Chapter 34: United Front (Silas POV)
Lena’s name on Nico’s phone burns into me, and we’re sitting in the motel, dark and quiet, the air thick with what it means. “Her again,” Nico says, low, his voice shaking as he stares at the screen, hands clenched tight on his lap. My stomach twists hard—Lena, his old crew manager, sold him out once already, and now she’s back, tied deeper into this mess than we ever thought. “We’ve got to face her,” I say, loud, standing up fast, grabbing my jacket off the chair. Nico looks at me, slow, his eyes hardening with something fierce, and he nods, standing too. “Yeah,” he says, quiet, grabbing his hoodie. “Let’s go.”
We’re out quick, moving through the cold streets, breath fogging in the night air, heading to a spot she used to hang at—a beat-up bar on the edge of town. My heart’s pounding, steady but fast, and Nico’s right beside me, steps matching mine like we’re locked in sync. The bar comes up slow—grimy windows, neon sign flickering weak, buzzing loud in the silence. I spot her through the glass, back corner, hunched over a beer, cap pulled low over her face. I nudge Nico, soft, my elbow brushing his arm, and we walk in, close, a team without saying it.
She looks up, fast, as we get near, her eyes narrowing sharp when she sees us. “You two,” she says, bitter, her voice cutting through the bar’s low hum, slamming her bottle down hard on the table. I stop, steady, planting my feet, Nico right at my side, and I feel it—our unity, strong, unspoken, like a wall she can’t push through. “What’s your game, Lena?” I ask, loud, leaning forward, hands on the table, staring her down. She smirks, small, but it’s shaky, her fingers tapping nervous on the bottle. “You shouldn’t be here,” she says, low, glancing around quick, like she’s waiting for something to drop.
Nico steps up, closer to me, his voice rough and raw. “You sold me out,” he says, sharp, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Spyware, videos—who’s pulling your strings?” She laughs, short and mean, but her eyes dart fast, and I see it—she’s cracking, defensive under us standing there, tight and solid. I put my hand on Nico’s shoulder, light, keeping him grounded, and lean in more. “Talk,” I say, firm, my voice low and hard. “We know it’s you. Give us something.” She glares, quick, then slumps back slow in her seat, like the fight’s leaking out of her, her shoulders sagging heavy.
“You’re idiots,” she says, quiet, rubbing her face with one hand, the other still on the beer. “This isn’t just some petty blackmail gig. It’s bigger—government ties, suits with badges, people way above your heads.” My heart jumps, fast, and Nico’s breath catches loud beside me, but we don’t move—our eyes meet, quick, trust holding us up like steel. “Government?” I say, loud, pressing her harder, my hand sliding off Nico’s shoulder to rest on the table. “Who’s in it?” She shakes her head, slow, her mouth twisting bitter. “You don’t get it,” she says, sharp, looking between us like we’re kids playing with fire. “They’ve got hands everywhere—cops taking cash, council turning blind, high-ups calling shots. You’re ants to them, nothing.”
Nico’s jaw tightens, and I feel him shift closer, his arm brushing mine now, like he’s pulling strength from me being there. “Why me?” he asks, loud, his voice breaking a little, raw with hurt. She shrugs, cold, her eyes flat. “You’re loud,” she says, low, leaning back in her chair. “Big name, easy to break, makes a good mess when you fall.” The stakes slam me—higher than we thought, darker, way past a video or some cash grab now. I glance at Nico, fast, catching his fear, but we’re locked in, moving as one, and it’s getting to her—she shifts, uneasy, under our steady stare.
“Names,” I say, sharp, slamming my hand down hard on the table, making her bottle jump. She flinches, quick, then sighs, slow, her guard cracking wide open. “Mercer,” she says, quiet, her voice flat and tired, like she’s done fighting. “He’s in it—fixer for the big shots, ties it all together.” My chest tightens fast—Mercer, that slick snake, deeper than we ever guessed, pulling strings we can’t even see yet. Nico steps closer, right at my side, his shoulder pressing into mine, and I feel it—our front, solid, intimidating her bad. “Mercer,” he says, loud, his eyes burning hot. “He’s the link?”
She nods, slow, looking away now, her hands dropping to her lap. “Yeah,” she says, low, barely above a whisper. “But you’re playing in a game you can’t win. Walk away while you’ve still got legs.” I shake my head, fast, and Nico’s with me, right there, our arms touching steady. “No,” I say, firm, my voice cutting clear. “We’re done running, done hiding.” She stares, hard, her eyes flicking between us, then leans back, grabbing her beer again. “Your funeral,” she says, quiet, taking a slow sip, like she’s washing her hands of us.
I grab Nico’s arm, soft, pulling him back gentle, and we turn, slow, heading for the door. The bar’s noise fades behind us, and outside, the air’s cold, sharp, hitting my face like a slap. I stop, quick, turning to him, squeezing his hand tight in mine, feeling his pulse under my fingers, fast but steady. “We’ve got each other,” I say, low, looking right at him, meaning it deep in my bones. He nods, small, squeezing back hard, a quiet yes that warms me inside despite the chill.
We start walking, close, our steps falling into sync again, hands still locked, and I feel it—trust, real, holding us together through this storm that’s growing bigger every second. Lena’s words spin loud in my head—government, Mercer, a game we can’t win—but Nico’s hand in mine keeps me grounded, keeps me sure. “He’s next,” Nico says, quiet, his voice firm now, cutting through my thoughts, and I nod, fast, knowing we’re in this deep, no matter how high it climbs.
Then it hits—headlights, bright and blinding, roaring loud from the parking lot, a car speeding straight at us, tires screeching wild on the pavement. My heart stops cold, and I yank Nico hard, pulling him back fast as it screams closer, an ambush ripping out of the dark.