Chapter 2 – The Gas Station
Morning broke with a pale wash of light across the curtains. John dressed without thought, his motions habitual, machine-like. The puppy yawned loudly from the foot of the bed, her tiny body stretching in full defiance of her size.
By the time he stepped outside, Daisy trotted at his heel on a leash, ears perked at every sound. She stopped once to nose at the edge of the driveway, tail wagging furiously at nothing in particular.
John slid into the driver's seat of the Mustang. The leather creaked, familiar, worn just right to his frame. The engine roared to life with a growl that seemed to stir something deep inside him. Daisy tilted her head at the sound, then clambered awkwardly onto the passenger seat.
The road opened up before them. John pressed the accelerator and let the car stretch its legs, the hum of the engine a low thunder beneath him. Wind funneled through the cracked window, tugging strands of his hair loose. Daisy pressed her nose to the glass, ears flapping, eyes wide with delight at the blur of the world outside.
For a fleeting moment, it felt like freedom.
He stopped for gas at a lonely station off the highway. He stepped out, nozzle in hand, eyes distant as numbers rolled on the pump. The world was quiet.
Then it wasn't.
Another car pulled up on the opposite side. Music thumped faintly through tinted windows. Three men spilled out, all swagger and careless laughter. At their center was a young man in an expensive leather jacket, hair slicked back, a grin too sharp.
Iosef Tarasov.
His eyes landed on the Mustang immediately.
"Nice car," he said, accent thick, voice dripping with entitlement. He circled it slowly, as though it already belonged to him. "Mustang, '69. Boss 429?"
John glanced at him once, expression unreadable. "'69. Mach 1."
Iosef grinned wider, tapping the hood with the flat of his hand. "Beautiful. How much?"
"It's not for sale."
Iosef tilted his head, smirk tugging higher. "Everything's got a price, my friend."
John's gaze was cold, final. "Not this."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Daisy barked once from the passenger seat, small but insistent. The sound broke the air.
Iosef's grin faltered, replaced by something sharper, more calculating. He leaned in closer, his breath heavy with arrogance. "Be seeing you, my friend."
He walked back to his car, laughter spilling from his companions as though they'd just witnessed something amusing only to them.
John watched them go. He didn't know their names. Didn't care. He slid back behind the wheel, one hand brushing Daisy's head to calm her.
The Mustang rumbled to life again, louder this time, and carried him away.
The house was quiet again that night, but the silence no longer pressed on him the same way. Daisy had a way of filling it, padding across the hardwood in frantic little bursts, whining when her leash clinked against the door, curling into a warm ball on the couch beside him.
John sat in the dim glow of the television, not really watching. Daisy gnawed clumsily on the corner of a toy, her sharp little teeth clicking against the rubber. She was awkward, untrained, needy and yet her presence was… human. Alive.
When he finally carried her to bed, she wriggled against him, nose tucked beneath his chin. He laid back with her at his side, and for the first time in weeks, the weight of grief loosened. Sleep came heavy, untroubled.
Until it wasn't.
The sound woke him: faint, deliberate, wrong. A floorboard creaking where none should. Daisy's ears perked up, her tiny growl muffled in the dark.
Then the crash.
The door exploded inward, wood splintering against the frame. Shadows rushed in three, four, maybe more. Boots pounded against the floor. Shouts in Russian cut through the stillness.
John jolted upright, instincts flaring even before memory. He reached for Daisy, but hands were already on him heavy fists, boots slamming into his ribs, dragging him down off the bed.
The fight was fast, brutal. John swung once, connecting, but numbers crushed him. A knee pinned him, a fist split his lip, the taste of iron flooding his mouth.
Through the chaos, he saw Iosef. Standing in the doorway, smug grin stretched wide. He looked at John not as a man, but as a prize he'd already claimed.
"Nice car," Iosef sneered. "Told you everything has a price."
Another blow. The world blurred.
Then Daisy's yelp cut through the haze. High, sharp, panicked. John twisted, eyes locking on the pup darting helplessly across the room, trying to reach him.
A flash of movement. A sickening thud.
The sound was small, but it hollowed him out completely.
John roared against the hands holding him down, muscles straining, but the fists kept coming, dragging him into blackness.
The last thing he heard was the jingle of his Mustang's keys in Iosef's hand, followed by the guttural roar of the engine as they tore his life away piece by piece.
When silence returned, it wasn't the silence of peace.
It was the silence of death.