Chapter 36: "Victor's Shadow" Marcus POV

I'm in Tessa's beat-up car, gripping the wheel tight as we roll through Vegas's back streets, neon lights smearing past the windows. She's next to me, phone pressed to her ear, barking, "Yeah, motel off the Strip, keep eyes on him." That call about Victor moving to Claire's last spot has me shook, my heart's pounding, and I'm thinking about Julian, out there somewhere, mad at me. Tessa hangs up, turns, and says, "He's stopped, dingy bar, two blocks up. We're tailing him." My stomach twists, he's close, too close, and I nod, rough, pushing the gas harder.

We pull up a street away, parking crooked behind a dumpster, and I'm out fast, Tessa right behind me. The bar's a hole, faded sign, windows grimy, a couple of drunks stumbling out front, and my chest's tight as we sneak closer. "Victor's in there," she whispers, pointing, and I see his big shadow through the glass, moving inside. My hands ball up, him, Claire, the voucher mess, it's all crashing down, and I'm done waiting. "Let's go," I say, low, and Tessa grabs my arm, steady. "Slow, Reid, he's slippery."

We slip round back, through an alley, wet pavement, trash bins, and I'm breathing hard, sore from the ambush but pushing it down. Tessa finds a side door, creaky and unlocked, and we're in, air thick with beer and smoke, music thumping low. My eyes dart, scanning, and there he is, Victor, at a corner table, alone, hunched over a stack of papers, tearing them up fast. My heart jumps, and I move, Tessa hissing, "Wait," but I can't, can't stop now.

I'm on him quick, boots loud on the sticky floor, and he looks up, eyes wide, caught. "You set us up," I growl, voice rough, slamming my hands on the table. Papers scatter, receipts, notes, and I see it, clear as day: voucher stubs, $5,000 marked, same as what I gave Julian. My blood's boiling, and I grab one, holding it up. "This, your dirty cash, Victor. You and Claire, you nearly killed us last night!" He leans back, big and gruff, and smirks, slow, mean, like he's not scared.

The dim light catches on his face, highlighting the jagged scar above his right eyebrow, a reminder of the time he broke up a fight at The Mirage that nearly cost him an eye. He looks older tonight, more weathered, the lines around his mouth deeper than I remember. The stench of whiskey hangs heavy on him, mixing with stale cigarettes and what smells like fear, though he's trying hard not to show it.

Tessa's beside me now, notebook out, staring him down. "Shredding evidence, huh?" she says, sharp, and Victor laughs, deep and ugly, tossing a torn receipt at me. "You're late, Reid, too late. Salazar's out, long gone. It's just me and Claire now, no big syndicate, just good old greed." My stomach flips, he's scaling it down, no higher power, just him and her, and I'm shook, thinking it's smaller but worse, personal, sharp, aimed at me. "Greed?" I say, low, "You paid me off, five grand to shut up about your slots, and Claire's tearing us apart for it."

He shrugs, casual, like it's nothing, and my hands tremble, anger, guilt, all mixing up. "You owed me," I say, voice shaking, "gambling debts, years back, I kept quiet, and you used it to bury me." Victor leans in, smirking wider, and picks up another paper, shreds it slow, deliberate. "Worked, didn't it? Claire's idea, smart girl. Frame your boyfriend, gut you, all for that cash you wouldn't give her." My chest hurts, and I'm seeing it, Julian's face when he left, Claire's hospital bill, "Too late," all tied to this.

Tessa steps closer, voice hard. "Slot scam, your prints all over it. That voucher's proof, Victor, ties you to the cash, the frame-up." She's digging, like she always does, and I'm glad, glad she's here, pinning him. Victor chuckles, low, shaking his head. "Proof's gone, shredded. You've got nothing, PI lady." My hands grab the table edge, tight, and I'm thinking, nothing? He's wrong, we've got Julian, Sam, that ambush, but he's calm, too calm, and it's eating at me.

The clock above the bar ticks loudly, marking each second that passes in this standoff. A waitress moves behind the counter, eyeing us nervously, probably wondering if she should call security. Outside, a police siren wails in the distance, and I catch Victor's eye flicking toward the door, just for a moment, revealing a hint of unease beneath his confident facade.

I lean in, close, voice low and rough. "Claire's text, 'You'll pay for Ethan,' right before the alley. You sent those blokes, didn't you?" His eyes flicker, just a second, and I know I'm right. "She planned it," he says, slow, "I helped. You chose that Brit over her brother, her family, and she's mad, Reid. Real mad." My throat's tight, and I'm picturing it, Ethan dying, Claire begging, me giving Julian that cash instead, and it's heavy, crushing me. Tessa mutters, "She's using you, Victor, your scam, her grudge," but he just grins, like he doesn't care.

The bar's dark, music thudding, and I'm staring at him, big, smug, tearing my life apart with Claire. My hands itch to grab him, shake him, but Tessa's hand on my arm keeps me still. "We've got enough," she says, quiet, "logs, witnesses, he's done." I want to believe her, want it bad, but Victor's smirk says different, says he's got more up his sleeve. My chest's heaving, and I'm thinking, Julian's out there, hurt because of me, and this bloke's laughing about it.

Behind us, the door to the bar swings open, letting in a gust of cold desert night air. Three men enter, their heavy boots scuffing against the worn floor. They scan the room carefully, their eyes eventually landing on our table. I notice Tessa tensing beside me, her hand slipping into her jacket pocket, where I know she keeps her small revolver. The temperature in the room seems to drop as Victor's eyes light up with recognition.

He stands, slow, towering over us, and I step back, tense, ready for anything. "You're a fool, Reid," he says, voice cold, "thinking you'd walk away clean. That voucher, it's just the start." My heart's racing, and I'm wondering, start of what?, as Tessa pulls me back, wary. Victor reaches into his jacket, and my breath catches, gun? Knife?, and he pulls it out, slow, deliberate: a handgun, black and heavy, pointed right at me. My stomach drops, and Tessa freezes, hand on her bag like she's got something too.