Nicky immediately began shaking in fear again.
His entire body convulsed, a violent tremor that started in his core and radiated outward like a shockwave. His shoulders jerked. His knees knocked together beneath the table. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, each one more desperate than the last, his chest heaving with the effort of simply staying conscious. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over and tracking down his cheeks in hot, shameful streaks.
He couldn't die.
The thought was a scream inside his skull, drowning out everything else. He couldn't die here.
He should never have gotten involved in this.
Regret washed over him like, burning through every rational thought, every excuse he had ever told himself. He should have said no. He should have stayed poor. He should have found another way. Anything—anything would have been better than this. Better than sitting here, trembling and begging for mercy from a smiling man with red hair.
But what could he have done?
