“And the second choice?” I whispered, a tear finally breaking free and rolling down my bruised cheek.
Marcus leaned in, his eyes dead and ruthless.
“My guy makes a pillow very comfortable for your old man. And nobody wakes up.”
CHAPTER 4
The diner was perfectly silent, save for the buzzing neon light in the window and the mechanical hum of the refrigerator behind the counter.
I stared down at the phone screen. My father’s chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic pattern. Damon sat in the chair, occasionally tapping his heavy fingers against the metal bedrail.
Fear, cold and absolute, gripped my spine. They had me. I had pushed too hard, and now my helpless father was going to pay the price.
But then my eyes flicked to the top corner of the video.
In my dad’s room, just above the television set, was an old digital wall clock. The glowing red numbers read 8:14 PM.
I slowly glanced at my own wrist. My digital watch read 10:45 PM.
The feed wasn’t live. Damon wasn’t there right now. He had filmed this earlier this evening, before I even showed up at the gym, as an insurance policy. Right now, Damon was probably icing the bruises I gave him in the alley twenty minutes ago.
My father was safe.
The cold fear evaporated, replaced by a blinding, white-hot clarity.
“Okay,” I said, letting my voice shake slightly to sell the performance. I slouched in the booth, burying my face in my hands. “Okay. You win. Don’t hurt him.”
Marcus smirked, exchanging a triumphant look with Coach Harris. “Good girl. See, Harris? I told you she was smart enough to fold when she didn’t have a hand.”
“I just... I need to call my brother,” I said, looking up with tear-filled eyes. “I need to tell him to stop looking. To let it go. If I don't tell him, he’s going to keep digging for the envelope. I don’t want him getting hurt.”
Marcus considered it for a second. “Do it. Put it on speaker. No funny business.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Leo. He answered on the first ring.
“Maya? Are you okay?”
“Leo, it’s over,” I said, keeping my voice thick with fake defeat. “Marcus and Coach Harris are here. They have the key. And they have someone watching Dad.”
“What?” Leo yelled through the speaker.
“It’s done, Leo,” I said. I took a slow breath. “Just go home. Park the Blue Mustang in the garage, and lock the doors. We lost.”
There was a five-second silence on the other end of the line.
“...I understand,” Leo said softly, and hung up.
Marcus smiled, reaching out and grabbing the brass key from the table. “Pleasure doing business with you, Maya. Give my best to your dad.”
He started to slide out of the booth.
“Wait,” I said, dropping the tearful act entirely. My voice was suddenly sharp, echoing loudly in the diner.
Marcus stopped, looking back at me with a frown.
I reached across the table and tapped the screen of the burner phone he had left sitting by my coffee mug. The video paused.