Chapter 1: The Last Score
"I’m pretty sure you got hard killing him, Marcus!" Rico’s voice cracked as blood dripped from his shoulder onto the leather seat. "Why the fuck did you shoot him when he was cooperating?"
"Shut up!" Marcus Reed clutched the duffel bag tighter, his knuckles white against the black nylon. "See what you caused? You made the cops chase us because of your stupid decision to argue with me!"
I yanked the steering wheel hard right, tires screaming against wet asphalt as the stolen BMW fishtailed around the corner. The engine roared, drowning out their argument for a moment, but not the helicopter blades chopping the air above us.
"Both of you shut the hell up," I growled, eyes scanning the mirrors. Three police cruisers gaining ground. "Rico, press harder on that wound. Marcus, count the money."
The sirens wailed louder now, bouncing off Manhattan’s glass towers. I downshifted and floored it, weaving between late-night traffic as the speedometer climbed past ninety.
—
I know you’re wondering how we got here. Let me take you back.
My name is Javier Restrepo, and I always wanted to be a boxer. I dreamed of living a normal life, but well... I became a thief instead.
Orphaned at eight when my parents died in a car accident. Social services bounced me through foster homes until I landed at Marcus Garvey Group Home in Brownsville. Eighteen years old, they kicked me out with nothing.
The first petty theft was survival. Stole a wallet outside Penn Station. Forty-three dollars felt like winning the lottery when you’re sleeping in subway stations and eating from garbage cans.