Fighting Chance Vol 2 #12

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Zain kept his eyes locked on the man’s phone. The guy was too busy talking, one hand waving like he was in the middle of some deep conversation, the other twirling a fork through his food.  His plate was still full. Barely touched. Good. First thing he learned about New York City today was that…

Hitting up the same grimy diner at the ass-end of Queens was a habit all three of the boys had gotten used to before and after late-night jobs. Carb-loading and protein-filling. It wasn’t because nowhere else stayed open past midnight because come the fuck on, this was New York City. No, not that. However, it…

His whole side felt like it got hit by a bus. Or maybe a whole damn Metro train. It was just a taxi, though. Just. Zain limped fast down the backstreets behind Canal like he could outwalk the stabbing under his ribs, hoodie stuck to his side with blood and sweat. Fabric clung where it…

Zain’s hands moved before his brain did as usual, fingers ghosting over the metal links of his chain like they knew something he didn’t. He’d gotten used to sleeping with it – wrapped around his wrist, looped across his chest, tucked between his fingers. The weapon never left his side anymore, not since the Russians,…