilities, had summoned her to put her to the ultimate test.

Upon arriving at the warehouse, they were greeted with a cold and hostile reception. The heavily armed guards escorted her inside, where they found themselves facing a formidable group of gang members. Chosen, observing from the sidelines, watched with anticipation.

"I see you all have made it safely." El Diablo emerged from the back.

"Nice to see you again, Diablo."

"Can't say the same. I thought our agreement was to keep Princess on her game. It's been too many attacks I've been hearing about."

"My daughter is not the only target now. Don't hold her accountable for these shootouts."

"I've had enough of your mouth already. She must be put to the test and pass or all bets are off."

Chosen glanced over at Symere seeing the anger that covered her face. He knew his daughter was about to prove Diablo wrong. She was not happy about her mission, it felt like her rookie years all over again.

Forced to deal drugs on the street? It felt like a betrayal, an insult to her intelligence. But when the cartel boss, El Diablo, a man radiating menace in his tailored suit, had sneered about "fragile little lab rats" and "useless academics," Symere had choked down her pride. She had to prove herself.

Artist helped Symere gear up while also giving her a pep talk. He assured her that he wouldn't be too far away. He thought the test was a little weird but Diablo was also a weirdo. 

"Don't screw this up, Symere," Artist whispered, his voice a hushed reprimand.

He stood across the street, his presence a silent shield against the undercurrent of danger. Artist, the crew's leader and her new found friend, was the only person who had stood by her during the argument with El Diablo. He was a tough guy, a seasoned negotiator who'd navigated the criminal underworld for years. He knew the rules, the unspoken language of the game, and he was the only reason they were still breathing.

The cartel had placed a small duffel bag at her feet, filled with shrink-wrapped packets of a substance that smelled strongly of chemicals. It was the latest synthetic designer drug, engineered in their lab, a potent blend designed for maximum profit. She knew the science behind it, its addictive properties, its potential for destruction. But here, on this sun-scorched corner, the science felt irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the grim reality of the transaction, the exchange of money for misery.

Symere tried to be inconspicuous, blending into the background noise of the street. But her white linen dress, a reminder of her sophisticated world, seemed to scream out her inexperience of dealing. She had to admit, this wasn't her usual type of work.

When a beat-up Chevrolet pulled up, its occupants sporting gold chains and a disdainful air, Symere felt panic rising in her chest. She wanted to call out to Artist, to escape this charade, to disappear back into the sanctuary of Diablo's lab. But El Diablo's words, his sneering challenge, echo in her ears.

Artist's voice, calm and reassuring, broke through the haze of her fear. "You know your stuff. This is just a conversation. A business transaction. Don't let them see you panic."

His words gave her a sliver of strength. It was a business transaction. She knew the product, knew its value, knew the game. Slowly, she calmed her trembling hands, her voice a steady whisper as she negotiated the price, the quantity, the details.

She watched the shadows lengthen across the street. The sun dipped below the horizon, the air cooling, the streetlights casting an eerie glow on her surroundings. Her eyes darted across the street, searching for Artist, finding him unmoving, a statue of vigilance, his gaze unwavering. His presence, a silent promise of safety, was her lifeline.

As the night deepened, the flow of customers slowed, replaced by the chilling emptiness of the deserted street. Symere felt a strange sense of accomplishment. She had completed the task, the transaction, the impossible, proving herself to El Diablo. She had earned his respect, a bitter victory forged in the crucible of fear and deceit.

"You did it, mama!" Artist pulled her into a hug.

"I was so nervous. I've never had to deal drugs to people, I just handled them. I have to give it to y'all, y'all are tough."

"You got it in you and with that attitude, I don't know why you were so scared. I'm proud of you, brat."

"You know, you aren't that bad. Thank you for having my back." She slightly bumped him.

"Regardless of how I felt, I would've protected you anyways."

Walking back to the hotel, a hollow echo of accomplishment ringing in her head, she glanced at Artist. His face was etched with exhaustion, the weight of the night reflected in his weary eyes. He was a warrior, a guardian, a shield against the darkness. He had risked everything for her, for the team, for their shared mission.

They finally reached the hotel room. Symere collapsed onto the bed, the weight of the day finally catching up with her. As she dozed, the words of El Diablo resonated in her mind, "This is just the beginning." She knew he was right. The world of the cartel was a dark, insidious web, and she had just taken her first step into its treacherous embrace.

"Sy!" Artist snapped his fingers awakening her from her sleep.

"What?!" She whined.

"I was tryna feed yo lil ugly ass but never mind."

"Wait! I was hoping you'd asked, I'm  too tired to go get anything."

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by the shrill sound of his phone. A mischievous grin spread across his lips as he recognized the caller ID: Morgan.

"Hey, gorgeous." Artist answered in a playfully seductive tone.

"Artist, baby!" Morgan purred into the receiver, "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Artist's mind raced as he tried to decipher Morgan's true motives. He knew she was a master of manipulation, using her allure to gain whatever it was she desired.

"I've missed you too, baby." He replied, his voice dripping with feigned affection. "When I'm back in town, we definitely need to set up a date."

Artist watched as Symere rolled her eyes causing him to stifle his laugh.

Morgan let out a delighted squeal. "Oh, Artist, you're so sweet! I can't wait!"

A pang of jealousy coursed through Symere as she witnessed the flirtation between her new found friend and the manipulative Morgan. It seemed like she couldn't have two seconds with Artist before Morgan started blowing up his phone.

As Morgan hung up the phone, Artist turned his attention to Symere. He approached her cautiously, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and trepidation. "I'm sorry you had to hear that." He whispered.

Symere's lips parted slightly, but no words escaped. Her eyes held a storm of emotions, but she refused to let them show.

"I'm not upset. Are we still going to eat or not?"

"Only if you stop being mad at Tizz bae." He smirked.

Tizz bae was a nickname Sy gave Artist. She thought it was playful and friendly on her end. However, Mizzy made it seem like it was more than what it is.

"Well, if Tizz bae listened to me the first time, I wouldn't be mad at him." She folded her arms.

The two started at each other with blank faces before they bursted into laughter.

"We play too much."

"Way too much!"

***
DON'T KILL ME! 😭

I know it's been a longgggg time but I have my reasons! 😭

First week of June, I went on a cruise. Something crazy happened on there that stressed me out so bad that had made me be in a funk.

Couldn't eat or sleep and had no motivation to write.

But now I'm back for real this time! I owe yall A LOT of chapters 😭 so if I don't update quick enough feel free to come back and get on my ass!

Until next time, here's a short chapter. 🤍