Pick up, pick up, pick up.

RJ’s thoughts ran a mile a minute as he sped through the highway, the speedometer shaking uncontrollably close to the 120 mark. The phone he held to his ear kept replaying the message on the other end, her voice now reduced to a pre-recorded message that told him to leave something after the damn beep.

Special Agent Richard Faulkerson Jr. has dealt with stressful situations before. Hell, his entire existence was a dangerous situation, but nothing compared to the weight he suddenly felt on his shoulders, nor the fear that wrapped and slowly took the breath out of his lungs.

The familiar beep rang in his ear and he gritted his teeth as the frustration kept building inside of him.

“Damn it!” He screamed as he stepped on the gas pedal further. His eyes darting between cars and his phone. “Come on, Meng.”

Drawing in a sharp breath, RJ felt strands of spit hit the back of his throat as he tried to gather his bearings, waiting for the beep.

“Meng! Meng, please pick up your damn phone!” He yelled loudly, as if she’d hear. “What he sent, it wasn’t,” he breathed. “He said that he loved the same woman thrice! I should’ve — ”

His voice shook as he jerked the steering wheel sharply to the right, exiting off the ramp and towards the city. He clutched onto his phone tighter.

“Meng, he’s coming.”

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