There were different levels of fear

There was the kind that sat in your stomach, a restless unease that made your hands fidget and your breath shallow. Then there was the kind that wrapped around your throat, squeezing until you couldn't speak, couldn't think—just react. But the fear radiating from Wesley wasn't like that. It was quieter, deeper. The kind of fear that lived in your bones, whispered in your mind and told you that if you made one wrong move, everything would come crashing down.

Personally, I had never experienced such a visceral emotion. Dad made sure to ingrain in my brothers and my minds from a young age that fear, or any emotions like it, had no place in our lives. We would encounter much worse things in our lives than the imaginary monsters living under our bed—especially given the kind of family business we'd been born into.

Wesley, on the other hand, looked like he'd been living with that kind of fear his whole life. It etched itself into the stiff set of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw, and the way his eyes remained glued to the area his phone once had been even when I sat it elsewhere. He was a man on the edge, and I couldn't decide if that made him more dangerous—or less.

For me, fear had always been an abstract concept, something I studied from the outside, like a bird in a cage. Dad saw to that. He'd drilled it into us that emotions were liabilities, vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited. Fear wasn't just useless—it was unacceptable. My brothers and I learned quickly that hesitation and doubt were luxuries we couldn't afford.

You couldn't flinch when someone's life was on the line, couldn't waver when the stakes were higher than you could even comprehend as a kid. Dad didn't raise us to fear—he raised us to act.

And yet, I couldn't take my eyes off Wesley.

Dad would've called him prey. He used to say you could smell it on people—the fear, the indecision, the hesitation. And if you could smell it, so could the predators. So could your enemies.

Wesley didn't just smell like prey—he reeked of it.

Curious, I picked up the sad excuse for a phone that had definitely seen better days and lightly tapped the screen to see what freaked him out and Boreal's name on the screen caused me to scowl.

Boreal was one of Lionel's henchmen and had been since his ascent to power five years ago when I was eighteen and he was twenty-one. I couldn't say I understood why my brother kept the man around. It wasn't like he was anything special, but if I had to guess it was because he was disposable. Boreal was the kind of guy who didn't think too hard. Wave a bit of cash in his face and he was a dog on a leash. As long as he continued playing debt collector and stayed out of trouble then Lionel would keep him around, but if things went sideways he could always throw a stack of cash at Boreal and get rid of him however he saw fit.

The perks of having money and power.

Admittedly, seeing Wesley afraid of someone like Boreal was a little disappointing, not that I expected much in the beginning. Boreal was at the bottom of the hierarchy. If Wesley was dealing with him then it meant he was as safe as he could be considering the situation he was in, though if his behavior in my short visit was an indicator of anything, it was that he didn't see it that way.

I sighed, tossing the phone back onto the table with a careless flick of my wrist. Wesley flinched at the sound of it hitting the wood, his wide eyes darting toward it like the damn thing might explode.

"Boreal?" I said, my voice dripping with disdain. "Seriously? That's who's got you shaking like a leaf?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. I could see the effort it took for him to keep his mouth shut, to keep from saying something that might dig him in deeper.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and pinned him with a look. "Let me guess. He threatened you and said something dramatic about what would happen if you didn't pay up. Maybe he used some of Lionel's favorite lines about loyalty and consequences?"

Wesley's lips pressed into a thin line, but the way his hands twitched in his lap told me I'd hit a nerve.

"Look," I continued, my tone growing sharper, "if you're this afraid of Boreal, you're in the wrong business. He's nothing. A grunt. A yes-man with barely enough brains to tie his own shoes. You think Lionel—or anyone else, for that matter—would send him to handle something important? Come on."

Wesley finally met my eyes, and the look on his face surprised me. It wasn't anger, or shame, or even fear. It was something colder. Resentment, maybe.

"You don't understand," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Boreal might be nothing to you, but to me? To people like me? He's enough."

I frowned, the words sinking in despite myself. People like him.

I despised cowards.

However, I loathed pretenders more.

"How much is he holding over you?" I asked.

He hesitated. "Right now, two hundred dollars."

Chump's change.

"Two hundred dollars?" I repeated, unable to keep the incredulity out of my voice. "You're seriously telling me all this"—I gestured at him, the tense posture, the twitching hands— "Is over two hundred bucks?"

Wesley instantly scowled and I found it partially amusing and oddly offensive how, despite who I was, he seemed to be more scared of Boreal than me.

"I said right now," he repeated sharply.

So, there was more to the story. Interesting.

Patting my pockets, I pulled out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open with a practiced motion. Wesley's eyes darted toward it, his expression shifting—equal parts wary and confused.

Pulling out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, I set it down on the table between us. Then another.

"There," I said casually, leaning back in my chair. "Debt paid. Problem solved. Quit shaking now. It's uncanny."

He stared at the cash and frowned. "I'm not taking your money."

Oh?

"No?" I raised an eyebrow.

"No," he repeated firmly.

"You seemed like you were going to piss yourself two seconds ago and now you have morals?"

He scowled. "It's not about morals. I'm already indebted to your brother. I'm not selling my soul to you too."

That made more sense.

"Selling your soul?" I echoed, raising my eyebrows. "You think this is charity? A kindness from the goodness of my heart?"

He didn't respond, but the look in his eyes said it all: Yes, and I don't trust it.

I chuckled, the sound low and humorless. "Let me make one thing clear, Wesley. If I wanted your soul, I wouldn't need to buy it for two hundred bucks."

He frowned, staring at me with a weary expression. "What do you want then?"

I shrugged. His problems had nothing to do with me, but I was staying here. "The sooner Boreal's off your back, the better for me and I did tell you I'd help you in exchange for my staying here. I don't like owing people."

Wesley's expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin, stubborn line. He glanced down at the bills on the table, then back at me, his shoulders rigid with tension.

"I said no," he repeated, his voice firmer this time. "I don't need your help."

I blinked, taken aback. That wasn't the response I expected. People like Wesley—prey—usually took whatever lifeline they were given, no matter the strings attached.

"Let me get this straight," I said, my tone sharp. "You're scared out of your mind, and I'm offering you an out. A free pass. And you're refusing?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. "You don't get it. Taking your money doesn't solve anything. It just trades one problem for another. I'd still owe someone—just you instead of Boreal. And with your family..." He shook his head. "That's not a risk I'm willing to take."

For a moment, I just stared at him. Wesley wasn't stupid—that much was clear. He was digging in his heels for a reason, and I wasn't sure if I respected it or found it irritating.

Maybe a bit of both.

He was turning out to be more interesting than I initially thought.

"You need money, but don't want to risk adding more to your debt, is that right?" I questioned and Wesley reluctantly nodded. "Fine."

"...Fine?"

"You want money?" I held his gaze, dropping a few more bills onto the table before leaning back and crossing my arms. His skeptical blue eyes remained glued on me as I slowly stated, "Earn it then."