Chapter 9 Definitely Not Playing Hero #2
“No,” I say with a finality in my tone she can't argue with. “Not this time.”
Her eyes flare at that. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“Someone is walking into your shop to make it look like you’re a problem. So yeah, I do. If they’re not afraid to pull this crap in the middle of the day, they’re not going to stop. You can hate me later. Right now, you’re going to tell me what’s happening.”
She exhales through her teeth, stubborn and cornered. “It's nothing you can fix.”
I lean in, my mouth near her ear now, my voice dropping into something that vibrates in my chest and, judging by her shiver, in hers, too. “I said tell me, Raine.”
There’s a long beat where she battles herself. I can see it in the way her fingers curl around the edge of the bench.
Finally, she lets out a rough laugh with no humor in it. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No. I’m really not.”
She stares at me, searching for something. Maybe a way out, or a reason to trust me. Or maybe both.
“His name is Bash,” she says at last.
I feel something ugly and cold slot into place inside me. I’ve heard that name. Everyone with a scanner and half a brain in this city has. A loan shark dressed as a businessman. A community “investor” who always gets paid back, one way or another.
“Bash,” I repeat, locking it down.
She nods once. “The suits you saw? Those were his guys.”
“How much?” I ask, because if he's on her, then she owes money.
Her mouth twists. “Too much.”
“Raine.”
She blows out a breath, the fight bleeding into exhaustion. “My dad owed him. When he died, Bash didn’t just shrug and forget about the money. He waited until I got the deed. Then he came knocking and told me about the debt and how it's become mine now.”
The words come faster now, like once she started, she couldn't stop.
“He said he was being generous,” she goes on.
“Letting me keep the shop. Said it would be a shame to see Iron Wheel die with my dad.
All I had to do was keep paying. He gave me a crazy amount, thinking I couldn't handle it, and every month he raises it, hoping one day he can show up and I tell him I don't have it.”
My hand on her jaw tightens a fraction. “Why would he want that?”
She gives me a bitter smile. “Because he wants me to wash some cash. He wants what my dad built to become a front for his money laundering. He asks every month.”
My vision edges dark again. “And you say no.”
“Of course.” There’s fire in her eyes now, the good kind. “I’m not letting him do that to what my dad built. I’m also not stupid. I told him I’d pay what my dad owed, but I wouldn’t run his money.”
“And he took that well?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
“He smiled and patted my shoulder like I was a kid having a tantrum. Said, ‘You’ll come around. One way or another.’ Then he kept raising the numbers. Interest. Penalties. Whatever he could tack on that sounded official enough to justify the price.”
I imagine him touching her and have to unclench my jaw before I crack a molar.
“So the suits at the fight?” I ask.
“Just another presser.” She scoffs. “An invitation to dinner with Bash, to talk. I didn’t want you or the guys anywhere near it, so I agreed to get them to leave.”
“You told us to leave you alone because of them,” I snap unintentionally as everything suddenly clicking into place.
She looks away, but my hand keeps her from ducking completely. “Yeah, well. Congratulations. You’re very observant.”
“And today?” I ask. “You think Bash sent this lunatic in here?”
Her laugh is sharp. “I wouldn't put it past him.
He's messed with the shop before, trying to get me to spend money on repairs so I couldn't afford to pay him his monthly fee.
This was the first time it's happened during the day and in person.
And the first time he tried to get me into legal trouble.
I think he wants me to know that I could end up in jail even without helping him. "
She fists her uninjured hand. "The guy came in today, said he had a message from Bash, then ran straight for the door and yelled that I attacked him."
The room feels smaller, hotter. My hand on the bench curls into a fist, aching to punch something, anything.
“How long have you been dealing with this?” I ask.
“Since my dad died. Well, a week after he died.”
“Alone.”
“Yes.”
"I still can't believe you didn't tell us."
Her eyes flash again. “Why would I? So you could all charge in like idiots and get yourselves killed? You think Bash cares who he has to go through? He’s not going to blink at taking a swing at a bartender or an EMT or a bike engineer. I’m not handing him three fresh targets to use against me.”
“You’re bleeding because of him,” I remind her carefully. “You’re patching glass because of him. You’re taking fights you shouldn’t have to just to stay afloat because of him. That’s not okay. You're not okay, you're drowning.”
“I’m not drowning,” she denies, but it sounds more like something she's been telling herself, something she wants to believe. “I’ve been keeping up. I take fights and win them. I make the money I need, however I need to make it.”
“No,” comes out before I can stop it, which I know makes no sense. She didn't give me anything to say no to, but I'm saying no. I'm saying no to all of it. To her handling this on her own. To her thinking she's protecting us by keeping us away.
