Infinite Rebate: I Get Richer Every Time I Spend

Tharok came through the entrance hard.

The smell hit him first ~ spilled alcohol, dust, and the faint metallic edge of blood. Then he saw the lounge itself. Tables were flipped. Chairs lay scattered like someone had torn through the place in a rage.

One of his own men was sprawled near a broken centerpiece, half-conscious, mask twisted, blood drying dark against the side of his face. Another was curled against the base of a booth, not moving much at all.

The sight alone set something off in him.

Whatever thin control he still had snapped. He grabbed the nearest table and drove it aside with a violent shove, sending glassware and leftover bottles smashing across the tile. A chair went next. He kicked it out of his path hard enough that it skidded into the wall. Every step deeper into the lounge only fed the anger climbing up his chest.

Then he raised the pistol.

The first shot cracked toward the ceiling.

BANG.

Plaster dust drifted down.

A second shot followed almost immediately.

BANG.

The sound ripped through the ruined lounge and rolled out into the street. Staff members who had just started creeping back from the kitchen and storage rooms dropped flat at once. Some pressed themselves to the floor. Others crawled behind counters and toppled chairs, hands over their heads. The earlier fear in the room turned sharp and immediate.

Gracie’s body reacted before her thoughts did.

Whatever she had been about to say to Lucas died in her throat as she dropped low, heart slamming hard against her ribs. The gunshots left a thin ringing in her ears. Her breath came short and uneven, fingers gripping the edge of a fallen seat just to keep herself grounded.

Lucas, by contrast, barely changed expression.

He turned his head toward the entrance with the same unhurried calm he had carried through the entire fight, eyes settling on the new arrival as if the gunfire were only a minor interruption. No tension in his shoulders. No rush in his movement. Just quiet attention.

Tharok was still forcing his way forward, boots grinding over broken glass, gun raised, face twisted with the kind of rage that wanted control back at any cost. He looked ready to start shooting the moment something moved wrong.

Then he saw the man standing near the center of the damage.

The recognition hit him all at once.

Lucas.

For a split second, Tharok’s entire body locked up. The fury on his face cracked into something closer to disbelief, then fear. Of all the people he might have expected to find here, this was the one he least wanted to see.

His first instinct was to turn and run.

He even started to shift his weight back toward the entrance.

"Stop."

Lucas’s voice cut through the room ~ not shouted, but hard enough to land like a command.

Tharok’s legs froze mid-turn.

For a moment he just stood there, breathing heavily, gun still in hand, caught between the urge to escape and the force of the voice that had stopped him. Slowly, almost against his own will, he began turning back around to face the man he had hoped never to run into like this again.

Lucas stepped forward.

Tharok stiffened the moment the distance between them closed. Up close, the difference in presence was impossible to ignore.

Lucas didn’t look rushed. He didn’t look angry in the loud, messy way Tharok understood. He just looked calm ~ and that calm was worse.

"So," Lucas said, eyes fixed on him, "you’re the idiot behind all this nonsense."

Tharok’s mouth opened, but nothing useful came out at first. The gun in his hand suddenly felt heavier than it should have. His fingers loosened around it without him fully deciding to let go, and the pistol slipped free, hitting the floor with a dull, ugly sound.

"N-no... it’s not... it’s not me," he stammered, the words breaking apart as they left his mouth. It took him several broken attempts just to force that weak denial out.

Lucas glanced down at the gun, then nudged it aside with the side of his shoe like it was trash.

Behind Tharok, the rest of his men stood frozen near the entrance. Confusion spread through them in silence.

This was supposed to be simple. One target. One extraction. Instead, their boss was stuttering in front of a single man, and none of them could tell whether they were supposed to attack or stay still.

One of them shifted his weight.

Another tightened his grip on his weapon.

No one actually moved.

What snapped the lounge into motion was the slap.

Lucas hit him hard across the face.

The sound cracked through the lounge, sharp and humiliating. One of Tharok’s gold teeth tore loose from the side of his mouth and flew out, skidding across the tile in a small, ugly arc.

The force of the blow dropped him straight down. Before he could catch himself, Lucas grabbed him by the collar and dragged him forward across the broken glass and scattered debris.

"Explain," Lucas said, voice still controlled. "What the fuck were you planning to do here?"

Tharok tried to get his knees under him, but Lucas didn’t give him the space. He hauled him up just enough to keep him from collapsing completely, then shoved him back down again.

This wasn’t the first time Lucas had dealt with men like him ~ loud when they had numbers, empty the moment the pressure turned real. Looking at Tharok now, shaking and bloodied, it was almost disappointing.

Lucas raised his hand again.

"I said tell me who sent you."

Tharok flinched hard, arms half-lifting like he could block the next slap before it came.

"Who the fuck sent you?"

The second threat was enough.

"Durnik!" Tharok blurted out, voice cracking. "It was Durnik! Durnik sent us!"

The name left him in a rush, desperate and loud, like he was throwing it into the room in hopes it would stop the next hit from landing.

Lucas kept hold of his collar for a second longer, staring down at him.

Behind them, the remaining men still hadn’t moved.

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