Pt. 1
Jamie Riley

The job was locked in. Sunday, Calder and Mason. On paper, it looked like another easy pickup. But Freddy Cortez was overseeing it personally this time, and Freddy didn't micromanage. If he was watching, it was because someone had something to prove, or something to lose. Either way, it meant pressure.

Freddy didn’t need to yell to be feared. He wasn’t the kind of man who barked orders or made a show of violence. He operated with a quiet, precise sort of authority, the kind that left no room for doubt. When Freddy gave you a job, he expected it done clean, done fast, and done right the first time. Mistakes weren’t punished with outbursts. They were remembered. He’d file the failure away in that calculating mind of his, say nothing at all, and let the silence stretch long enough to strangle you. Then, when you least expected it, weeks, even months later, he’d come collecting. A cold glance across a crowded room, a nod toward the alley, a bullet in the gut before your name hit the ground. If your name came up too often, if your face made him squint even a little, your clock was ticking. Nobody wanted to be the reason his attention lingered.

Naturally, Tino decided the night before was the perfect time to throw a party.

“Saturday’s a million years from now,” he had said. Yesterday. While texting half the city like he was hosting the damn apocalypse. “Energy’s gotta marinate first. You can’t microwave this shit.”

Jamie didn’t bother arguing. Tino wasn’t the kind of guy you talked out of a bad idea. He was the kind you showed up for just to make sure he didn’t crash and burn before the job ever started.

Tino’s apartment was exactly what you’d expect. Loud, lived-in, and cluttered in that particular way only he could pull off, like he moved through the place too fast to ever bother putting anything back where it belonged. The furniture was minimal and mismatched: a gray couch with one armrest lower than the other, a glass coffee table littered with half-empty bottles, pills, powder, stray rolling papers, and a couple of ashtrays that hadn’t been emptied. In the far corner of the room, a mattress lay directly on the floor, draped in blankets and pillows in a permanent state of disarray. Clothes were scattered nearby, clean or dirty, it was hard to tell.

Despite the mess, one thing was obvious: Tino wasn’t broke and he had a thing for electronics. A massive flat-screen TV dominated the wall, flanked by high-end speakers that filled the room with bass-heavy music videos flashing in red and blue. Underneath it sat a collection of consoles and tangled cords. A couple of game controllers peeked out from under the coffee table, and a wireless headset was tossed carelessly onto the couch.

The party was in full swing by the time Jamie arrived, even though he wasn’t late. People lounged across the room, friends, maybe friends-of-friends, laughing and drinking, some lost in conversation, others watching the screen. Tino was already high. He was louder than usual, energized and twitchy in a way that told Jamie he was at least three drinks and two lines ahead of everyone else.

He sat sunk into the couch, one leg stretched out, the other bent and a beer in his hand. Across from him, Tino sat on the floor, jittery, his foot bouncing, talking a mile a minute to Caleb and Luis about something that had clearly spiraled into nonsense.

“I’m serious,” Luis said, half-laughing, half-defensive. “Give me two weeks, a gym membership, and a machete, and I could take Batman. That dude’s just rich.”

“Rich and trained by ninjas,” Jamie pointed out.

“Think a Red Bull and a YouTube street fight compilation turns you into John Wick?” Tino laughed. “You’d get fucked before the theme song even hits.”

“I’m telling you, bro, Batman would fold,” Luis insisted. “You just catch him without the suit.”

“Without the suit he’s still a ninja,” Jamie said, eyes fixed on the screen in front of him. He only looked away when he felt Emma approach.

She sat down next to him on the couch, a little too close.

Emma had arrived a few minutes ago, and she moved through the apartment like she owned the place. Like she still had a drawer in Tino’s nonexistent bedroom and keys she refused to give back. She’d gone to the kitchen first and poured herself a drink, like showing up uninvited came with privileges.

Tino hadn’t acknowledged her.

She was dressed the way she always was when she wanted to be noticed. The tight black dress clung to her like a second skin, tracing every curve, stopping just high enough to tease what wasn’t shown. Her red heels clicked across the floor and her glossy black hair tumbled over one shoulder, catching the light and shimmering like silk.