She stares at me, blinking rapidly, as if trying to make sense of it. “No?"
"No," I repeat, final, and firm, not letting her argue this time.
"You don’t get to tell me no.”
“I do when your version of ‘handling it’ is hurting you,” The words stay level, even with my pulse climbing.
“I do when your plan is ‘fight more, sleep less, hope the mob gets bored.’ I do when the only reason we know any of this is because I got the call after some asshole tried to break your door with his head.”
Her hands tighten on the bench, right next to mine. We’re not touching, but we might as well be.
“You’re going to let us help you.” It isn’t a suggestion. It isn’t a request. It comes out as a fact.
Her eyes narrow, stubborn and angry, with something else buried under it that she refuses to name. “There is no us.”
“There is an us,” I counter, not blinking. “You, me, Theo, and Jax. You don’t get to get rid of us because you're afraid we're going to get hurt.”
“You don’t understand how this works.” She shakes her head, frustration biting hard. “Bash doesn’t let go. If you get involved, he will use that. Against you. Against them. Against me.”
“Yeah.” I let the word out slowly, not arguing the danger, knowing it’s real. “I do understand. I’ve been on enough calls, all courtesy of Bash. Scraped enough people off the sidewalk.” I lean in just enough that my breath hits her ear. “We’re helping you.”
Her laugh wobbles at the edges. “You think you three idiots can push back against someone like him?”
“Not idiots.” I lift one finger between us and wag it slowly, unable to help myself. “Annoyingly persistent men with useful skill sets.”
She shakes her head, disbelief written all over her, but the corner of her mouth twitches despite her best effort. “Jax is not a useful skill set.”
“I disagree.” The answer comes too quick, too sure. “He could annoy anyone to death.”
A breath of air leaves her, almost a laugh but not quite. Then her expression evens again. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not putting you in the middle of this.”
“You already did.” The words come out low, steady. “The second you opened your mouth to talk to us.”
She swallows hard, throat moving under my thumb.
“I don’t need—”
“Raine.” I cut her off before she can build the wall back up. “Stop.”
Her pupils flare, dark swallowing more of the dark blue ring around them. Her chest rises against the inch of air between us, like she can’t quite get a full breath.
“I’m done arguing with you about whether you need help.” My tone is the same one I use when someone is trying to walk out of an ambulance against medical advice with their brain bleeding.
“You’re going to let us help you,” I repeat more firmly, eyes dark and serious, pinning her in place. “You’re going to let us in. You’re going to say it, out loud, so when you start to spiral tomorrow, I can remind you you already agreed.”
She shakes her head again, but it’s weak now. “I don’t—”
“Say it,” I murmur.
Her gaze flickers to my mouth and back to my eyes. She’s cornered, yeah, but not by fear of me. By the realization that I’m not backing down. That, for once, someone isn't trying to use her. Her fingers flex on the bench, knuckles whitening, her breath brushing my lower lip when she exhales.
“Okay.” It comes out as a whisper, thin but real.
I lean in, just enough that my nose almost brushes her temple, my mouth near her ear again. I like it there. I feel the tremor that runs through her, the way her body goes from rigid to something almost like surrender.
“Good girl,” I keep my voice low, only for her.
She shivers, and I smirk. My hand on her jaw softens, tracing the edge of her lip with my thumb.
“We’re going to figure this out. Me, Theo, Jax.” My thumb eases at her throat, more reassurance than pressure. “You’re not carrying it by yourself anymore.”
She swallows, a tiny nod bumping against my hand. Her eyes flick to mine again, as if searching. “You’re really sure you want to do this? That they want to?”
“I am.”
We stay like that for another moment, close enough that if either of us pouted, our lips would touch. She lets out a slow breath and closes her eyes for a second, like she’s trying to accept her new reality.
“Okay.” She says it again, stronger this time, but the nerves are still there in the way her breath catches. “You tell them. I’m not…I’m not ready to deal with their reactions when they hear it.”
“Deal.”
My thumb traces her jaw once more before I let go and step back, giving her the space she keeps pretending she doesn’t need. The air between us cools, but her warmth stays under my skin anyway, stubborn as a bruise.
My attention shifts to the broken window, not letting that slide. “We’ll board that up before I leave. You’re not doing business here with that wide open.”
Her brows lift, challenge snapping back into place. “Who said I can’t fix it myself?”
I let my look do most of the talking. “I did. Just now.”
She studies me for a second, then shakes her head, resigned. “Bossy.”
“Very.” I tip my chin, unapologetic.
I grab the broom leaning against the corner and start sweeping the glass into a pile. Behind me, I can feel her eyes on my back, on the way I move, on the fact that I’m still here.
She told me to leave her alone.
I tried.
I’m just choosing not to listen anymore.