Ricky watches me rather than the money. He wants to see the shame. I give him nothing else.
When the counting is finished, the man nods once.
“It’s all there,” Rainer says, moving this along the way he moves everything, without ceremony. “He is retired now.”
Ricky’s eyes move to me.
“I’m fucking done,” I say.
Griff snorts near the roller door. “Yeah, until you need money again.”
I gaze at him.
My fist wants to hit his mouth and watch him bleed. The old instinct is already up and moving. Already calculating distance, angles, and exactly how much damage I could do before either of Ricky’s men got involved. The answer is deeply satisfying to think about.
Skylar’s text runs through my head:I need the truth, Zane.
Then Rainer’s voice, quiet and certain in the early-morning light, the engine running between us:You did good, son.
I let the instinct die and let Griff have the last word because some things are not worth the cost. I have finally, at twenty-six, started to understand the difference.
Ricky picks up the bag and holds out a piece of paper to Rainer.
Rainer takes it, looks at it once, and puts it into his pocket.
“Paid,” he says. “Don’t come back here again.”
Ricky’s gaze slides to him and for a second, something cold passes between two men who had never met before all of this and have no intention of ever meeting again.
They file out, Griff last, the Zippo flicking once as he ducks under the roller door. Sunlight takes them away. It’s a few moments before a vehicle pulls away from the curb and the sound of it fades down the street until there is nothing left but the workshop, the hum of the overhead lights, and the soft sound of the radio.
Neither Rainer or I say a word as he stands beside me.
After a while, he pulls the folded paper from his pocket and holds it out. I take it.
Paid in full.
Zane Rivera.
Debt settled.
I stare at it until the words blur together.
“I am paying you back,” I say to Rainer.
“I know.”
“Every fucking cent, Rainer.”
“I know, son.”
I shift my stance and sense that old itch rising in my hands. That restless, useless urge to put them somewhere before they make a decision without me.
Rainer watches me with steady eyes. “Take the car out for a spin.”
I observe him. “Now?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for a signed invitation?”
