Collection

Kian

The second I heard Da's voice calling me from the hallway, I knew I wasn't getting out of this.

"Get your arse out here, we've got places to be."

I swallowed back the frustration bubbling in my chest and dragged myself off the bed. I didn't bother arguing. There was no point. Dad never asked me to come with him on collections—he told me, and there wasn't an option to say no.

Mam was sitting stiffly at the kitchen table when I walked out, her hands wrapped tightly around her mug like she was trying to steady herself. She didn't look at either of us, just stared blankly into the tea like she wished she could disappear into it.

She didn't say anything as I grabbed my jacket. She never did.

Outside, the air was cold, but it didn't do much to shake the weight sitting on my chest. Shane was already unlocking the car, and I could tell from the way he moved that he was in one of his moods.

"Get in," he ordered.

I slid into the passenger seat, keeping my face blank as he started the engine. He didn't speak at first, just lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke filling the small space between us.

Then, finally—

"You listening to me, lad?"

I was blinked, realizing he'd been talking. "Yeah."

His eyes flicked to me for a second, sharp and calculating. "Good. Because this is important. You need to learn how this business works. You think people just give us respect? You think they hand over what they owe without a little encouragement?"

I didn't respond, just stared out the window as the buildings blurred past. I already knew how this business worked. I'd seen it enough times.

Dad took another drag of his cigarette. "People get too comfortable, they start thinking they can take the piss. That's where we come in. We remind them who's in charge."

I clenched my jaw, keeping my expression neutral.

I hated this. Hated the way he talked like this was something to be proud of. Like we were running some kind of respectable operation instead of scaring people into handing over money they didn't have.

The car pulled up outside a run-down shop, the kind that barely looked like it could stay open another month. I already knew what was coming.

He turned to me, his lips curling into a smirk. "You ready, son?"

I forced a nod, even though my stomach was twisting itself into knots.

I hated this.

But I hated disappointing him even more.

The bell over the shop door jingled as we stepped inside. The place was nearly empty, just a middle-aged man behind the counter and a woman stacking shelves near the back. The man looked up, and the second his eyes landed on Shane, his face paled.

"Shane," he greeted, his voice tight.

Dad grinned like they were old mates. "Mikey, how's business?"

Mikey didn't answer right away. His fingers twitched against the till, like he was debating whether to make a run for it. But he knew better. Everyone knew better.

"It's been a slow month," he admitted, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Da sighed dramatically. "That so? That's a real shame, Mikey. A real shame. 'Cause, see, I was expecting you to have my money today."

Mikey flinched. "I—I just need a little more time—"

His smile disappeared. "We've already given you more time. You think I'm a charity, Mikey? You think I let people take the piss?"

"No, no, I swear, I just—"

Da moved fast. One second, he was standing casually by the counter; the next, he'd reached over and grabbed Mikey by the front of his shirt, yanking him halfway across the counter. The woman in the back let out a muffled scream, dropping whatever she was holding.

I forced myself to stay still. To act like I wasn't affected. But my stomach was in knots.

"Listen to me carefully," Dad murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't give a shit if business is slow. You made a deal. And you will pay me back. Understand?"

Mikey nodded frantically, his face turning red from how tightly Shane was gripping him.

He shoved him back, and he stumbled, barely catching himself on the edge of the counter. "I want my money by the end of the week. No excuses. Or next time, we're not just talking."

Mikey's breathing was ragged, his hands trembling as he nodded. "You'll have it. I swear."

Dad clapped him on the shoulder like they were mates again. "Good lad."

Without another word, he turned and walked out, expecting me to follow.

I hesitated for half a second, my eyes flicking to Mikey. His hands were shaking as he wiped sweat from his forehead.

He looked at me then—just for a moment. And in his eyes, I saw it.

Fear.

Fear of my dad. Fear of what would happen if he didn't come up with the money.

Fear of me.

I clenched my jaw and followed Shane out the door, swallowing the sick feeling in my throat.

This was my life.

