Zeke
Saturday | 2:00am
The car smelledof rubber and death lingered just beneath the leather seats. I sat in the back beside Don with my nerves frayed down to the bone. My hands wrung the life out of each other in my lap.
It was raining, soft but steady, tapping against the windshield like a slow countdown. We were parked in a pitch-black alley, hidden behind an abandoned storefront with busted-out windows and spray paint.
I glanced at the man up front. He hadn’t said a word since we got in his car. Every few seconds, he’d lift his cigar to his mouth and then let the smoke drift through the car. leak from his nose. That type of calm came from being really familiar with killing.
“What can I do for you, gentleman?” His Spanish accent was thick.
Don cleared his throat and leaned forward, addressing the hitman like he was placing a fucking lunch order. “You come highly recommended.”
The hitman didn’t look at him. Just pulled his cigar from his lips and flicked the ash against the inside of the cracked window. “I don’t get paid for recommendations,” he said coolly and low. “I get paid for results.”
I exhaled. “Then let’s talk about what the hell it’s gonna take to get this done.”
His eyes finally met ours through the rearview mirror. “Who’s the target?”
“Nyles ‘Nyce’ Richards,” Don answered.
The man let out a low whistle and chuckled. “Nyles ‘Nyce’ Richards,” he dragged that name out like he was savorin’ it. “That’s a tall fucking order. Man moves like a ghost. Hardly ever alone. Has half the city working for him. You’re asking for a miracle.”
“That’s exactly what we’re asking for,” I snapped.
The man asked, “And why do you want him gone?”
I already knew Don’s answer as his voice dropped low, devious. “Because he’s taken everything from me.”
I couldn’t help it. I shook my head, voice rising with bitter exhaustion. “It ain’t just about that. You’reobsessedwith Princess. That’s what this is really about.”
The man leaned back slightly, brows raised, interest piqued. “Princess?”
Don cut his eyes at me, tight-lipped, then turned back to the front seat. “My fiancé.”
“Mydaughter,” I corrected, dry as hell.
He ignored me. “She belongs with me. She was promised. That muthafucka has her under some spell, making her think she can just walk away. Once Nyce is gone, she’ll have no choice but to come back.”
I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. “Jesus Christ.”
The man was still watching us like a cat watches birds from a high perch. Patient. Hungry. “So this is about money, power… and a woman?” he said flatly.
“It’s about what’s mine,” Don hissed.
He let the silence stretch, then flicked his cigar out the window. “You’re both desperate.”“We just need this shit handled,” I snapped.
He nodded slowly. “Five million.”
My head whipped around. “Five… are you out of your goddamn mind?!”
The hitman smirked, like he knew exactly how I’d react. “You want to kill a man like Nyce? That ain’t a drive-by. That’s an operation. It’s gonna take precision and discretion. The price is non-negotiable.”
I looked at Don, fully expecting him to back out, but he didn’t. He pressed the latches on the black briefcase between us, opened it, then slid it toward the center console like he’d been waiting on this moment all his life. “Half now. Half when the job’s done,” he gritted.
The man didn’t even check the contents. He just grabbed the case, clicked it shut, and nodded. “You’ll hear from me.”
I stiffened. “When?”
