It was 3:07 AM when the request came in. Normally, I’d ignore anything that late unless I was already heading home, but the surge pricing was high, and I told myself it would be one last ride. The pickup location wasn’t great—dim streetlights, half-closed businesses, the kind of area that feels abandoned even when it isn’t. I almost canceled before I even got there.
Then I saw him.
He was standing under a flickering light, massive—easily 250 pounds, broad shoulders, heavy build, the kind of presence that fills space without trying. His face was covered in tattoos, not the clean, artistic kind you see on social media, but rough, layered ink that told a different kind of story. The kind you don’t ask about.
