He bounced on the balls of his feet, scanning the cracked asphalt while checking the time. Every second stretched longer than it should. The air smelled like hot pavement and old oil. A single cicada buzzed in a tree nearby, loud enough to make his nerves spike.
The whole situation was stupid—meeting a gang member like it was an everyday occurrence. He shouldn't be there.
“Screw the money,” he muttered and reached for the bike. But when an engine rumbled in the distance, growling louder with every heartbeat, he knew it was too late to flee.
His breath hitched.
A brand new, four-door black Charger rolled into the lot—not fast, just slow and controlled like it belonged there. The sun caught the windshield at the wrong angle, throwing a glare that made Andy squint.
The muscle car came to a stop in front of him, and the engine revved once before cutting off. A few long quiet moments passed—just enough to make Andy’s pulse thud in his ears.
Then three of the doors opened.
Diego climbed out of the driver’s seat, wearing the same smirk Andy remembered from that awful night inthe alley. The smirk of a guy who’d already counted the deck and knew he couldn’t lose.
Simultaneously, Toad and Jax slid out of the car, too, each flanking Diego like they were his personal bodyguards. Shoulders loose. Hands empty. Eyes mean.
Andy’s sneakers suddenly seemed glued to the pavement.
“Look who showed,” Diego said, spreading his arms like they were buddies meeting up for a cookout. Too casual. Too welcoming. “Didn’t think you’d actually have the balls.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Andy managed. His voice was mostly steady. Mostly.
“Yeah,” Diego drawled, giving him a long, amused once-over. “You are.”
He tried to hide the fact that his knees shook. He wished he’d biked slower, or faster, or not at all. Every option felt wrong now that he was actually standing in front of Diego.
The guy reached into the pocket of his baggy jeans and pulled out a small envelope. He tossed it lazily—almost bored—in Andy’s direction. It fluttered through the air, and Andy fumbled it, barely catching it before it hit the pavement.
It had weight to it. Too much to be five hundred-dollar bills. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying them any attention before opening it andfinding a thick wad of twenties—crumpled, used, and untraceable.
Dirty money for a dirty job.
Stuffing the envelope into the pocket of his jeans, Andy swallowed hard. “That’s it, right? We’re done?”
Diego looked at him for a long moment.
Then he barked out a laugh. The brutal sound caused the hair on the back of Andy’s neck to stand up.
“Kid,” Diego said with a grin, “we’re never just done.”
Andy’s stomach dropped. Hard. His fingers dug into his palms to the point of pain.
He did his best to speak without stuttering. “You said it was a one-time thing.”
“No,” Diego corrected, wagging a finger. “Yousaid it was a one-time thing.Isaid I had a job.” His vile grin sharpened. “Today, I’ve got another.”
A cold, buzzing tension crawled across his skin, like static gathering under his clothes. He couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid he’d been. How he should have blocked Diego the second he hung up. How he should never have touched his keyboard that night.
“I’m not doing anything else.” Sweat rolled down his face, and it had nothing to do with the summer sun. “I just helped with the IP thing, okay? That’s all I’m doing.”
Diego sighed, as if Andy were a toddler refusing to eat his vegetables. “Don’t be dramatic. This next one’s not even complicated. An in-and-out job.”
His throat tightened. “What kind of job?”
The gang leader stepped closer. Too close. Andy had to fight the instinct to back up or turn around and run. He didn’t want to look scared even though his knees were ready to fold.
“There’s this crypto account,” Diego said. “Belongs to a guy who doesn’t watch it the way he should. Uses one of the big exchanges. Keeps his money parked there.”
