Chapter 4

Curiosity Breeds Tension

Rico was scrubbing down the rims of a matte black Charger when he felt it again—that familiar burn. Not from the water or the degreaser. Not even from the midday sun beating through the open bay doors. No, this burn sat just beneath his skin, like someone was watching him, studying him and measuring every move.

He didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

The Boss.

He was standing upstairs behind the one-way glass wall of his office, the same spot he always retreated to when he wasn’t on the floor. Hidden, detached and sovereign. But Rico had felt those eyes all day. Watching him during break, watching him clean and watching him eat.

And ever since that first night—since Rico stood in front of that leather chair and said, “No, sir”—The Boss hadn’t tried to touch him again. Not physically. But the tension? It had only gotten worse.

Now it followed Rico like smoke.

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble,” Marco muttered under his breath, stacking buckets beside him.

Rico blinked and turned. “What?”

“You keep looking up there like you got something to prove. Don’t.”

“I wasn’t looking,” Rico replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

Marco squinted at him, all the cheekbones and narrowed eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You were picked on your first night. You said no. That’s already made you different. The rest of us… we don’t get that choice.”

“Then why stay?” Rico asked.

“Where the hell else are we gonna go? He feeds us. Pays us. Protects us from worse men. And sometimes, he’s even… kind.”

“Kind?” Rico laughed under his breath, like the word was foreign. “You call that kindness?”

Marco didn’t answer. Just turned and walked away, leaving Rico staring at the reflection of himself in the soapy water puddled at his feet.

He hated how confused he felt.

He hated how much power that man still held, even without laying a single finger on him.

But most of all… he hated that a part of him wanted to understand why.

Later that evening, the shop was quiet. The last car had rolled out, the grill was closed, and the scent of oil and spices still clung to the air. The boys were scattered—some in the lounge playing cards, others upstairs sleeping or showering.

Rico sat alone in the back corner of the main floor, polishing a set of hubcaps that didn’t need polishing. He wasn’t tired. He couldn’t sleep. Not with the memory of the first night burned into the inside of his skull like a brand.

The Boss had let him go.

No threats. No punishments. Just a look. An unforgivable one.

And that, more than anything, had messed with Rico’s head.

He didn’t understand it. In the streets, when someone wanted something, they took it. When you said “no,” you got hit—or worse. There was no patience, no waiting. But this man? This “Boss?"

He played a long game. One Rico didn’t know the rules to.

There's a figure passed beside him. Rico didn’t flinch. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Can’t sleep?” the Boss asked.

His voice was smooth, almost velvet. The kind of tone that slipped beneath defenses before you realized it was a blade.

“I’m not tired,” Rico muttered.

“You’re polishing something that’s already clean.”

“Maybe I like the way it shines.”

“You’re different from the others.”

“That a problem?”

“No. That’s why I hired you.”

The man crouched beside him—not too close, but close enough. His cologne was expensive. His black button-down was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing muscular forearms inked in lines Rico couldn’t quite read. A snake, a rose or a quote in Latin.

He noticed the Boss’s eyes weren’t cruel or curious.

Like Rico was a puzzle he couldn’t crack.

“You still think I’m gonna break?” Rico asked, without looking.

“No,” the Boss said. “I think you’re waiting.”

“For what?”

The Boss leaned in slightly, his voice was just above a whisper. “For a reason.”

Rico's eyes flicked up, meeting his. “You think you’re that reason?”

The Boss smiled, stood up and walked away without answering.

The next day was strange. The air was thick with something unspoken. Even the others noticed it.

Ty—loud, flirtatious, always looking for attention—was unusually quiet around Rico. Felix barely made eye contact. Marco was watching everything like a hawk. And Jaylen, who never cared for drama, muttered, “He never comes down two nights in a row unless he’s interested.”

Rico didn’t ask what that meant. He already knew.

After dinner, as the others were gathered in the rec room, the intercom crackled again.

“Marco. Upstairs. Now.”

A wave of silence fell over the room. Marco’s eyes went wide, then lowered. He stood wordlessly, his steps were heavy as he made his way up the stairs and disappeared through the boss’s office door.

Rico felt something twisting in his stomach. Jealousy? Relief? He didn’t know. But he hated the way everyone else relaxed again, like it wasn’t their night to be chosen.

Like this was normal.

Like it was routine.

He sat outside under the flickering neon, lighting a cigarette. He didn’t smoke often, but tonight his hands were trembling, and he needed something to do. Something to ground him. He stared out at the empty street, wondering what the hell he had walked into.

This wasn’t just a shop.

This was a machine. And The Boss was the one pulling every lever.

He’d thought he could keep his distance. Just work, save up, and get out. But now he saw the trap. The food. The comfort and the routine. It lured you in, made you think you were safe. Until you weren’t.

He didn’t notice the door open behind him until he felt someone sit beside him.

Marco.

His eyes were red, his lip slightly swollen. But his face was... calm.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, lighting his own cigarette. “I’m fine.”

“Did he…?”

“Yes. But not like you think.”

Rico stayed quiet.

“He has rules,” Marco continued. “Lines he won’t cross. He lets us say no… sometimes. But if you stay long enough, you stop wanting to.”

“That’s messed up.”

Marco laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s survival. When the world takes everything from you, you start being grateful for the little kindnesses. Even if they’re twisted.”

Rico stared at the ash at the tip of his cigarette, the ember glowing orange. “I don’t want to be grateful for scraps.”

“Then you’re stronger than most.”

“He won’t wait forever,” Marco said. “He likes to chase, but eventually he stops.”

“What happens when he stops?”

“He forgets you. Stops protecting you. Stops paying you. Stops caring if you get hurt.”

Rico stood and stubbed out his smoke on the railing. “Then I guess I better stay interesting.”

In the night, Rico didn’t sleep again. He lay on his back in the room, staring at the ceiling fan spinning in lazy circles.

He could hear someone moaning from above—the floorboards were creaking in rhythm. He hated how his imagination filled in the blanks. He hated the heat pooling in his gut.

He hated that part of him wanted it, too.

Not the control. Not the rules. But the attention.

He was tired of being invisible. Of being disposable.

He wanted to be seen—and not just as a body.

He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow, trying to block it all out. But the feelings didn’t go away. They only grew louder. The curiosity and the tension.

What would happen if he said yes?

What would it feel like?

What would The Boss do?

He drifted off sometime before dawn, sleep finally claiming him, his dreams filled with black eyes, soft hands, and the ever-growing weight of want.