Chapter 40: "Tessa’s Lead" Marcus POV
I’m in the parking lot, holding Julian back as Victor’s men peel out with Sam, his yell—“Run!”—still loud in my ears. The car’s gone, tires screeching round the corner, and my chest’s heaving—panic, guilt, all crashing in. Julian’s fighting me, shouting, “Sam!”—voice breaking—and I’m pulling him, hard, saying, “Jules, stop—they’ve got him!” My hands are shaking, and I’m thinking—Sam’s gone, grabbed because of us, because of me—and my legs feel weak, sore from running, but I can’t let go, can’t let Julian chase them.
He’s wild, shoving me off, eyes wet and angry. “Your mess, Marcus—he’s caught because of you!” My stomach twists—he’s right, it’s my past, that voucher, Claire’s hate—and I’m gutted, watching him turn away, pacing the lot. The neon’s buzzing overhead, cold air biting, and I’m stuck—Julian’s cold, Sam’s taken, and Victor’s winning. I open my mouth—“Jules, I—” but headlights cut me off, bright and fast, swerving in. My heart jumps—more of Victor’s blokes?—and I grab Julian, pulling him behind a car.
It’s Tessa—her beat-up sedan skidding to a stop, door flying open. “Reid!” she yells, voice sharp, stepping out, and I’m relieved—proper relieved—seeing her, badge glinting in the light. She’s on me quick, grabbing my arm, pulling me up. “What’s this chaos?” she says, gruff, eyeing Julian, then me. My throat’s tight, and I stammer, “Sam—they took him—Victor’s men, just now.” Her face hardens, and she drags me toward her car, saying, “Get in—both of you. We’re sorting this.”
Julian’s slow, still mad, but follows, climbing in the back, silent. I’m up front with Tessa, hands rubbing my face as she starts the engine, pulling out fast. “Where we going?” I say, voice rough, and she’s digging in her bag, one hand on the wheel. “Somewhere safe—my spot,” she says, sharp, tossing a folder in my lap—thick, papers spilling. “Look at that—Victor’s mess, all laid out.” My chest’s tight, and I open it—dossier, typed neat—and my eyes scan, fast, needing answers.
She’s talking, low and quick, as we roll through Vegas—streets dark, neon blurring past. “Been tailing his slot scam for weeks—cash siphoned, rigged machines. That voucher you gave Julian? It’s tied—Victor’s hush money, straight from those slots.” My stomach drops, and I’m flipping pages—logs, dates, numbers—seeing it clear. “Claire’s in it too,” Tessa says, glancing at me. “Hacked hospital bills—faked costs, moved cash around—all circling that five grand you picked for Julian over Ethan.” My hands tremble—guilt hitting hard—and I’m thinking—my choice, their plan, tearing us apart.
I look back at Julian—slumped, staring out the window—and my throat’s dry. “Claire’s desperate,” I say, quiet, “Victor’s greedy—Sam’s paying for it now.” Tessa nods, grim. “Yeah—caught your boy hacking the PA, I bet. Victor’s pissed—knows we’re close.” My chest hurts—Sam, skinny Sam, stuck because he helped us—and I’m flipping more pages, seeing receipts, slot logs, all pointing back to Victor’s scam. “This enough?” I ask, voice shaky, and she smirks, small. “Enough to nail him—if we move fast.”
The car’s humming, Tessa weaving through traffic, and I’m holding the dossier tight—proof, real proof, of Victor’s dirty cash, Claire’s hacks. My head’s spinning—three weeks ago, I kissed Julian, gave him that voucher, thinking it’d keep us safe—and now it’s this, Sam gone, Julian cold. “We’ve got to get him back,” I say, loud, and Tessa’s eyes meet mine, steady. “We will—but we nail Victor together, or you’re toast. Claire too—they’re a team.” My heart’s racing, and I’m desperate—needing this, needing her help—and I nod, fast. “I’m in—whatever it takes.”
She’s blunt, always was, and I’m glad—glad she’s here, pulling me from the mess I made. “Good,” she says, turning sharp into an alley, parking quick behind a rundown building—her spot, I guess. “Inside—now,” she orders, grabbing her bag, and we’re out, Julian lagging, still quiet. My boots hit the gravel, and I’m thinking—Tessa’s lead, this dossier—it’s a chance, a shot to fix it. I grab Julian’s arm, soft, saying, “Jules, we’ll get him,” but he pulls away, cold, and my chest sinks—he’s not with me, not yet.
We’re in—a cramped room, table, chairs—and Tessa’s spreading the dossier out, pointing. “Look—Victor’s slots, Claire’s hacks—voucher’s the link. She’s funding Ethan’s care, he’s covering his tracks.” My hands rub my neck, and I’m seeing it—my five grand, their revenge, all tied up. “Where’s Sam?” I say, voice rough, and she shakes her head. “Don’t know—Victor’s got spots—bars, motels.” My stomach twists—he’s out there, scared—and I’m thinking—my fault, my past, dragging them all in.
Julian’s by the wall, arms crossed, and I’m watching him—wanting to fix us, needing him back. “Jules,” I say, soft, “I’m sorry—about Sam, about everything.” He doesn’t look—doesn’t answer—and my throat’s tight, guilt choking me. Tessa’s voice cuts in, “Focus, Reid—we’ve got proof—use it.” I nod, heavy, flipping through—dates match, cash flows—and I’m thinking—we can end this, get Sam, stop Claire—if Julian’s with me. My hands grip the table, and I’m desperate—desperate for him, for this alliance with Tessa, for it all to work.
Then her phone rings—sharp, loud—and I jump, heart slamming. She grabs it, fast, listening, and her face goes pale. “Sam?” she says, quiet, and my breath catches—Sam?—as she holds it out, speaker on. His voice crackles—panicked, high—“Tessa—they’ve got me at the bar!” My stomach drops, and I’m froze—Sam, alive, but caught—and Julian’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Which bar?” Tessa yells, but the line cuts—static, dead—and my skin’s craw