Chapter 14 One Last Contract
The Offer
For exactly six days after Finn's confession, Deck felt like he was walking through someone else's life.
A better life.
A life he hadn't earned.
A life he wasn't entirely convinced would last.
Yet every morning he woke up and found Finn still there.
Still smiling at him.
Still making coffee.
Still looking at him like he was worth loving.
The realization remained both wonderful and terrifying.
Mostly terrifying.
Because Finn had changed everything with three simple words.
I'm falling in love with you.
Deck heard them constantly.
While working.
While driving.
While trying and failing to sleep.
The confession had settled somewhere deep inside his chest and refused to leave.
Not that he wanted it to.
The problem was that love made people vulnerable.
Love gave the universe something valuable to take away.
And lately, the universe seemed unusually interested in reminding him of that fact.
The visitor returned on Tuesday.
Deck saw the black pickup the moment it rolled into the garage parking lot.
His mood immediately darkened.
The truck parked near the office.
The engine shut off.
And a familiar knot formed in his stomach.
Because nothing good ever arrived in that vehicle.
Nothing.
The garage remained busy around him.
Employees worked.
Engines roared.
Customers waited.
Life continued normally.
Only Deck felt the shift.
The tension.
The warning.
The sense that trouble had finally caught up to him.
The driver's door opened.
Marcus Reed stepped out.
Older now.
Grayer.
Still carrying himself like a soldier.
Still carrying ghosts in his eyes.
The sight brought back memories Deck preferred buried.
Years buried.
The mechanic wiped his hands on a shop rag.
Then headed toward the office.
No point avoiding it.
Marcus wouldn't leave.
Men like him never did.
Inside the office, the air felt cooler.
Quieter.
The older man closed the door behind them.
Neither bothered with small talk.
They were long past that.
Deck folded his arms.
"What do you want?"
The question emerged sharper than intended.
Marcus didn't seem offended.
Probably because he expected it.
The older man studied him for several moments.
Like he was comparing the present version against the one he remembered.
Eventually he sighed.
"You look better."
Deck stared.
The comment felt absurd.
"I got blown up."
A faint smile appeared.
Humorless.
Brief.
"I heard."
The reminder didn't improve his mood.
Silence settled between them.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
The office suddenly felt too small.
Marcus eventually reached into his jacket.
Removing a thick manila folder.
The sight immediately made Deck suspicious.
The older man placed it on the desk.
Carefully.
Deliberately.
The way someone handled explosives.
"What is it?"
Marcus didn't answer immediately.
Another bad sign.
Finally, he looked up.
Directly into Deck's eyes.
And delivered the words he'd been dreading.
"A job."
The mechanic felt ice settle in his stomach.
No.
Absolutely not.
The answer formed instantly.
Without hesitation.
Without thought.
"No."
Marcus nodded.
As though expecting it.
"Just hear me out."
"No."
The second refusal arrived even faster.
The older man remained frustratingly calm.
"Declan."
The use of his full name made something tighten inside his chest.
Nobody called him that anymore.
Nobody except ghosts.
And Marcus Reed was definitely a ghost.
The mechanic looked toward the door.
Considering escape.
The older man noticed.
Of course he did.
"This isn't what you think."
The statement sounded ridiculous.
Because Deck knew exactly what it was.
A contract.
An operation.
A return ticket to the life he'd spent years escaping.
The answer remained no.
Yet curiosity betrayed him.
A dangerous habit.
"What kind of job?"
Marcus opened the folder.
Photographs appeared.
Documents.
Maps.
Information.
The sight alone made Deck uncomfortable.
Too familiar.
Far too familiar.
The older man slid a photograph across the desk.
A face stared back.
Male.
Mid-forties.
Expensive suit.
Expensive smile.
The kind of smile that usually belonged to bad people.
Deck frowned.
"Who is he?"
Marcus's expression hardened.
Immediately.
The change told him everything.
"His name is Victor Kovac."
The name meant nothing.
The reaction apparently showed.
The older man continued.
"He used to finance operations overseas."
Deck's stomach tightened.
A little.
The explanation felt incomplete.
Marcus noticed.
"Illegal operations."
There it was.
The truth.
The mechanic looked down at the photograph again.
The face remained forgettable.
Ordinary.
Which somehow made it worse.
The worst people often looked ordinary.
"What does this have to do with me?"
The older man hesitated.
The pause lasted too long.
Then came the answer.
The answer that changed everything.
