Maurice saw it.
And the trap Maurice built for me began closing around him instead.
### Part 9
Nobody fired at first.
That was the miracle.
Men with guns often think guns make them brave. Mostly, guns make them louder. Real courage is what happens in the quiet before the first trigger breaks.
Maurice looked at Enrique.
Enrique looked at me.
The rain hammered the roof like gravel poured from heaven.
“What did he tell you?” Maurice asked.
I did not answer right away. Silence is a tool. People fill it with fear.
“Enough,” I said.
Enrique laughed, too sharp. “He’s playing you, boss.”
“Am I?” I asked.
Maurice’s eyes stayed on Enrique. “Empty your pockets.”
“What?”
“Now.”
“Man, don’t be stupid.”
That word landed badly. Stupid. Men like Maurice could survive betrayal, pain, even prison rumors. Disrespect in front of his soldiers? Never.
“Empty them.”
Enrique’s hand twitched toward his jacket.
I dropped behind an engine block before Maurice shouted.
The first shot hit the wall behind me. The second came from Enrique, not at me, at Maurice.
Chaos erupted.
I crawled through oil, rainwater, and broken glass while men screamed and muzzle flashes turned the repair shop into a strobe-lit nightmare. Micah did not fire. We had agreed: only if I was cornered. This was not a rescue anymore. This was a collapse.
Thirty seconds.
That was all it took for loyalty to become math.
When the shooting stopped, Enrique was gone through the side door. One of Maurice’s men was down, groaning. Another had run. Maurice crouched behind a steel table, blood running from his left arm, eyes wild.
I could have ended it there.
People imagine revenge as a bright moment. The villain on the ground. The hero standing over him. Music swelling. Justice clean.
It was not clean.
It smelled like diesel and blood. My knees hurt from broken glass. Somewhere nearby, Van was sobbing into a 911 call. Sirens rose in the distance.
Maurice saw me and raised his pistol.
I moved before thought. His shot cracked past my ear. I closed the space, broke his wrist against the table edge, and kicked the gun away.
He fell, clutching his arm.
I stood over him, breathing hard.
