Marco's words lingered in the dim garage. "You wanted in, Cole. After tonight, there's no out."
Nathan didn't touch the folder on the hood. His fingers itched, but his nerves were already wound tight.
Marco smirked, tilting his head. "Relax. You look like you're heading to your own funeral."
Nathan shot him a glare. "You think this is funny? You dragged me into this. At least tell me what the hell we're doing."
"Easy," Marco said, raising his hands up in mock surrender. "You're too wound up. This is the one, Nate. The job that sets us up for life."
"Life?" Nathan's voice was flat. "Whose life are we talking about?"
Marco only grinned wider, the kind of grin Nathan had seen before when Marco believed his own lies.
They climbed into Marco's car, a black SUV with worn tint and a rough engine. Nathan slid behind the wheel, fingers brushing the steering column.
"Drive," Marco said. "I'll talk."
The city lights blurred past as they pulled out of the garage. Streets thinned into the industrial edges of downtown, a part of the city Nathan usually only saw when someone needed emergency treatment.
"One night," Marco said, leaning back. "One job. Clean in-and-out, two hours tops. We're talking a quarter million each. After that, you never have to touch a stretcher again unless you want to."
Nathan didn't answer. The number was huge alright. $250,000. Enough to cover Lily's care for almost two years. Enough to buy time he couldn't afford any way else.
"You're quiet," Marco said.
"I'm driving," Nathan replied. His voice was calm, but the question inside wasn't. He let it sit for another block before finally voicing it.
"What's my role? What exactly am I walking into?"
"Driver. Medic. You're good at both."
"That's not an answer," Nathan said. "What's the job?"
Marco's hands tightened slightly on the dash, but he didn't look at him. "You'll see."
That was all he said. The rest of the ride was filled with the hum of the engine and the steadily increasing beat of Nathan's pulse in his ears.
The SUV rolled to a stop behind an unmarked bar. The back alley was narrow and hidden, perfect for staying unnoticed.
Nathan cut the engine. "This where you tell me?"
Marco opened his door. "This is where you meet the others."
The back door of the bar opened with a creak. Inside, the air was a mix of stale liquor and cheap whiskey. It was a very private space with no cameras and two bouncers that could stop anyone looking for trouble.
Three people were waiting.
The first was a woman leaning against a table, with black hair tied back in a low ponytail and a face that looked like it didn't miss much. Nathan recognized her immediately. Not her face, but the calm in her posture. She'd been the one returning fire at the cops that night.
"Riley Voss," Marco said, gesturing. "Rear guard."
The second was a tall man checking the action on a Glock, his movements showed familiarity with both the gun and situation—Someone born for a life like this.
"This is Torres," Marco added. No more details were added, just a name.
Marco put a hand on Nathan's shoulder. "And this is Nathan. Driver and medic. He's in for tonight."
They nodded once in acknowledgment but didn't seem welcoming. Even though they needed him, trust wasn't free here.
Marco leaned closer and muttered, "Relax. It's normal. They don't warm up to anyone new on the first night."
Riley's voice was cool. "Thought you had a driver."
"Had," Marco said. "He's still injured, he won't be able to make it today. We needed someone fast, and Nathan knows how to drive under pressure"
Nathan felt the weight of it immediately. Marco hadn't pulled him in as a favor or a choice. It was desperation, painted as opportunity.
Duffel bags were stacked on the table. The crew started kitting up without a word.
Nathan's eyes tracked the gear:
Riley's SIG Sauer P320, racking the slide with practiced ease.
Torres loading a Glock 19, spare mags lined like soldiers on the table.
Marco lifting a short-barrel Remington 870 shotgun, checking the chamber with a quick snap.
Paramedics prep for saving lives. This wasn't that. This was preparation for surviving a crime.
Riley caught Nathan watching and slid a pistol across the table. A Glock 17, matte black.
"Can you handle a gun?"
Nathan shook his head once.
She stepped closer and explained slowly. "The magazine release is here. This is the slide. Safety. Just point and pull when you have a target in sight. That's it."
Her hands moved over the weapon with the same calm precision Nathan used with an airway tube. When she was done, she clicked the safety back on and held it out.
Nathan's fingers closed around the grip. It was heavier than he expected.
Saving someone and hurting someone weighed the same in your hand.
When they were all strapped in black gloves and zipped duffels, Marco finally spoke.
"Tonight's target is a low-tech research facility. Industrial district. Not a big deal normally, but word is a piece of advanced tech is passing through tonight."
"A million-dollar piece of tech," Riley added.
Marco nodded. "Buyer's paying a million flat. We take it clean, split four ways. Two-fifty each."
Nathan's mind broke the plan down instinctively, like diagnosing a failing patient. It was too simple... too clean.
"You believe that?" he asked. "A million for a quick snatch-and-grab in a building with no security?"
Marco's grin didn't waver. "Doesn't matter what I believe. That's the payday. You don't even have to step inside. Just drive. That's all."
Just drive. The words were supposed to soothe. Instead they worried him more.
Nathan slid into the driver's seat of the SUV as the others followed. Marco took the front seat with Riley and Torres in the back, checking their weapons again.
Nathan gripped the wheel. The pistol sat in the holster at his side, an alien feel to it.
The city outside didn't care which side of the sirens he was on tonight.
He turned the key and the engine came to life. The SUV eased into the street, carrying him further across the line he shouldn't have crossed.