“Redline”
- Eddies
- 3,644
El Coyote Cojo
Heywood District, Night City
The streets of Heywood were alive with their usual chaos, neon flickers reflecting off wet pavement, the murmur of conversations mingling with distant car horns, and the faint hum of a street vendor's cart rolling by. Ryan sat atop his bike just outside El Coyote Cojo, one hand fishing in his jacket pocket for his lighter. The glow of the bar's neon sign bathed him in fractured red and yellow as he lit the cigarette, taking a slow drag before exhaling into the cool night air.
He stared at the entrance for a beat longer than necessary. This wasn't a casual stop, it never was with Nessa. Rolling his shoulders, Ryan flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the gutter, watching it sizzle briefly in a puddle before it went dark. Then, he stepped inside. The transition from the outside world to the Valentino favorite bar was almost jarring. The dim, amber-lit interior hit him like a wall, along with the familiar scent of spilt beer, overused grease, and faint cigar smoke clinging to the air. Conversations buzzed around him, but they softened to a dull hum as his eyes adjusted. He wasn't here for the crowd.
Graves scanned the room quickly, his stride deliberate as he crossed the space. He could feel eyes on him—some sizing him up, some recognizing him, but he paid them no mind. His boots thudded softly against the scuffed wooden floor until he spotted her, seated at the bar, a half-empty glass in front of her.
Nessa.
She looked the same, too much the same for his liking. The set of her shoulders, the way she held her drink like it was a shield, it all screamed distance, something that hadn't eased since the job that broke the siblings apart.
Ryan approached the bar, leaning slightly to catch Pepe's attention. "Whiskey, neat," he said, voice low but firm, before turning his attention to Nessa. He sat down beside her, leaving a single stool between them. Close enough to talk, far enough to give her space. He took his glass from the bartender, the clink of it against the wood breaking the silence. He didn't look at her right away, just stared straight ahead, sipping the whiskey. The burn steadied him.
"Nessa." Her name hung in the air like a fragile thread.
He didn't wait for a response, knowing better than to expect one. "I need your help," he continued, still looking forward. "It's not big—at least, not yet. But it could be. Enough to get big leagues attention, maybe put us on the map with some real players."
He paused, setting the glass down on the bar. "I won't push. But I wanted you to hear it from me."
This time, Ryan glanced sideways, meeting her eyes for the first time.
Heywood District, Night City
The streets of Heywood were alive with their usual chaos, neon flickers reflecting off wet pavement, the murmur of conversations mingling with distant car horns, and the faint hum of a street vendor's cart rolling by. Ryan sat atop his bike just outside El Coyote Cojo, one hand fishing in his jacket pocket for his lighter. The glow of the bar's neon sign bathed him in fractured red and yellow as he lit the cigarette, taking a slow drag before exhaling into the cool night air.
He stared at the entrance for a beat longer than necessary. This wasn't a casual stop, it never was with Nessa. Rolling his shoulders, Ryan flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the gutter, watching it sizzle briefly in a puddle before it went dark. Then, he stepped inside. The transition from the outside world to the Valentino favorite bar was almost jarring. The dim, amber-lit interior hit him like a wall, along with the familiar scent of spilt beer, overused grease, and faint cigar smoke clinging to the air. Conversations buzzed around him, but they softened to a dull hum as his eyes adjusted. He wasn't here for the crowd.
Graves scanned the room quickly, his stride deliberate as he crossed the space. He could feel eyes on him—some sizing him up, some recognizing him, but he paid them no mind. His boots thudded softly against the scuffed wooden floor until he spotted her, seated at the bar, a half-empty glass in front of her.
Nessa.
She looked the same, too much the same for his liking. The set of her shoulders, the way she held her drink like it was a shield, it all screamed distance, something that hadn't eased since the job that broke the siblings apart.
Ryan approached the bar, leaning slightly to catch Pepe's attention. "Whiskey, neat," he said, voice low but firm, before turning his attention to Nessa. He sat down beside her, leaving a single stool between them. Close enough to talk, far enough to give her space. He took his glass from the bartender, the clink of it against the wood breaking the silence. He didn't look at her right away, just stared straight ahead, sipping the whiskey. The burn steadied him.
"Nessa." Her name hung in the air like a fragile thread.
He didn't wait for a response, knowing better than to expect one. "I need your help," he continued, still looking forward. "It's not big—at least, not yet. But it could be. Enough to get big leagues attention, maybe put us on the map with some real players."
He paused, setting the glass down on the bar. "I won't push. But I wanted you to hear it from me."
This time, Ryan glanced sideways, meeting her eyes for the first time.
