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    Summary

    "You know, Omar, I really don't even care about the thirty Gs," I started, looking at my knuckles as if the most interesting speck of dirt was on them. "I want to know why you felt the need to go and run your mouth to the Feds." Again, just trying to get a reaction out of him.

    He remained silent, staring at me in contempt, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe. The guys sure must've done a number on him for him to be this bad.

    "What did they offer you? Protection? Money?" I laughed once. "Funny, if you got money from those fucks and still couldn't pay me back—" I cut myself off by punching him in the face. Okay, maybe I was still a little sour about not getting my thirty thousand dollars back.


    Chapter 7 in Zayn's POV. Warning for mild violence and gore

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