The clock ticked relentlessly onwards, bringing him ever closer to the night ahead. An oppressive sense of dread gripped him until he almost choked on it.

This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

There was something wrong with this whole situation and his instincts screamed at him to get out. Flee now before he got caught up in whatever McCready was doing. But what choice did he have but to do this one last thing before he left? He’d been exposed. His past could knock on the door at any moment, and Diego was fairly certain he wouldn’t survive the encounter. He needed this money to get out, to set himself up in a new place with a new life. Starting over wasn’t cheap. For his wallet or his soul.

He never should have trusted Rosalyn. He’d known that, but he’d been too stupid to listen. Too caught up in her beauty and kindness and affection for him. Now, he was paying the price, falling back into the world he’d fought so hard to escape.

Just the once. He had to promise himself it would just be this once.

And then he’d be free, sitting on a beach somewhere in South America. Mexico, maybe, or Brazil. He could just…relax. No more fighting. No more hiding. Simply himself, a drink, and the endless ocean before him.

And if that sounded a little lonely? Well, that was the price he’d pay for his freedom. He could live with that.

He couldn’t push Rosalyn from his mind, though. She was there like a tick, burrowing under his defenses. He knew she’d been through some rough things in her childhood. Did that make it okay to violate his privacy? No. But he wasn’t hypocrite enough to condemn her too harshly, when he knew all too well what choices some people had to make to escape the darkness in their pasts.

And she’d said time and again she’d only wanted to help. She believed that, he was sure. But good intentions could be just as harmful as bad ones.

He couldn’t forgive her. Not when her article had toppled the carefully constructed world he’d fought so hard to build. Not when her exposure of his past sent him into McCready’s clutches. Not when he had to leave his life before he was ready.

On a sigh, he turned the key in his truck engine. The lights splayed across the eggshell wall in front of him, lighting the cab of the truck. In the stark brightness, Diego could no longer hide from the truth. He was returning into the world he’d fought to escape, and this time, he expected it would be even harder to leave.

But he had to face himself. This was who he was. Who he’d always been. A criminal. To pretend otherwise was a lie to himself and the world. He couldn’t escape this. Couldn’t be someone else, someone better.

He was back where he belonged, and nothing he said or did would change that.

Though a sick feeling of denial still curled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t listen to that. He had to become Diego Johnson, enforcer of Victor Garrera, once again. There could be no room for doubt, for error. He needed to be sharp and focused, and do what needed to be done.

His conscience could wait.

He jammed the truck into gear and reversed out of the parking spot, heading towards the meeting point where Weston would be waiting.

Ten minutes later, his headlights illuminated a group of four guys. Weston stood at the front with his arms crossed, watching Diego pull up with a sneer on his face. Behind him was Pete, who’d been there briefly the night Spider had made his move on Rosalyn. The other two guys Diego didn’t recognise, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t here to make friends.

He cut the engine and hopped out.

No one said anything for a long moment as Diego and Weston eyed each other. Eventually Diego rolled his eyes.

“Is this the crew?”

“Yeah,” Weston said defensively. “And we know what we’re doing, so don’t fuck this up.”

Diego raised a brow. “Sure thing. I’m only here because your boss didn’t trust you to do this right, so I guess I should be telling you not to fuck this up.”

Weston glared for a long moment and Diego almost thought the guy would throw a punch. Instead, a grin split Weston’s face. “I’m looking forward to this.”

With that, he jumped into the driver’s seat of a nearby truck. The other three guys followed him, so Diego slid into the last remaining seat, next to Pete. The guy kept darting glances Diego’s way and shifting in his spot. Squirrelly. Diego’s suspicions mounted.

“You want to tell me more about this job?” he asked the car in general. Everyone but Weston shrugged.

“Just keep your mouth shut, hold the bag for us, then get the fuck out of dodge. It’s not hard.”

“Which store are we hitting?”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

Diego gritted his teeth. “And what’s the exit plan?”

Weston’s eyes met his in the rear view mirror. “Leave the way we came before the cops show up.”

Apparently that was all he’d get. Diego settled further back into his seat, trying to ignore Pete’s squirming. Hopefully this wouldn’t be as much of a disaster as he feared. Hopefully.

They parked across the street to one of the large jewellery chain stores. Security lights lit the front of the building, and Diego could see at least one security camera and motion detector at first glance.

“You can’t be serious,” he muttered. Diego almost got out of the car then and there, unwilling to trust that Weston knew what he was doing—or wouldn’t somehow betray him. But he didn’t have time.

“Just in and out. Nut up, DJ.” The other four guys pulled masks over their heads, obscuring their features. Diego had a moment of panic, since he hadn’t brought one for himself, but he didn’t have a moment to dwell on it.

Weston slammed his foot on the accelerator and spun the wheel. The car jerked forward, heading straight towards the glass front of the jewellery store. Diego braced himself against the seat in front of him even as he yelled for Weston to stop, but the guy paid him no attention.

The front of the car slammed through the windows and stalled halfway into the shop. The door went flying off into the store and shattered the glass case opposite them. Shards of glass rained down on the car, scattering all over the vehicle, the shop, and the sidewalk behind them.

An alarm screeched, piercing Diego’s ear drums.

“We’ve got to get the fuck out of here!” he yelled towards Weston, but the man was already halfway out of the car.

Diego stumbled out, pressing his palms against his ears.

Weston dug a can of black spray paint out of a cloth bag and sprayed it over the security camera lens, blocking the vision. Then, he threw the cloth bag in Diego’s direction and he caught it automatically. He winced as the shrieking alarm rattled his brain.

“Hurry up,” Weston yelled over the noise. “Cops will be here any second.”

Diego blinked, trying to wrap his mind around everything that happened, trying to think. He glanced at the sidewalk behind him, tempted to run. But before he could decide what to do, the other four thieves smashed the cases and dropped shiny objects into the bag he was holding. Bracelets, necklaces, earrings, rings, loose gems, all of it went into the bag.

They’d fetch a pretty penny, of which Diego would get a nice cut. Then, he’d be free to leave. Free of this life, hiding from Mickey, the cops, McCready, and whoever else might want him dead.

It took all of two minutes before the cases were empty.

“Can we go now?” Diego yelled, inching back towards the car.

Weston turned to him with a grin. “We can.” Diego didn’t even get a second to process that.

The kick came out of nowhere, landing in the centre of Diego’s chest. He stumbled back from the unexpected impact, tripping over the remains of the shop door in the process. He fell on his back with a whump, all the air leaving his lungs.

Broken glass crunched beneath him as he rolled automatically as he landed.

He blinked to clear the surprise from his mind, then dropped the bag of loot and focused on Weston.

“What the fuck was that for?” he growled, still trying to get his breath back.

“You didn’t really think McCready wanted you on his team, did you? But this little operation had gotten too hot and he needed a scapegoat.”

Diego struggled into a crouch. “You fu—”

Weston’s foot slammed into the side of his head. Diego crashed back to the floor, his mind going blank. A few more kicks for good measure—to his head, ribs, and stomach—and then Weston was gone.

Diego vaguely heard the sound of an engine starting, then roaring away. Seconds later, sirens came. The flashing lights penetrated his closed eyes. His head rang from the blows and the still-screeching alarm.

It had all happened so fast. Barely five minutes had passed since the car had crashed through the front door. Diego was still desperately fighting to wrap his head around it, even as blackness encroached on the edges of his vision.

He fought to stay conscious, telling himself to get up, to run. But his body wouldn’t obey.

Instead, he slipped all the way into darkness, and he knew only one thing clearly.

He was fucked.