She was hot, no one could argue that. But she was also annoying, in that particular way some people were when they assumed the world revolved around their timing and tone. Jamie had never liked her. There was something off about her, something too smooth. She was too fucking nosy and too good at getting what she wanted without ever asking out loud. She’d sniff out secrets and hold onto them like currency. She could ask a question that sounded innocent and end up with the answers to five you didn’t know she’d asked. She’d flirt with a guy in front of his girlfriend just to prove she could. Not out of interest, just for sport.

Tino and Emma used to have a thing. Jamie knew the story. Everyone did. It was on and off for years, mostly off, but never really gone. They fought, they hooked up, they ignored each other, rinse and repeat until someone got arrested or ended up in the ER. It had never been official, never healthy, and definitely not over, even when it pretended to be.

Emma crossed her legs as she sat, and her perfume hit Jamie before her voice did. “Didn’t think you were the couch-sitting type,” she said, tilting her head toward him. “You always struck me as more of a lean-against-the-wall-and-watch kind of guy.”

“I do both.”

Her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Multitalented. I like that.”

The bass from the speaker vibrated through the floor, a burst of laughter echoed from the kitchen. He let the noise fill the space between them while she settled closer. Not touching, but close enough for it to be intentional.

“Didn’t think you still hung out with Tino.”

“I don’t.” Emma brushed invisible lint off her thigh. “I just felt like being somewhere tonight. Somewhere fun.”

“This is fun?”

She smiled. “It could be.”

He leaned back a little on the couch. “You look good.”

She turned slowly, lips parting slightly like she might thank him, but she didn’t. “I know,” she said instead, but there was softness under it. “You clean up pretty well too.”

“I wasn't trying to.”

“Yeah, that's the infuriating part.”

Jamie chuckled. “You’re laying it on kind of thick.”

“Am I?” Emma’s eyes glinted like she knew exactly what she was doing. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I'm sure you didn’t.”

Her leg was angled toward him, like they were in a more private space than they were. “You ever wonder what it would’ve been like if you and I had met first?”

Jamie's mask slipped for a second. That caught him off guard. Even from her, it felt like crossing an invisible line. “You’d have eaten me alive.”

She laughed and her hand found his arm like it had a memory there. Fingertips skimmed skin, just light enough to pretend it meant nothing. Her nails were long, painted deep red, and a few simple rings clicked softly as her fingers settled. “You’d have liked it.”

Jamie looked at her. He shouldn’t have, but he did. And for just a second, he let himself lean into it, the ease of flirting, the lie of chemistry. Against his better judgement, he smiled too. “Probably.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Tino’s voice cracked through the noise like a whip.

Around the couch, the air shifted. Conversations altered and drinks paused midair. Heads turned toward them like gravity had pulled the focus in their direction.

Emma’s voice stayed light, her fingers still brushing Jamie’s arm like nothing had happened. “I’m just hanging out.”

Tino hadn’t moved from where he sat on the floor. A half-empty beer dangled from his fingers. The coffee table stood between him and the couch, but the glare in his eyes cut straight through it.

“Why the fuck are you touching him?” His voice came out hard, mean in that particular way it got when he was trying not to lose it.

Jamie felt the heat crawl up his neck. He didn’t want to be in the middle of whatever this was. He shifted his arm away until Emma’s hand slipped off. She didn’t try to stop him. Next to Tino, Caleb told him to relax, but it didn’t seem to register. Everything in Tino had changed now. His back was straight, shoulders squared, his whole body wound tight like a spring. The bottle in his hand creaked with the pressure of his grip. His eyes weren’t on Emma anymore. They were locked on Jamie, like Jamie had betrayed him.

Jamie raised both hands slowly, palms open, not defensive but disengaged. “Nothing’s going on.”

“You think I’m fucking blind?” Tino snapped, the words splintering out of him before he could swallow them.

