Page 195 of Slashed Bonds

It’s not a threat.

It’s pay. The first pay. The thing Roz promised in a parking lot and I filed under things people say.

I look below the letter to the cheque.

And my eyes go wide. So wide. Wide enough that I can feel the air on them, and I don’t blink because blinking might change the number.

“What the FLYING fuck shit?!”

I shriek it. I didn’t know I had a shriek in me this week.

“This has to be a mistake.”

Maddie leans over my shoulder. Reads it. And whistles, long and low, like she’s Killian in a doorway with a paper bag.

“Nope.” She straightens. “That looks about right. You got way more than Greenie’s cheque, and I’ve seen Greenie’s cheque, because Greenie leaves things on counters.” A shrug. “They’re all new at this, Mori. The performance thing is Coach’s call. And you, Cassian, Killian, and Nikolai carried the fuck out of that team.”

I stare at the number.

Winning goal. Two assists. A plus-three. A hip check that’s been viewed a million times. They put a price on it and the price has a comma.

I look up at them. At Maddie, bouncing. At Viper in the chair, who’s seen it already and is unimpressed, because Viper has never been impressed by a number in her life.

“I…” I stop. Try again. “I can buy shit.”

Maddie laughs. Delighted, head back.

Viper rolls her eyes.

“Oh. One more thing.”

She reaches into the inside of the leather jacket and comes out with something flat and dark, and holds it out between two gloved fingers like it’s a playing card she’s not interested in.

“This was from that tall fucker with the headphones.”

“Cassian,” I correct.

She shrugs. Which means she doesn’t give a fuck what his name is. Which is Viper’s highest form of acceptance, that she’s agreed he exists.

“Your Captain’s giving you a gift card?” Maddie, cocking her head.

I take it.

And I frown, because I know what it is before I’ve turned it over. I know the weight, the matte of it, the way the light doesn’t bounce off it the way it does off plastic. My father had one of these. Before. I used to watch him take it out at restaurants and watch the server’s face change.

“This is a credit card.” I say it slowly, because the words need the room. “A Black Amex.”

I look at Viper.

She looks back. Nothing on her face. We hold it long enough that Maddie stops bouncing, and then Viper answers, flat, in the voice she uses for reading labels.

“He said I was probably here to force you out into the land of the living. So, give you that. If you find anything you need, pick it up. He said don’t worry about the price.” A beat. “He said he can afford it.”

“He can afford it.“

Maddie repeats it like a prayer. Then, slowly, she turns her head and looks at me with an expression I’ve seen on her face exactly once, at Bellwether, when a nurse left a cart of pudding unattended.

“Go buy a Porsche.”