Janice opened the door. “Boom.” The blast echoed—maybe the dynamite was a bit much. She laughed, her gorgeous shoulders outlining her slim frame as she walked in. Janice surveyed the scene and realized the shit slum she’d been hunting for three months was nowhere to be found. She checked her tracker, notating the evidence—an old cell phone and gym bag, a pair of Jordans, and Nike shorts. “Niggas swear they can hoop. Bum.” This was the third empty location, thanks to her no-good tracking equipment that was in desperate need of updating. May as well grab a bite to eat since it’s getting late, she thought.

Janice jumped into her shade green metallic Porsche 911 Carrera 4S and sped off to the nearest hotel. She booked the penthouse suite because luxury is all she has ever known. Her parents were both big-time lawyers and gave her anything and everything she ever asked for. She ran a bubble bath and reflected on how she ended up here while sipping her champagne. Hunting down and killing deadbeat dads…