She Loved Me, Then Set Me Up

She Loved Me, Then Set Me Up

By Bangarick

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I met Mya on a rainy Friday night outside a hookah lounge on Capitol Drive. She was leaning against a car, red lips, black jacket, looking like danger wrapped in beauty. We talked. She laughed at my sarcasm. Said she liked “quiet hustlers.” I played it cool, but something about her made me drop my guard fast.

Too fast.

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Within weeks, we were inseparable. Mya started spending nights at my crib. She cooked, cleaned, and listened when I talked about wanting to leave the streets for something real. She said she understood. Said she had my back.

I believed her.

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She started asking questions.

“How much you make a week?”

“Where do you keep the real stash?”

“What would you do if someone turned on you?”

I thought she was just curious. Invested. Loyal.

Now I know she was gathering intel.

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I showed her everything.

Where I kept the bread.

Where I bagged the work.

Which one of my guys I didn’t fully trust.

She played her role well.

The perfect down chick. The Bonnie to my Clyde.

Or so I thought.

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One night, she looked at me after we counted up twenty bands and said,

“You ever get tired of this life?”

“Sometimes,” I replied. “But I’m close to being done. Just a few more plays.”

She kissed me on the cheek.

“I just want us to be safe, baby.”

Safe.

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That night, I slept better than usual.

And at 3:34 AM, my world flipped.

Boom!

Doors kicked in. Flashlights. Red dots. Screams.

“DOWN! HANDS UP!”

I froze, not because I was caught—but because the feds knew exactly where to look. The ceiling vent. The kitchen tile. Even the backup burner in the cereal box.

Only Mya knew.

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She was sitting on the couch, crying like she was shocked.

But I saw it in her eyes.

She couldn’t even look at me.

And that’s when I knew.

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They cuffed me up, dragged me out, and left her there, untouched.

I didn’t say a word.

Didn’t snitch.

Didn’t beg.

I just kept thinking…

She played the long game.

Earned my trust. Took my secrets.

And traded me in when it got too real.

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The DA offered me five years.

Could’ve been ten, but I kept my mouth shut.

Still loyal, even when loyalty got me burned.

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Now I’m in this cell. Cold nights. Loud thoughts. Quiet rage.

I scroll through old photos in my mind. Her smiling. Her cooking. Her body wrapped in my sheets.

It wasn’t fake. That’s the messed-up part.

She did love me… for a while.

But when survival kicked in, love wasn’t enough.

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She turned me in to save herself.

Or maybe to cash in.

Or maybe she was working me from the jump.

I’ll probably never know.

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But what I do know is this:

I’ll be out in four years with good behavior.

And when I walk out those gates…

If I ever see Mya again, wearing red, smiling like she did that first night—

She better pray I’ve changed more than she did.

Because betrayal like that?

It don’t get forgiven.

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THE END