CHAPTER 10: DEBTS

"Boss, you okay? Not too tired from the drive?" I asked, putting on my best five-star spa therapist voice as I gently kneaded Antonio's shoulders.

We were in the VIP lounge on the club's second floor. Antonio was sprawled out on a massive plush couch, and there I was behind him, desperately giving him a full-body massage like my life depended on it—because frankly, it did.

He suddenly clamped a heavy, scarred hand over mine and slowly pushed it off his shoulder. Taking the cigar out of his mouth, he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

"Neo..." he growled, his voice deep enough to shake my organs. "I didn't come here for a spa day."

That's it. Maybe it's time I started writing my own will.

I nervously scratched the back of my neck. "Well, you see, boss..."

"Neo," he interrupted, turning his head. His jaw tightened as his eyes met mine, his expression serious.

"You didn't pay the full amount last month. I let it slide and gave you until this month." He stared at me, completely serious. "So... where's my money?"

He wasn't lying. I missed the quota. My monthly requirement to this loan shark was 50k pesos—fail to hit it, and he just doubles the interest like it's a casual game of Monopoly. But this month? I didn't even have the base 50k, let alone last month's backlog.

I flashed him a weak, terribly strained grin. "Look, boss... business has been a bit slow..."

I stopped mid-sentence when the sound of him cocking the gun echoed through the room. My soul instantly left my body. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as a desert.

"What was that?" he asked softly, a terrifying edge to his voice. "Are you telling me you don't have it again?"

My debt? I thought bitterly.

I wish it were mine! I didn't even get to spend a single cent of those millions. My dad borrowed the money, died, and left me to deal with the mess he left behind.

Ugh, what a load of crap.

"Boss, I'm serious, tips have been terrible lately," I stammered, rubbing my neck awkwardly.

Antonio went completely silent. His beefy bodyguards didn't even blink, they just stood there like statues of doom.

Suddenly, Antonio pivoted on the couch. Before I could back away, his hand shot out and clamped around my neck like a steel vise, slamming me back against the sofa wall.

I didn't fight back. I chose not to.

His grip tightened around my throat, making it hard to breathe. I gasped for air, my breaths coming out weak and shaky. Then, my vision blurred, but through the haze, I could still see his eyes—filled with pure, unfiltered rage.

Just as my consciousness started fading, one of his goons stepped forward. "Boss...just friendly reminder, if you choke him to death, we don't get paid."

Antonio paused, then grunted and let go. I collapsed onto the floor, clutching my throat and violently coughing, greedily dragging sweet oxygen back into my burning lungs.

Damn it! Why couldn't he just finish me already?! I'd be peacefully resting in the afterlife by now!

"Don't test my patience, Neo," Antonio snapped, turning his back on me. "I know you don't care if you live or die. But remember... this isn't just about your life."

He walked out, while his silent army falling into line behind him.

My fists clenched against the floorboards. That bastard. He really seemed to enjoy blackmailing me. Threatening me was one thing, but dragging innocent people into it? Threatening Jude or my clueless neighbors? That was a whole different matter.

Tsk. Great. Now I'm accidentally responsible for the survival of people I barely even know.

I let out a long, exhausted sigh and stared at the ceiling. How the hell am I going to pull millions out of my ass now?

God, I hate this life.

---

"Yes! Go, babe! You're the best!"

"Whoooo! Kill 'em, Keith!"

"Go, idol!"

Screams echoed across Aling Susan's bakery. The local fan club was glued to the TV again, watching a PBA game and screaming for the exact same arrogant bastard who harassed me yesterday. I didn't know if it was a live game or a replay, nor did I care.

I just sat in the corner, peacefully dunking my pandesal into my cheap coffee like a tired old man.

"See, Jonard? I told you our idol is insane!" Cassandra bragged to Jonard, whose face looked like he had just swallowed a lemon.

"Tsk. Pure luck," Jonard muttered, keeping his eyes on the TV.

"Luck?" Sussie immediately turned to him, looking offended. "He just scored five times in a row!"

"Exactly!" Cassandra chimed in, pointing at the screen. "Look at his movement. He's on fire today!"

Jonard only rolled his eyes. "You two are seriously convinced he can do no wrong."

"Because he's good!" Sussie and Cassandra said at the same time.

Jonard shut his mouth, unable to counter-argue as the TV displayed the guy dominating the court.

Meanwhile, my blood was practically simmering. I hadn't forgotten what that jerk did to me yesterday. I honestly thought my punch would put him in a coma, but here he was, popping off on national television like he hadn't tried to assault someone twenty-four hours ago.

Tsk. He may have great ball control, he has zero self-control.

Seriously, if he knew his Alpha Rut was coming up, shouldn't he have downed a factory supply of suppressants instead of—argh, whatever!

I shook my head, trying to scrub the memory from my brain.

"Wait, why does he have giant bandages on his face again?" one of the girls pointed out.

I glanced up. Sure enough, two huge band-aids were plastered across his cheek, hiding the massive bruise I left him. Serves him right. He's lucky I was in a rush, or I would've redesigned his whole face.

"His vibe feels totally different today, though."

"Yeah! He doesn't look exhausted at all."

"Did he finally get a good night's sleep? Is his insomnia cured?"

Yes, girl. Your precious idol slept like a baby—and you should thank me for that.

"Wait, this is a replay, right?"

"Yep! Live game was last night. I just wanted to rewatch it because he looks so hot—even with the band-aids!" Sussie squealed.

"Hey, keep it down, will you?!" Jonard snapped, covering his ears.

The girls just rolled their eyes in sync. "You're just jealous, Jonard."

I stared at the screen, processing the timeline.

Wait... a replay of last night's game?

Hold on. An alpha's rut lasts for days. If his rut hit yesterday morning, how the hell was he sprinting across a basketball court by nightfall? Was he chugging suppressants like candy?

I groaned inwardly, dipping my bread again.

Man, I really should've put more weight into that punch.