It was absurd. Tino starting shit wasn’t exactly a surprise. He didn’t need drugs to pick a fight, the guy could start a war with a brick wall if you gave him five minutes. But this? Out of all the shit that could’ve mattered tonight, this was what he chose to flip over. Jamie talking to Emma. A nothing moment, a few harmless words and a hand on his arm. It was embarrassing, not just for Tino but for both of them. The kind of scene Jamie hated getting dragged into, especially when half the room was already watching, waiting to see if he’d take the bait.

“Yes, we’re just talking, Tino. Calm down.” Jamie regretted the word the second it left his mouth. Because calm never worked on people like Tino. It didn’t soothe, it sparked.

Tino pushed up from the floor in one graceless, angry motion, the beer bottle clinking too hard against the edge of the table as he set it down. It wobbled slightly, unsteady. Just like everything else.

Jamie rose too. Not because he wanted to. Not to challenge, but more out of instinct than choice. Caleb and Luis were moving behind Tino, like they were used to this. Caleb reached out and gripped Tino’s shoulder, as if that might hold him back. It didn’t. Tino didn’t even seem to notice it. He stepped forward anyway, brushing past the hand like it wasn’t there, closing the space between him and Jamie in half a heartbeat.

“She touches you and you don’t even fucking flinch. She don't like you, you pussy-whipped bitch, she’s doing it to fuck with me.”

Yeah. No shit. The words sat heavy behind his teeth, burning to get out. He didn’t let them. If he spoke now, it wouldn’t come out steady. It would come out sharp enough to cut, and that wasn’t the fight Tino was going to get. Not in front of everyone.

He knew exactly what Emma was doing. They all did. She was bored, high, poking where she knew it would land. And yeah, he’d humored it, for a second. A few easy words, nothing that should’ve meant anything. But now here they were, with Tino dragging it into a headline, like Jamie had walked in with a ring and a goddamned wedding date.

A pulse started pounding in his temple, slow at first, then harder, like a drumbeat he couldn’t shut off. Every muscle in him was locked tight, wired with the kind of heat that begged for release. But Jamie held it back, each breath deliberate, dragging patience up from someplace deep just to keep himself from flipping the fucking table.

“You’re high and pissed off. I’m not gonna fight you.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed! Think I won’t put you down, you trashmouth motherf—”

“Boys,” Emma cut in from the couch, her voice dripping with amusement. “If this is a dick-measuring contest, Tino better sit this one out.”

Jamie caught it the second it landed. Emma might’ve said it to be funny, to stay in control of the room, but her timing was too precise to be innocent.

And Tino walked right into it.

He saw it in the way Tino's body went still. Not anger burning out of control, something tighter, locked down. The kind of stillness that came right before Tino stopped thinking and started moving. Jamie had seen it too many times not to recognize it. He knew Emma had seen it too. Hell, she’d been on the receiving end before. But tonight she acted like it couldn’t touch her, like whatever fucked-up history they had somehow wrapped her in armor. Jamie knew it didn’t and she should’ve remembered that.

His pulse kicked harder. His jaw locked down so tight it ached. He could feel the heat rising sharp behind his ribs, that bitter edge curling through his gut, because fuck, he wanted to snap too.

But Tino moved first. Not toward him, toward her.

“Shut your fucking mouth, you stupid bitch—”

Jamie lunged forward and grabbed whatever he could—Tino’s arm, his shirt, maybe both—fingers twisting in fabric and skin. He dug in with everything he had, heels planted. Caleb was on him in the same breath, and Luis too, all three of them pulling Tino back as the room shattered around them.

Shouts erupted. Someone knocked over a bottle, liquid sloshed across the floor. A chair scraped loud and fast. The music suddenly felt a thousand miles away as Tino’s voice tore through it, promising things he might’ve meant.

Emma stayed frozen, as if she hadn’t thought he’d actually go for her. Maybe she’d forgotten that Tino was a grenade with the pin halfway pulled, and she’d just yanked the rest of it.

They wrestled Tino through the front door, his body thrashing, wild with the kind of fury that didn’t think, didn’t care who it landed on.