“From today’s run,” I say.
He doesn’t move to count it. Just nods once. “Good. Sales are holding?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “With exams coming up, the Adderall’s moving fast. Kids don’t even blink at the price.”
Victor grins, the kind of grin that makes my skin crawl. “See? You’ve got a good head for business. Just like your old man.”
I hate when he says that.
He taps ash into an empty beer can, squints at me. “Why the rush, huh? You look like you’re about to sprint outta here.”
I shove my hands in my jacket pockets. “It’s… today. Jamie’s mom. The anniversary. They’re doing something at The Crest.”
For a second, Victor’s face softens. It’s rare. “Ah. Right. I forgot it was around this time.” He takes a long drag, exhales slow. “She was a good woman. Too good for that family.”
I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak.
The Crest always closes early on this day. They put out candles, her favorite song list plays low through the speakers, and everyone pretends it’s not a wake disguised as a celebration. Jamie drinks too much whiskey and laughs too loud, and I stay close enough to make sure he doesn’t start a fight.
Victor reaches for another beer, pops the cap with the edge of his ring. “Before you run off, I might need you to do a little job for me.”
My stomach curls tight. “What kind of job?”
He smirks. “Babysitting.”
That word again. Babysitting never means what it sounds like.
I force a laugh. “Who am I supposed to babysit?”
“You remember Marano?”
I blink, then shake my head automatically until the memory slams into me like a punch. Vince Marano. The accountant. The hammer. The blood. Rico’s laughter echoing off the walls.
Yeah, I remember.
I swallow down the bile. “What about him?”
Victor takes a lazy sip of his beer. “You remember I said he was skimming off me? Well, I found out who he was working with. Took a bit of digging, but rats always leave trails.”
My mouth feels dry. “And?”
Victor’s eyes glint like glass under the light. “Turns out, the bastard had someone helping him on the outside. Matthew Ashford.”
My spine goes cold.
“Beat Matthew up in the pen to loosen his tongue,” Victor continues. “So the coward pulled some strings to get himself transferred to another prison. Figures, right? But that doesn’t mean I’m done. I want leverage. You remember the daughter, yeah?”
For a second, everything in me stops.
I shouldn’t ask. I already know, but the words slip out anyway. “Who are we talking about?”
Victor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, spits onto the floor. “The girl you kidnapped. The red car.”
The room tilts. I see her face again—blindfolded, shaking, whispering prayers she thought we couldn’t hear.
Chloe.
He keeps talking, oblivious. “Seems Ashford only responds to fear. So we’re going to remind him what that feels like. Word is the girl is at your university now. You’re going to keep tabs on her. Patterns, classes, friends, all of it. Bring me something useful.”