And I hated every second of it.

Dad was in a good mood. That was the worst part of all this.

He strolled down the street like he didn't have a care in the world, like he hadn't just threatened a man in broad daylight. He lit a cigarette as we walked, exhaling a long stream of smoke before glancing at me.

"You're quiet," he said, smirking. "That bother you back there?"

I shoved my hands into my pockets, keeping my face blank. "No."

He chuckled like he didn't believe me. "Good. 'Cause this is how things work, Kian. People like Mikey, they know the deal. They borrow money, they pay it back—with interest. If they don't, they learn the hard way."

I said nothing.

"You did good, though," he continued. "Kept your mouth shut, didn't flinch. That's important. People see weakness, they'll walk all over you."

I wanted to tell him I didn't give a shit about looking weak. That I hated every second of standing there, watching Mikey shake and beg. But what was the point? Shane wouldn't care.

We reached his car, a battered old BMW with a busted taillight. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and got in, and I followed, staring out the window as he started the engine.

"Got one more stop to make," he said, pulling out onto the road.

I tensed. One more stop. One more poor bastard getting leaned on.

I should've been used to this by now. But I wasn't.

And I never would be.

Dad drove in silence, the only sound in the car the low hum of the engine and the occasional tap of his fingers against the steering wheel. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, and I rolled the window down a little, needing the fresh air.

I didn't ask where we were going. It didn't matter. It'd be the same as before—some poor lad who owed more than he could afford, Shane making sure he understood what happened when you didn't pay up.

We pulled up outside a small corner shop, the kind with barred windows and a faded sign barely hanging on over the door. He killed the engine and turned to me.

"Stay close," he said. "And don't open your mouth unless I tell you to."

I clenched my jaw but nodded.

He got out, and I followed, my stomach tight.

The shop was empty except for an older man behind the counter. He looked up as the door creaked open, and the moment he saw Shane, his face paled.

"Shane," the man said, his voice strained.

"Danny boy," Dad greeted with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "How's business?"

The man—Danny—swallowed hard. "It's been... slow."

He sighed dramatically, stepping forward. "That's a shame. Really. But you know what's worse? Slow business doesn't mean slow payments. We had an agreement, didn't we?"

Danny wiped his hands on his apron, glancing nervously at me before looking back at Shane. "I—I just need more time. Just a bit more time."

Da clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "See, that's the thing, Danny. Time isn't free."

Danny's hands were trembling now. "I can get it. Just—just a few more days."

Dad exhaled through his nose, then turned to me. "Kian, you see the problem here?"

I hesitated, my throat dry. "He doesn't have the money."

"Exactly," Je said, turning back to Danny. "And what happens when people don't pay?"

Danny's breath hitched. "Please, Shane—"

My da moved fast. He reached across the counter, grabbing Danny by the collar and yanking him forward. The older man let out a choked gasp, his hands flying up to claw at Shane's grip.

I forced myself to stay still, even as my stomach twisted.

"You think I'm stupid? Think I don't know you've got a stash hidden away? You've been in this game long enough, Danny. Don't make me teach you a lesson."

Danny gasped for air, his face red. "Okay! Okay! It's—it's in the back."

Danny stumbled back after Dad let go of him, clutching his throat, eyes wet with fear.

He straightened his jacket. "Go get it."

Danny didn't hesitate. He practically ran to the back room, and a moment later, he returned with a thick envelope. His hands shook as he handed it over.

Dad took it, flipping through the cash before nodding. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Danny said nothing, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Da tucked the envelope into his jacket, then patted Danny's shoulder. "Pleasure doing business with you."

We turned to leave, and just as we reached the door, Danny spoke.

"You're turning him into you."

I froze.

Dad did too, but only for a second before he let out a low chuckle. "Nah," he said, pushing open the door. "He'll be worse."

The words hit me harder than I expected.

I wasn't like Shane Holland. I'd never be like him.

But as I followed him out, the weight in my chest told me that maybe—just maybe—I already was.