“Ten bucks.”
Vic handed over a crumpled bill. He went to the locker room and changed into a pair of gym shorts and an old t-shirt. He stepped back out into the gym.
He did some basic stretches, some push-ups. His body remembered the movements. In prison, you stay fit or you become a target.
Peterson finished with the bag. He wiped his face with a towel and took a long pull from a water bottle. He moved over to the bench press.
He loaded two hundred and fifty pounds onto the bar. He lay down and gripped the steel. One, two, three reps.
Easy. Vic walked over and stood nearby, as if waiting for a turn.
“Need a spot?” he asked quietly.
Peterson looked him over. An old guy, thin, gray hair—nobody.
“I’m good, pops.”
He did five more reps. He racked the bar and sat up, breathing hard. Vic didn’t move.
“What is it, old man?” Peterson spat.
“Are you Isaac Peterson?”
The big man stiffened, standing up to his full height.
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m here to talk. About Ellie Miller.”
Peterson froze. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, followed by a smirk.
“Don’t know any Ellie. You got the wrong guy.”
Vic smiled. It was a cold, predatory expression.
“I don’t think so. You were there, at Sterling’s place. You held her while the others did their thing. You were the muscle, right? Making sure she didn’t run.”
Peterson’s face turned red, and he balled his massive fists.
“Get lost, old man, before I put you in the ground.”
“Try it.”
Peterson swung a massive right hook. It was slow, telegraphed—all power, no technique.
Vic ducked under the arm and moved inside. A sharp, short blow to the solar plexus. Peterson gasped, doubling over. Vic followed up with a precise strike to the temple, dazing him instantly.
Peterson fell to his knees, clutching his head. Vic grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed him down, pinning him to the floor. The sound of the impact echoed in the gym.
The few other people in the gym started to move toward them, but Vic pulled his knife. The blade flicked open with a sharp click.
“Stay back! Nobody moves!”
Everyone froze. The kid at the desk backed away slowly.
Vic barked at them:
“Get out! All of you! Now!”
They didn’t need to be told twice. They scrambled for the exit. The door slammed shut. Silence.
Only Peterson’s ragged breathing. Vic stepped back, folding the knife. Peterson sat on the floor, shaking.
Fear had finally set in.
“You… you know who I work for? Sterling will kill you.”
“I know. I don’t care.”
Vic crouched down, looking him in the eye.
“Listen to me. My daughter is in a coma.”
“Because of you four. You’re going to tell me everything. Where’s the video? Who else knows? How did it happen?”
“And if you lie to me once, I’ll make sure you never walk again.”
Peterson started to shake.
Not from pain, but from pure, animal terror. He’d seen men like this before—men with nothing left to lose.
“I…”
