Fault Line

Chapter 3

I dont wait for her to invite me in, no point, she's already expecting me, and she doesn't like to be kept waiting.

Ivy's sitting behind her desk smoke in one hand, ashtray in front of her, she taps the side with one finger, and ash falls. Smoke hangs heavy in the air, though it doesn't smell like tobacco, never does.

I stop a few steps away.

She draws her smoke before she speaks, the smoke wafting from her mouth as she talks, "You can't seem to get away from this place, even on your night off, here you are." Tap, tap, fall.

"Wouldn't want you to miss me," the words come out flat, deliberate, mirroring Ivy's.

A huff that's almost a laugh, she takes another drag, exhaling through her nose before she answers, "I need you tomorrow night." Tap, Tap, Fall.

"I already work tomorrow night," I start

"I don't mean in the club." She cuts in. "In the back."

I shift my weight on my feet, "Okay."

"There's meant to be a fight here tomorrow night, already booked. Already advertised. One of the fighters have backed down." She said it so casually, but I knew what was hidden under those words. No one got to just 'pull out' like that.

Tap, tap, fall.

"I want you to fix it." It's not a request.

I nod, "I think I've got someone."

"You think or you know?"

"I won't know until tomorrow."

"And if they aren't available?"

Tap, tap, fall.

"I'll figure it out."

Ivy doesn't answer straight away. She pushes the butt into the ashtray, then leans both elbows onto the table, "Don't f**k this up, Indie." A beat, "I'm counting on you." It sounds like praise, but I know what it really is. A threat wrapped in kinder words.

"I've got it covered."

She nods, and picks up her glass, the ice clinking as she brings it to her mouth. She's already half turned in her chair, waving me away.

That went well.

I don’t stick around. I’m back out the door and down the corridor, phone already in my hand. Quick text sent, then it’s gone again. A breath. I push back out onto the balcony, shaking it out of my hands, and nudge Kian as I pass. He shifts over without a word. I drop into the booth. There's already a shot and a drink waiting for me, something dark.

"Starting strong are we?" I ask no one in particular.

They laugh. Another shot hits the table in front of me. Already behind.

I can’t help it—I smile, grab the first, tip it back. It burns all the way down. The second follows before I think about it. I try to loosen up a little.

Kian watches me over the rim of his glass while I take the second shot.

I don’t look at him straight away. Let the noise fill in first—voices climbing over each other, music bleeding up through the floor. The kind of energy that tries to drag you with it whether you want it or not.

Kian leans in just enough, voice low, cutting through the rest of it without trying.

"I need your help with a job, tomorrow night."

Here we go.

"What kind of job?"

"Moving a couple cars."

"For the garage? Can't one of them help you?"

He shakes his head, glancing at the others, too busy in their own conversations to notice, "Don't trust them. I trust you."

"So not for the garage." I huff a breath, not quite a laugh. "You back to stealing cars?"

He shrugs, leaning back in the booth and sipping his drink, no rush, "I'm moving them." A beat, "It's paying."

"Yeah?"

He takes another sip, longer this time.

There’s more to it. He knows I know. I see it in the way he doesn’t look away when he drinks. He doesn't wait for me to ask, he knows I won't. I nod once instead, "It'll have to be late. It's gunna be a busy night apparently."

“Late works,” He doesn’t ask what kind of busy.

I lean back into the booth, picking up the drink again, “Where?” I ask, casual. Like I’m already half in.

“Industrial side. Past the rail yards.” He glances at me now, quick, measuring. “Two cars. In, out. No noise.”

“No noise,” I repeat, like that’s ever really an option.

He huffs, almost a smile. “As little as possible.”

I take a sip, eyes drifting over the table, making it look like I’m not locked in on him.

I sigh, "Alright."

That does it. He grins, lifts his glass, “Better make tonight a good one then, just in case.”

I watch him for a second. Then I lift mine.

We clink.