I am out of time.

Ashton pushed through the door of a small, squat building located between a strip club called, rather subtly, Nip Slip, and a bar filled with flashing neon lights. The small building had ugly slit windows that were tinted black. It had no name, no sign out on the front facing the street. Its purpose was a quiet one, not really meant to be talked about outside of those four square walls. As such, its existence was also quiet. Everyone here on the strip knew it existed, knew that there were several others like it just here in Portsmouth, and thousands more across the 50 states, but it was not a business that enjoyed making itself known.

That was mostly because it was barely legal. If it was even legal at all, surely that state of existence was the result of some technicality or loophole, rather than anything justified and whole.

Ash was just glad to be out of there. This wasn’t the best time of day to be in this part of the city to begin with, and his purpose here just made everything that much worse. Most of the businesses weren’t even open, but those that were could only be filled with the skeevy sort of people who couldn’t wait to have their urges satisfied. A glimpse through the club windows showed drunks and druggies in need of a shower, and the dancers looked simply exhausted and terribly bored.

The people roaming out on the street weren’t much better. People with no money, who could only browse. Horndogs wandering from one venue to the next. Drunks making a bar crawl at a time of day when it couldn’t possibly be enjoyable. Ash had never been much for the bars where everyone pretended life was a party, but he had to feel sorry for those pitiful bastards who felt they had to pretend to party all by themselves. It couldn’t be any fun.

Not that he was having any fun, either. There was a word for the man he’d just talked to, and it carried with it unpleasant connotations, images of bloodthirsty animals lurking in the dark. Vinny professed not to like the term, stating that he would rather be known as a freelancer, specializing in quality of life assistance, but he always said it with a grin that let you know he really meant the opposite of what he was saying. He was a loan shark, in it for the money, to take advantage of the kind of people who needed his services, and he was damn proud of it.

“Hey, sweetcheeks.”

Ash ignored the drunk man calling after him, slurring his words. He tucked his head down and hurried towards his car, parked down towards the end of the curb near a crosswalk. There were signs out in front of the clubs stating no parking there until between the hours of 6 p.m. and 6 a.m. and that violators would be towed; this didn’t seem like the kind of area that would be filled with cops who would be concerned about parking violations, but Ash couldn’t take the risk. He couldn’t pay the ticket.

He couldn’t pay back his loans.

It started out small. $10,000 in cash, enough to rent a building in an okay area. Enough to get his gallery set up inside. It hadn’t seemed unfeasible, especially since he made the decision at a time when his paintings were in the public eye.

He found a space and was most of the way through the rental process, already making plans, doodling layouts on restaurant napkins, when a business downtown suddenly and swiftly closed down. It was rumored the current renter descended rapidly into debt, and they had to cut their losses and run. Word on the street was that the owner of the building was eager to rent it out again as soon as possible and would hand it off to someone willing to clear out the remnants of the other business.

Ash had deliberated on this decision for all of ten minutes before he was on the phone, nabbing the building. It was in a prime location, with plenty of room for him to stretch out, to grow, to expand his reach. Of course, the cost of rent, getting rid of the former establishment’s remnants, and starting up his gallery, complete with advertising, went way up as a result.

He went back to the shark, and the amount he owed skyrocketed to $50,000. The interest also ramped up, which should have been something he was worried about. But how could he be? When all the work was done and he was standing in his very own gallery, surrounded by his art, he felt on top of the world.

But interest was a tricky thing, especially when it came to loan sharks. Small numbers added up very quickly, and then asking for more time brought the interest up several more percentage points. Repeat the process, and soon you owed over $250,000. And by this point, the price was climbing by the hour.

“How much for a ride?” the drunk man following Ash called out.

Ash sprinted the last couple of feet to his Impala and threw himself inside, locking the doors as fast as he could. That turned out not to be very fast at all, because his hands were shaking and he kept hitting the window controls instead.

When the locks finally clicked, he jabbed his keys towards the ignition. Metal chattered against metal in much the same way as his teeth were chattering. The engine roared to life just as the drunk man reached his window, and he pulled out onto the street without bothering to look. If this just so happened to be the rare moment when someone else was driving down this desolate road, Ash hoped that they would crash into him hard enough to kill him so that he wouldn’t have to worry about finding a quarter of a million dollars.

But there was no other car coming. The street behind him was clear for what seemed like miles. The intrusive thought faded away and then it was just him and his regular brand of dour thoughts.

Even though it was warm outside, Ash flipped on the heat and let the air blast into his face in an effort to chase away some of the chills wracking his body. He knew the cold came from within, that it was born of fear and not temperature, but he didn’t know what else to do when his blood felt like ice.

He could already imagine the cold of a knife pushing through his spine, killing him. Or maybe they would do it slower, torturing him, getting their money’s worth.

And they would hurt him. It was not a matter of if, but of when. He knew that because this time it hadn’t been just Vinny. There were two other men in the room, one of whom just sat at the desk while Vinny talked “business.” The other stood in front of the only door, ensuring that Ash couldn’t try to escape. They had kept their hands hidden from him, and that left him with no doubt at all that they had weapons on them.

He might be a wolf, but he was no match for three big men with who knew what sort of arsenal.

Ash kept shivering, driving aimlessly. Well, not aimlessly. He was looking for traffic, for the presence of other people. Vinny might or might not be associated with some kind of mob—he hadn’t answered when Ash posed the question at their first meeting—but Ash wanted to take no chances. If he was going to be murdered, he wanted it to happen in a place with plenty of witnesses.

But I can’t have someone else around all the time.

Finally, he rejoined with the main streets and was surrounded by other drivers. Some of his shivering eased, and he turned the heat down, but only a little. Coming to a stop at a light, he leaned forward to rest his forehead on the wheel.

He remembered River’s comments on why he didn’t like artists, why he thought they were so foolish. Ash could have tried to defend himself, but all the while, those words were hitting him right below the belt, right where he deserved to be hit. He could have said that not all artists were like that, but what the hell did he know? He couldn’t speak for the entire population of creators, couldn’t even represent himself, and he damn sure wasn’t about to try.

He was in deep shit, going down with the ship he’d built with someone else’s money. And he was going down fast, no matter how he tried to bail his way out. Someone honked irritably behind Ash. It seemed to him that they’d been honking for quite a long time, while he just sat here lost in his own misery. Straightening up, he started driving again just as a long line of cars streamed around him from behind. Most of them flipped him off. He didn’t care. All he could do was drive, drive, and drive until his gas ran out. And when that happened, it would probably be the end.

Deep in the back of his mind, he knew that his thoughts were getting out of hand. He wasn’t making sense anymore, not even to himself. That was pretty bad.

And it got worse, because then he tried justifying all the time he’d spent with River today. It hadn’t been wasted. Not as far as he was concerned, at least. He wouldn’t have traded that time for anything, especially not when it came to the kiss at the end.

Except, that was almost certainly a lie. He would have traded the kiss for $250,000, plus interest.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, scaring the fuck out of him. He jerked on the wheel, hit the curb, and slammed the brakes. Pedestrians went running away from him, while others who hadn’t been so nearby were already bringing out their phones to take pictures.

Shifting into Park, Ash brought out his phone and looked at the screen.

It was a text from River. “Miss you already,” it read.

You’ll be missing me for a real long time pretty soon, he thought miserably, and pulled back out onto the street. Cars swerved behind him, blaring their horns, and the people with their cell phones screamed. Except, when he looked in his rearview mirror, it just looked like they were laughing.