Chapter 58: Cash Divide (Caleb POV)
Chapter 58: Cash Divide (Caleb POV)
Wednesday night clings heavy as I climb into Benji's van. My fingers fumble the keys into the ignition. The engine coughs, loud and rough, rumbling alive under my boots. I jam the accelerator too hard, and gravel spits beneath the tires. The van lurches forward, rattling toward Benji's place. My hands grip the wheel tight, knuckles aching, bruised from days ago. My chest heaves, breath hot and fast, as I picture Ryan's laugh with Griff, his cap tilted, chasing that $1,000 run after the $500 one. Sweat beads on my neck, and my lip stings where blood has dried. The rearview mirror rattles, showing Shank's neon fading small behind me.
The road stretches dark, with streetlights flickering weak. The tires hiss on wet asphalt as I crank the wheel, turning sharp into Benji's lot. Gravel crunches loud as I brake hard. The engine chokes quiet, and I shove the door open. The metal groans, and my boots slam the ground. My jaw throbs, stiff from that old punch, and I limp up the stairs. The metal steps clang cold against my soles, and my hands brush the chipped railing. The door swings wide, wood scraping the frame, and I step inside. The air hits me, stale and thick with smoke and beer.
Benji slouches on the couch. The cushions sag deep, and amp cords twist across the floor. His head lifts, and his eyes catch mine. "Back quick," he grunts, drumsticks tapping his knee. I drop beside him, and the springs creak loud. My breath puffs short and mad. My fists unclench slow, fingers trembling, and I dig into my pocket. I pull out crumpled bills, tossing them on the table. The wood is scratched and wobbling. "Gig cash," I rasp, my voice scraping my throat, raw from singing. "Split it now." He nods slowly, fishing a wad from his jacket. The hundreds and fifties have worn edges. He counts them out, slapping $1,500 into my palm, heavy and real.
I stuff the bills deep into my jacket. The crinkling fabric presses against my chest, and my fingers twitch, tracing the stack. $1,500 is mine, Benji's too, with Ryan's portion somewhere else. "He'll want his," I mutter, my voice cracking rough. My elbow digs into my knee, and my eyes flick to the door. I picture Ryan with Griff, earning more, drifting far. My throat tightens, dry as sand, and I lean forward. My boots scuff the rug as I ask, "What's with Miles? Tell me." Benji rustles his jacket, and paper crinkles. He pulls out notes, scribbled fast with smudged ink, and hands them over. They're cool against my skin.
"Miles bribed a clerk," he says low, his pencil scratching fresh lines. "Faked The Static's debts. The photo's the start." My hands unfold the paper. It's grainy, with Miles grinning beside a suit, shadows blurry. My breath catches, sharp and quick, with hope slicing through. I squint hard, my eyes stinging. My fingers brush the creases. "Proof," I say. "Can we use it?" My voice breaks loud, and my jaw clicks sore as I talk. I need this to hit Miles. I need it big. "Digging more," Benji grunts, scribbling again. "Tax stuff next." I nod fast, my fist tapping the couch. "Keep going. Nail him." I shove the paper back, my chest burning fierce, mad that Ryan's missing it.
My boots scrape the floor as I push myself up. The rug snags, and my legs are shaky. I grab the keys, the metal biting my palm. "Going back," I say. "Talk to him." My voice shakes, rough and tight. I stride out, and the door bangs shut, wood rattling the frame. The stairs clatter loud under my weight. I climb into the van, twist the key hard, and the engine roars awake, shaking my bones. I slam the accelerator, and tires spin gravel. The wheel jerks in my grip, pulling me back to Shank's. My chest heaves mad, needing Ryan here, needing us whole.
The road hums quiet. Wind whistles through a cracked window, and tires crunch soft. I lean into the turns, my hands trembling, sweat trickling down my spine. Shank's neon glows ahead, a red buzz cutting the dark. Bikes gleam in rows. I ease off the gas, and gravel pops slow as I roll in. My fingers twist the key, and the engine dies rough. I step out, boots grinding the lot, my eyes locking on Griff's truck. It's dusty and parked crooked, with Ryan leaning against it. My throat closes, breath hitching, as I watch him. His cap is tilted up, and he's smiling big. A beer bottle glints in his hand. He laughs loud, with Griff's voice booming beside him.
I freeze. The gravel is cold under me, and my fists curl tight. My chest burns as the rift stretches wide. He's bonding there, not with me. Griff slaps his back hard, his grin splitting his face. I catch his words, "Next run. Thousand bucks, you're my guy." His voice is loud, carrying over. Ryan nods quickly, his cap bobbing, smile holding. My stomach drops cold and fast as I see him take the offer, staying put. My jaw locks, teeth grinding sore, and I charge forward. My boots pound gravel, and I bang on Shank's door. The wood shudders, loud and sharp. "Ryan!" I yell. "Get out here!" My voice cracks, fierce and hot, needing him back, needing this to stop.
Griff steps out, big and blocking the doorway. His boots scuff the ground. My chest heaves, and my fists shake at my sides as I stare up at him. "He's busy," he growls rough, his arm crossing the frame. "New job. Back off." My throat tightens, dry and raw, and my eyes dart past. Ryan is gone inside, his laugh fading. We are split wide open now, him with Griff, me out here, cash divided and useless against this.