"He's the reason your team got sold out."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The office disappeared.
The garage disappeared.
Everything disappeared.
Only those words remained.
The mechanic stared.
Motionless.
The blood drained from his face.
Because suddenly he wasn't standing inside Whitaker Auto & Salvage anymore.
He was back there.
Back in the convoy.
Back in the ambush.
Back in the worst day of his life.
Three dead friends.
Years of guilt.
Years of nightmares.
Years spent believing their blood belonged on his hands.
Marcus's voice seemed distant now.
Far away.
Like an echo.
"New intelligence came in six months ago."
The older man spoke carefully.
Watching him.
Monitoring the damage.
"We finally know who leaked the route."
Deck couldn't breathe.
Not properly.
The possibility felt impossible.
Because for years he'd blamed himself.
Every day.
Every nightmare.
Every sleepless night.
The guilt had become part of him.
And now someone was telling him another man had caused it.
Another man had betrayed them.
Another man had gotten his friends killed.
The realization left him shaken.
Dangerously shaken.
Marcus waited.
Giving him time.
Eventually the mechanic forced himself back into the room.
Back into reality.
"What do you want?"
The question sounded rough.
Broken.
The older man closed the folder.
Slowly.
"This isn't an official operation."
Of course it wasn't.
The answer immediately told him everything.
No government involvement.
No military oversight.
No accountability.
Just old ghosts chasing justice.
Or revenge.
Usually both.
Marcus leaned forward slightly.
"We need someone who knows the players."
The mechanic laughed.
A short sound.
Without humor.
"You need a disposable asset."
The older man didn't deny it.
That silence said enough.
The office felt colder.
The memories felt closer.
Everything about the situation felt dangerous.
Familiar.
Tempting.
The worst combination imaginable.
Then Marcus delivered the final piece.
The bait.
The reason he'd driven all the way to Willow Ridge.
The reason he hadn't accepted no for an answer.
The older man slid another document across the desk.
Numbers filled the page.
Large numbers.
Very large numbers.
Deck stared.
Then looked again.
Certain he'd misread them.
He hadn't.
The payout was absurd.
Life-changing.
The kind of money normal people never saw.
The kind of money that solved problems.
Every problem.
Mortgage.
Medical bills.
Garage reconstruction.
Future security.
Everything.
The realization settled heavily inside his chest.
Marcus watched him carefully.
Knowing exactly what he was thinking.
Exactly what he was calculating.
The older man spoke quietly.
"No more struggling."
The words landed.
Hard.
"No more worrying about money."
Another hit.
"You could leave."
The final one.
The killing blow.
Marcus leaned back in his chair.
The expression on his face remained unreadable.
"Start over somewhere else."
The mechanic stared at the numbers.
Then at the photograph.
Then at the folder.
Because suddenly he understood.
The money wasn't the temptation.
Not really.
The temptation was escape.
A clean break.
A way out.
The ability to disappear before his past destroyed everything he'd built.
Before it hurt Finn.
Before it hurt the people he loved.
The realization felt terrifying.
Because for the first time since Marcus arrived, part of him considered it.
Just for a second.
Just long enough.
And that frightened him more than anything else.
Goodbye Plan
The first lie came easily.
That should have worried him.
Instead, it felt familiar.
Comfortable.
Like slipping into an old uniform that still fit despite years spent hanging in the back of a closet.
Finn kissed him goodbye before leaving for the clinic on Monday morning.
A simple kiss.
Sleep-warm and distracted.
The kind exchanged by people who trusted each other.
The kind exchanged by people building a future.
Deck kissed him back.
Smiled.
Asked him to drive safely.
Then stood in the driveway watching the doctor's truck disappear down the road.
The moment the taillights vanished, the smile disappeared too.
Because the decision had already been made.
Not officially.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to start planning.
The realization settled heavily inside his chest as he walked back into the farmhouse.
The kitchen still smelled like coffee.
Finn's coffee mug remained beside the sink.
His jacket hung near the front door.
Small signs of a life slowly intertwining with Deck's.
The sight hurt.
More than expected.
The mechanic looked away.
Because that was exactly why he had to do this.
The contract wasn't the problem.
The danger wasn't the problem.
The problem was Finn.
Or more specifically, what happened if the danger reached him.
The thought had become impossible to ignore.
Someone had sabotaged the garage.
Someone had tried to kill him.
Someone connected to the worst chapter of his life had suddenly resurfaced.
And every instinct he possessed screamed the same warning.