Then I see him.
Axel walks across the parking lot, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets. He keeps looking over his shoulder like someone’s following him. Maybe someone is. I wouldn’t doubt it because here I am, stalking my own blood. If he won’t talk to me, then he’s given me no choice.
He stops near the edge of the lot, checks his phone, and waits.
Five minutes later, a black Charger pulls in. Slow. Deliberate. The engine purrs like a predator.
My stomach drops.
The passenger window rolls down. I can’t see who’s inside, but I can see Axel’s face go pale. He steps closer, pulls something from his pocket.
Cash.
I can see the bills from here, crumpled and folded. He hands them through the window, his hand shaking so badly he almost drops them.
The guy inside takes the money. Counts it. Slow.
Then he reaches out and gives Axel’s cheek a little slap. Not hard. Just enough to make him flinch. Just enough to remind him who’s in control.
Axel steps back, turns, and walks away fast. Almost running.
I expect the car to leave. To drive off now that they have their money.
But it doesn’t.
The Charger rolls forward a few feet, then does a slow U-turn and parks in the far corner of the lot. The engine cuts off.
I watch as my heart pounds.
They’re just sitting there.
What the hell are they waiting for?
Five minutes pass. My knees are screaming from crouching, but I don’t move. I forget all about stalking Axel because this asshole in the black Charger has my full attention now. I need to know more about him.
Then the doors open.
Two guys get out. Both tall, both broad. One is wearing a black hoodie, the other a leather jacket. They look massive from where I’m standing. Much bigger and more intimidating than I remember from last night. They’re talking, low voices I can’t make out from here, gesturing with their hands.
The one in the leather jacket laughs. The sound echoes across the parking lot, sharp and cold.
They start walking toward campus.
I hesitate for half a second, then follow.
I keep my distance, staying behind without being suspicious. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
They walk like they own the place. Shoulders back, strides long and confident. Students step out of their way staring at them like they’re celebrities.
They reach the main quad, and the guy in the leather jacket veers off toward another building—some admin hall or lecture building, I can’t tell from here.
The other one keeps walking. Straight toward the arts building.
I freeze.
Who do I follow?
The leather jacket guy is taller, visible, but the other one—the one in the black hoodie—he’s the one who slapped Axel. He’s the one who collected the money.
