"You're two hundred dollars short," the dark-eyed man I'd come to know as Boreal growled out angrily, glaring down at me from my spot on the floor while his friends, Tyler and Marcus, or something along those lines, stood behind me.

I don't bother to point out the fact that I was short two hundred dollars because of his stunt last week that forced me to take my already dying car to the shop. It wasn't like it'd matter if I did or didn't—logic wasn't Boreal's strong suit. His instinctual approach was and always would be violence.

"I'll have it next week," I muttered through gritted teeth, having already applied for extra shifts at the convenience store down the street from my home, predicting his attitude today.

"You better," Boreal grumbled. "Otherwise you won't be dealing with me. You'll have to face Lionel."

"I'll have it," I repeated. "Can I go now?"

The threat wasn't new to me, but I knew Boreal was serious about Lionel Raymond, the man I'd unfortunately become indebted to, making an appearance if I fell behind on my payments and I wanted to avoid that if possible. Lionel Raymond was the type of man you only heard bad things about when discussed, but the whole Raymond family was like that which was why I needed to finish clearing away the last of my debt as soon as possible. The less involved I was with them, the better.

Boreal stared down at me, his lips twisted in a sneer, clearly enjoying the power he had. "Yeah, you can go," he spat, kicking a crumpled receipt at me for emphasis as I scrambled to my feet. His goons stared me down as I hurried to my car. I slipped inside and just as I was about to shut my door, Boreal shouted, "Same time next week, Hughes!"

With that, he turned and headed back to the sleek black car parked in the shadows and I exhaled slightly and started up my car, desperate to leave as soon as remotely possible. I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I pulled out the lot. The headlights of Boreal's car flashed behind me before he and his friends disappeared down the street, their taillights fading into the distance. Exhaling slowly, I started toward home.

Fucking Boreal always picked the most inconvenient hours to meet up and with it almost being one in the morning, all I wanted to do was sleep for a few hours and forget about everything.

Streetlights flickered as I drove, casting cold, yellow light across the empty road. Each beam of yellow light cut through the darkness, illuminating the jaded expression etched into my face in the rearview mirror. I looked like hell. Sleepless nights, double shifts, and the constant strain of dodging men like Boreal had taken their toll.

"Soon you'd be done with this bullshit, Wesley," I muttered to myself, picking up the pace.

The familiar sight of my street came into view not long after, and a faint sense of relief settled over me. My small, cramped apartment might not be much, but it was the only place I could let my guard down—even if just for a few hours.

By the time I got back to my apartment building, my head was pounding with exhaustion and stress. I parked in my usual spot and dragged myself up the stairs, my legs heavy with dread. Each step felt like an eternity, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, that someone was lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to slip up.

When I reached my door, I fumbled with my keys, finally managing to unlock it and step inside. The place was silent, a little too silent, and a strange, metallic smell hung in the air. My instincts flared—something was wrong.

I turned on the light and froze.

"W-Who..." I stuttered, my voice trailed off as I studied him.

Sitting on the couch facing the front door was a man. His rich, brown complexion was the first thing I spotted, followed by his defined curls that stopped at his broad shoulders. His dark brown eyes, which almost seemed to be black, met my lighter blue ones and my gaze dropped to his neck where a simple gold necklace sat with an "M" shaped charm hanging loosely. That's when I realized who he was.

Manolo Raymond, Lionel's younger brother.

"Don't scream," he ordered, voice far too calm considering the situation we were in. I followed his arm down to the side of his torso where a familiar shade of red stained the tailored white turtleneck he'd been wearing.

Dread consumed me and if I was being completely honest, it wasn't because of his presence or the gun sitting on the table in front of which I knew had to be loaded. It was the red stain on my light brown couch that was growing at a rapid rate.

I stared at Manolo for a second more and then at the door again. Could I make it before he had the chance to shoot me? Where would I even go? Not to mention, why was he bleeding and sitting in my apartment in the first place?

"Don't even think about it," he growled out, following my gaze and all I could do was sigh to myself and close my eyes.

Fuck my life.