Chapter 1 - The Burner and the Blood
The old metal whined in resistance as Marcus pulled the drawer open. Inside, resting on a bed of faded velvet, was a matte-black burner phone and a solid titanium flash drive.
He hadn't touched either in seven years.
He had spent almost a decade scrubbing the grease into his hands, trying to erase the blood that used to coat them. Marcus wasn't always a mechanic in a dusty corner of Nevada. He used to be the premier wheelman and vault specialist for the Chicago syndicate, a ghost who could crack any safe and outrun any pursuit. He left that life when a job went sideways, costing him the only woman he ever loved and putting a permanent target on his back.
Marcus stared at the drawer. He was about to lock it again when the impossible happened.
The burner phone vibrated.
The harsh, buzzing sound against the metal desk was deafening in the silent garage. Marcus’s heart slammed against his ribs. Nobody had this number. The only people who knew it were either dead or supposed to think he was.
He reached out, his grease-stained fingers trembling slightly, and picked it up. He pressed the green button and held it to his ear. He didn't say a word.
"I know you're listening, Marcus," a raspy, perfectly polished voice echoed through the speaker. It was Silas Vance. The syndicate boss. The man Marcus had stolen the titanium drive from.
"Vance," Marcus breathed, his voice like gravel.
"You build a nice life down there in the desert?" Vance asked, a cruel smile evident in his tone. "The grease suits you. But playtime is over. I want my ledger back. The drive, Marcus. And I'm not asking nicely."
"I don't have it," Marcus lied effortlessly.
"That's a shame," Vance replied. "Because my men are about thirty seconds away from kicking down your garage doors. If they don't find it... they'll just have to peel the truth out of you."
The line went dead.
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Marcus didn't panic. The mechanic vanished, and the ghost took over. He dropped the phone, grabbed the titanium drive, and shoved it deep into his boot.
Outside, the unmistakable roar of three black SUVs tore through the quiet night, their headlights sweeping across the frosted glass windows of the garage.
