Tina sat on the edge of the motel bed, the eight hundred dollars fanned out beside her like a guilty secret. The cash felt heavier than it should, as though each bill carried Victor's fingerprints and a whisper of obligation. She'd moved it three times already—under the mattress, inside the pillowcase, finally back into her backpack—because every place she hid it seemed to scream his name louder than the last.
The burner phone lay silent on the nightstand. She hadn't turned it on since his call yesterday. She told herself she wouldn't. She told herself silence was her best weapon.
Then it rang.
Not the burner. Her real phone—the one she'd left on the kitchen counter in New York, the one she'd sworn she'd never touch again. She'd powered it down, wrapped it in a sock, buried it at the bottom of her bag like a cursed artifact. But now it vibrated against her thigh, insistent, alive.
She stared at it like it might explode.
The screen lit up with her brother's name: **JACK**.
Her thumb hovered. Answer. Ignore. Smash the thing against the wall.
She answered.
"Tina?" Jack's voice cracked on the first syllable, raw and small, the way it used to when he was ten and scared of thunderstorms. "Tina, is that you?"
She closed her eyes. "Yeah. It's me."
A shaky exhale on the other end. "Jesus. Where are you? Dad's losing it. Mom hasn't stopped crying since you left. They think you're dead or something."
"I'm fine." The words tasted like ash. "I'm safe."
"You're not fine. You're gone. You just… vanished. Like we didn't mean anything."
The accusation hit harder than she expected. She pressed the phone tighter to her ear, knuckles white. "I had to go, Jack. You know why."
"Because of Dad's stupid contract? Yeah, I know. I heard them fighting about it every night since you left. Mom keeps saying it's all her fault for not stopping him. Dad just sits there staring at the wall like he's waiting for you to walk back through the door."
Tina swallowed the lump in her throat. "He signed it. He chose."
"He's falling apart, Tina. The house is quiet now. Too quiet. And the creditors… they're still coming around. Kane's people stopped torching stuff, but they're watching. Always watching."
She pictured it: her father at the kitchen table, unshaven, the same bottle of cheap whiskey going warm in his hand. Her mother twisting dish towels until they frayed. Jack in his room with headphones on, trying to block out the wreckage.
"I can't come back," she whispered.
"You don't have to." Jack's voice dropped lower, conspiratorial. "But you have to listen. Kane… he's not what we thought. He came by the house yesterday. Alone. No goons. Just him. He sat in Dad's chair like he already owned it and said he wasn't mad. Said he was giving us time. Said the debt could wait… if you came home."
Tina's laugh was brittle. "He's playing you. All of you."
"Maybe. But he also left an envelope. Ten grand. Cash. Told Dad to use it for the mortgage so we don't lose the house. Said it was a gesture. Said he hopes you're okay."
The room tilted. Ten thousand dollars. A gesture. From the man who'd bought her future like it was a stock option.
"Take the money," she said, voice flat. "Use it. Keep the house."
"Tina—"
"I'm not coming back, Jack. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
Silence stretched, thick and painful.
Then Jack spoke again, softer. "He asked about you. Not in a creepy way. Just… asked if you were eating. If you were warm. Like he actually cares."
Tina's chest ached. "He doesn't care. He wants."
"Maybe both." Jack sighed. "I don't know anymore. I just miss you. The apartment feels wrong without you yelling at me to turn the music down."
Tears burned behind her eyes. She blinked them back. "I miss you too. Tell Mom I'm okay. Tell Dad… tell him I'm not coming back until I'm ready. And when I am, it'll be on my terms."
"Okay." Jack's voice cracked again. "Be careful, Tina. He's not giving up."
"I know."
"I love you."
"Love you more."
The call ended.
Tina sat there holding the dead phone, tears finally spilling over. She didn't wipe them away. Let them fall. Let them soak into the cheap motel comforter like rain on cracked pavement.
Victor had given her family money. A lifeline. A noose disguised as kindness.
He wasn't just chasing her.
He was dismantling her reasons to keep running.
One favor at a time.
She stood, walked to the window, and stared at the parking lot below. A single black sedan idled near the far corner, lights off, engine quiet. It hadn't been there when she came in.
She watched it for a long minute.
It didn't move.
Neither did she.
Tomorrow she'd change motels again. Tomorrow she'd keep working. Tomorrow she'd keep pretending she could outrun a man who played chess with people's lives.
But tonight, she let the tears come.
Because even the strongest players felt the weight of the board when the pieces started moving on their own.