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Shane led Jimmy down into the basement.
Jimmy took in the cramped space, the cold chains hanging from the walls, and the battered wooden posts used for training. His stomach tightened. He had no idea what Shane wanted.
"Hey, Shane," Jimmy said, raising his hands like he could smooth everything over. "If this is about whether I'm serious with Fiona, I'll swear on anything. I've never met a girl like her. I—"
"I call you Steve or Jimmy?"
Shane turned around. The easy look on his face vanished. He cut Jimmy off clean.
The name hit Jimmy like a slap. His smile froze.
"What—what are you talking about? My name's Steve. Who the hell is Jimmy? I don't know any—"
"You sure?"
Shane stepped in close and backed Jimmy into the corner.
"That BMW you drive? The wiring job on the ignition is professional. Only a real pro would spot it. Looks like you're one of Jose's main guys."
Sweat broke out on Jimmy's forehead. Stealing cars wasn't exactly a secret, but Shane knowing his real name and his connection to Jose sent a cold spike of panic through him. He reached into his jacket on instinct and pulled out his wallet.
"Okay, okay. You win. How much do you want? I've got five hundred in cash. If it's not enough I can hit an ATM—"
Shane slapped the wallet out of his hand. It hit the floor with a sharp crack.
"That kind of money doesn't buy my silence."
Jimmy's face went white. If Shane didn't want cash, what the hell did he want?
"Then—what do you want? I'll give you the BMW. Just don't tell Fiona—"
"Listen, Jimmy." Shane grabbed him by the collar and lifted him until his toes barely touched the ground. "If you actually want to be with Fiona, you're gonna do two things."
"First, you start pulling back from the car theft shit. Don't bring that kind of heat to my house. I don't give a damn how you die out there, but you sure as hell aren't splashing Fiona with blood."
"Second, you're gonna tell Fiona the truth about who you are. On your own time. If someone else has to do it—or if I have to do it—you're gonna die ugly."
Shane reached out with his free hand and wrapped his fingers around one of the thick wooden training posts like it was Jimmy's throat. He squeezed. The wood groaned and cracked under his grip, leaving a deep dent.
Jimmy's eyes flicked to the damaged post. His throat bobbed hard. He nodded fast and desperate.
"Okay, okay. I'll do it. I swear."
He hesitated, then added quickly, "That's all? You don't want anything else…?"
"Pretty much." Shane let him go and straightened Jimmy's collar with almost friendly care. "Oh, right. One more thing."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Since you went to med school in Michigan—even if you dropped out—I've got a little event on Saturday. I need somebody who can look like they know what they're doing with a stethoscope and some medical talk."
Shane patted Jimmy's cheek.
"White coat. Stethoscope. Throw around some fancy words and scare the shit out of a bunch of South Side nobodies. Think you can play doctor for me, Jimmy?"
Jimmy straightened up fast, relief and fear mixing on his face.
"No problem. I got this. I never graduated, but I'll sound more legit than a real doctor. Heart rate, blood pressure—whatever you need."
Ten minutes later they came back upstairs. Jimmy's smile was still a little stiff, but it was a hell of a lot better than the dead look he'd had when Shane first dropped his real name.
"Wow, you two were down there forever," Fiona said, wiping down the table. She glanced between them, clearly checking for bruises. "What were you talking about?"
"Nothing big," Shane said first. "Remember that clown online who's been running his mouth? I told Steve about it. Turns out he knows some medical stuff, so I asked him to play doctor on Saturday and help me mess with those idiots."
Shane slung an arm around Jimmy's shoulders and gave him a hard, friendly shake.
"Right, Steve?"
Jimmy's smile snapped into place.
"Yeah, yeah. Shane's idea is perfect. I can actually help. We had a good talk, Fiona."
Fiona looked between them, suspicious for a second, but Jimmy wasn't bleeding and Shane wasn't pissed, so she let it go.
The West Side situation was handled for now. Jimmy had been warned. Shane finally had room to deal with the loudmouth online.
He finished breakfast fast, grabbed his scooter, and headed for South Side Iron Gym. On the way he pulled out his phone one-handed and refreshed his Facebook.
Jack was still posting. In the time Shane had ignored him, the guy had dropped more taunts—mocking him for staying quiet, calling him a keyboard warrior who folded under pressure.
Shane opened the most popular post. Likes had stalled at 5,147. New comments were slowing down. The crowd was getting bored.
Time to end it.
At the gym Shane stripped off his shirt and did a few hard, fast sets to pump his muscles. Then he dragged a chair into the middle of the warehouse, set the camera low, and angled it upward so the light hit from behind. The shot made him look bigger, darker, and in complete control.
He sat down, leaned forward, and stared straight into the lens.
"No more talking shit on Facebook. Saturday, 2 p.m. South Side Iron Gym. Bring your crew. Bring your camera. Bring a piss cup if you're feeling brave."
He pointed one finger at the camera like he was pointing straight at Jack.
"Stop hiding behind a keyboard like a little bitch. Show up. Or put your yoga pants on and stay home, pussy."
He grinned.
The video cut to black.