Burn Of Scotch

| 5 |

We were crammed in the back of a van, James laying out the tools of our trade like a grim Santa Claus, explaining the plan as if I hadn't already figured out we were about to abduct someone for execution.

"The target George wants is Rolando Rios, a three-time violent offender. Those neck tattoos? Courtesy of Houston's most ruthless gang," James said, handing me his phone with Rolando's mugshot.

Zooming in, I muttered, "Southwest Raza... Charming."

"Yeah, taking him down won't be a walk in the park."

I met his gaze, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "No one ever goes down easy, huh?"

James's eyes narrowed, curious. "How would you know?"

"Remember, I've been on the receiving end of a kidnapping. How about you?" My tone was playful yet edged with a reminder of our shared darkness.

Hours later, we pulled up to what looked like a church, not a gangster's hideout.

"James, this is off. I thought we were grabbing a thug, not a priest."

"It's the address George gave," he chuckled, his eyes locking onto mine with a warmth that contrasted the cold of our mission. "Lots of them find God behind bars. It doesn't always stick."

I nodded, my mind drifting to the absurdity of 'finding God' as a path to redemption.

"Alright, he's alone. Let's move." James's voice snapped me back. We leaped out; James brandishing his gun, forcing Rolando towards the van while I prepped the duct tape, my heart sinking with each strip as I bound his hands. Each piece felt like another thread of my morality unraveling.

Rolando's eyes met mine, "George sent you?"

Before I could respond, James cut in, his voice a low growl, protective, "Don't talk to her." He flicked out a small bag of drugs from his pocket, his disdain clear. "Man of God, huh? In you go. Keep an eye on him till we're back on the coast."

I nodded, sliding into the van with Rolando, the door slamming shut behind us.

As we drove, silence hung thick in the air, heavier than the tension between James and me. My gaze was fixed on Rolando, but my thoughts were racing with the day's events, the heat of James's protective glare still warming my skin. Every mile felt like a further plunge into the abyss we were creating together, a descent I was beginning to crave with a dangerous intensity.

The sound of a tiny ring startled me but it's only James cellphone. He quickly answers as I keep my stare on our prisoner.

"The DEA, when?" James voice caught my attention yet again. He said DEA which isn't good. I turned my head from the guy we have hostage to James.

"It isn't enough." Rolando spoke catching my attention. "What George is paying you, it's not worth it."

I stayed silent, turned my head away from him and back to James who was still on the phone.

"I'm not who you think I am. My journey to this moment was . . . Ugly. I was gulping for air that never came, you know, graceless. Until I let go . . . But I'm not talking about me right now I'm talking about you."

"Me . . . You don't even know me. You don't know my story."

"I know that you suffer, I can see it in your eyes. You've lost a lot but there's still light in you. There's goodness in your heart, but there's only so many stones that you can hold . . . And this -" he was cut off by James yelling.