Chapter 77: DON’T EVEN BOTHER WITH THE COPS

One of his men stepped in and spoke rapidly in Russian. Mark listened, exhaled through his nose, then gave a short nod. He lowered the gun and set it on the table with a soft click.

"You’re right," he said. "I’m gone tomorrow. Killing this cunt is only going to delay the flight."

The man nodded, then looked at me. His accent was much thicker than Mark’s. "I’ll escort you outside. Mr. Belson needs to rest now. He has a long day ahead."

I nodded once. "Alright."

I bent down, picked up Karim’s phone from the floor, and took one step closer. Then I spat on him. The saliva landed on his cheek. He flinched and cried harder, curling tighter around his missing finger.

"If you have copies of those videos anywhere," I said quietly, "you’re done."

Mark leaned back against the table, watching with mild interest.

"Don’t even bother with the cops," he added. "He’ll deny everything. Just a headache for everyone involved."

I thought about it for a second. He was probably right. A man like Karim would claim the videos were planted the moment anyone official got involved. And Mark’s people had already made their point in a language Karim clearly understood.

I gave Mark a short nod, then followed the thick-accented man out of the room.

He walked me down the narrow hallway, up the stairs, and through the still-busy main floor of the club without a word. At the front entrance he simply stepped aside and held the door. Cold night air hit my face. I walked out.

I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, looking down at the phone in my hand. Then I shook my head and started walking toward the bus stop.

A garbage truck was working its way up the street, hazards flashing. When I reached the bus shelter I waited until the truck pulled up to the nearby bin, then tossed the phone in just before the mechanical arm lifted it. I watched the bin tip, the contents disappear into the back of the truck, and the whole thing drive off.

"Fucking idiot..." I muttered.

A few minutes later the bus arrived. I got on, found a seat near the back, and stared out the window the entire ride home. My hands still ached. My side still throbbed. But the phone, and everything on it, was gone.

Just... ugh. This guy, man. This fucking guy. How low could he actually go?

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The next morning the Endurance quest was impossible.

I had been expected to run five kilometers in seventeen minutes. Out of pure spite I checked the world record on my phone while I was still catching my breath. Twelve minutes. The system had given me seventeen like it was a reasonable target for a man who still couldn’t take a full breath without his ribs complaining.

I dropped onto a park bench, chest heaving, mouth open, sweat running down my spine. My heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest. For several minutes I just sat there and tried to remember how to breathe normally.

Yesterday kept replaying in fragments. Karim on the floor. The stump of his finger. The videos. Mark’s calm voice. The way the gun had looked against Karim’s forehead. I had come very close to watching a man die in front of me. And part of me still wasn’t sure how I felt about the fact that he hadn’t.

Eventually the worst of the shaking faded. I drank what was left of my water, tossed the empty bottle into a nearby bin, and looked out across the running track.

A few women were jogging past in the cold morning light. One of them glanced over as she went by. Then another. The eye contact lingered a fraction longer than it used to. Charisma was doing its quiet work again.

I groaned, slapped both hands on my knees, and stood up.

Hubert would be at work by now. Sarah was alone upstairs.

It was time to go tell her that Karim wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

The only question was how to explain it without mentioning Mark, the private room, or the missing finger. She didn’t need those details. She just needed to know she was safe.

I started walking back toward the apartment, still sore, still tired, and already trying to find the right words.

I kept walking.

The snow was coming down in lazy, sparse flakes that melted almost as soon as they touched the pavement. Not a real storm, just enough to make the street look quieter than usual. I pulled my jacket zipper higher until it sat under my chin and shoved my hands deeper into the pockets. My ribs still complained with every other step.

My phone started ringing. Sarah.

I answered without breaking stride. "Hey."

"Chance." Her voice was lighter than it had been in days. Almost unsteady with relief. "He came by. Karim. Just now."

I slowed a little. "Yeah?"

"He apologized. Said he was drunk and out of line. His finger was... ah, forget about the finger. He told me he deleted every photo he took of us. He looked... scared, actually. Kept saying he was sorry and that he wouldn’t bother me again." She let out a shaky breath that turned into something close to a laugh. "I think it’s over!"

I tried to match her tone. I really did. "That’s... good. Really good."

It came out flat. The images from the phone were still sitting behind my eyes, the bound women, the mask, the dark bedroom, Karim’s hand on her while she slept. And now he was just going to walk away. Finger missing, pride broken, but still breathing. Still free to keep existing like none of it had happened.

Sarah must have heard the wrong note in my voice.

"Is something wrong? You sound... off."

"No. I’m just..." I exhaled and watched a flake land on the sleeve of my jacket. "Yeah. I’m fine. I’m heading back to the apartment now. Once Hubert’s gone for the day... want to come down to my place? We can talk properly."

"Yes. I’d like that." A small pause. "Thank you, Chance. For... whatever you did. Or didn’t do. I don’t even know. I just know he changed his mind somehow."

"Don’t thank me yet," I said. "Just come by when it’s safe."

"I will. See you soon."

"See you."

I hung up and kept walking.

Yesterday refused to leave me alone.

I had promised myself something after Cole nearly beat me to death in my own apartment. No more being the guy who got walked on. No more absorbing other people’s damage. I was going to take what I wanted from now on. Become the kind of man who left marks instead of carrying them.

I just hadn’t realized how much worse "worse" could look.

Karim had shown me a version of it that made my own ambitions feel almost polite by comparison. The videos. The casual way he had touched Sarah while she slept. The whisper at the end of the last clip. And now he was out there somewhere with nine fingers and a forced apology, free to keep breathing.

I shook my head hard enough that a few snowflakes fell from my hair and forced the thought down.

There was no clean way to explain any of this to Sarah. I couldn’t tell her about Mark. Couldn’t tell her about the private room or the gun or the way Karim had looked on the floor. All I could do was act surprised that the man had suddenly grown a conscience and deleted everything. She would ask why, of course. People always asked why when the story didn’t quite line up.

I didn’t have a good answer ready.

Just another knot in a tangle that kept getting messier.

The apartment building finally came into view at the end of the block. I adjusted the zipper of my jacket one more time and kept walking, trying to leave the worst of yesterday on the snowy sidewalk behind me.

It didn’t work particularly well.

"Fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit..."

Even though things were finally starting to go my way, why did I still feel like this? Damn it. Mark was a dangerous man. There was no denying that. I was relieved he was going back to Russia, far away from here and, hopefully, out of my life.

The fact that he had known my address before I had even told him sent another unpleasant shiver down my spine. How long had he known? Had he looked into me beforehand?

How the fuck had I managed to make friends with a mobster? Not just any mobster, either, but a man who seemed to know far more about me than he had any right to.

I dragged a hand down my face and let out a frustrated sigh.

My God. I was fucking tired.

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