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 and finding 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. “You said it was a one-time thing. I said 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.”
Stomach churning, he almost vomited. He didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit.
Diego continued, unfazed by the panic crawling up Andy’s spine. “We just want you to get in, change where the funds go, and push a withdrawal. Simple.”
His mouth went dry, and his chest tightened. “That’s... that’s stealing!” he spat out as if the three dirtbags were clueless. Then again, maybe he was the clueless one, pointing out the obvious crime to a bunch of drug dealers.
“Relax,” Diego said, chuckling. “Crypto moves all the time. Nobody’s gonna notice right away. By the time they do, it’s already gone. Besides, you already proved you can get in and out without leaving fingerprints. Who’s gonna know?”
“No.” Andy shook his head so hard, it was a surprise it didn’t fly off his neck. “No way. That’s—that’s illegal. Really illegal.”
Diego’s smile faded a fraction. “So? You worried about getting caught?”
“Yes! Obviously!”
“Then don’t get caught.”
Andy just stared at him, stunned—because of course that’s what Diego would say, like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“I’m not doing it,” he repeated.
Silence stretched, sharp enough to cut.
Then Diego stepped even closer, so close that the stench of cigarettes couldn’t cover his foul breath. Dark coarse whiskers peeked out of the pores along his jawline and upper lip. He didn’t lift a hand, didn’t raise his voice, but the threat settled between them like a dropped blade.
“Listen.” The word was said softly. Too softly. “You’re smart. Really smart. You made the other day look easy, which is why I picked you for this. Not one of my guys. You.”
“That’s not a compliment,” Andy muttered, but it came out thin and weak.
