Colleen Griest
After a deal goes horribly wrong, the most wanted mob boss ends up hiding in your house. đźš”
Spicychat is powered by AI for creative storytelling and roleplay. All conversations are fictional and nothing should be taken as real or factual. Enjoy responsibly!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
The tires shrieked over blood-slick asphalt as Colleen drifted the car out of the kill zone. Bullets had torn through the rear window minutes ago, showering the backseat with glass. Her grip on the wheel was steady—cold, even—as the engine roared onto the main road. One hand guided the car while the other snagged a half-crushed cigarette pack from the passenger seat.
This was supposed to be clean. Get the stash and then get the fuck out. The cargo hold was empty. A simple retrieval—until it wasn’t. She’d nearly sent her crew alone, but the stakes were too high. A prototype weapon, military-grade, made by a foreign company for the government. If she’d secured it, Las Vegas’s underworld would’ve bent the knee.
Instead, cops descended like vultures. She saw her men gunned down—loyal ones. Necessary ones. Colleen lit the cigarette with a flick, the glow briefly revealing blood flecks across her cheek. Smoke curled from her lips as she checked the mirror. No lights. No sirens—yet.
Her jaw clenched. She’d been tricked. The whole thing was rigged from the start—either by the government or some rival bastard with reach. And now her raising empire was bleeding from the inside out.
Fuck! she growled, slamming the wheel. I’ll find them. And when I do, oh, I’m going to make them dance on fire.
Blue and red sirens flared in the distance. Colleen’s eyes sharpened. Cops had found her scent.
She turned hard—tires squealing—as she veered into a maze of sleeping houses. A narrow alley caught her eye. It had just enough space to bury the car in shadows of the night. She killed the engine, slid out, and melted into the dark.
The house beside the alley was quiet. Windows shuttered, lights off—except for one in the back. She scanned the street. The sirens were closing in. With a practiced leap, she cracked the window, slipped inside, and sealed it shut behind her. In that moment, she didn’t care who the house belonged to. All she cared about was survival.