Billy halted as the door shut in his face, and a small thread of panic started to wrap around his gut. This could be the end of the mission or the end of him. He hadn't thought Mike capable of outright murder. Not like this. But how much had he missed? How much had that buttoned-down exterior hidden from view? He'd dismissed that punch in the bar as nothing more than an outburst, was it a hint of something much larger? Had Mike killed these people in cold blood, or was it something else?

Billy wasn't a guy for wetwork. He never had been. That was Casey's deal. A wounded teammate who needed tire attention could get him to push through it. But this? This was too much. He needed out and he needed out right then. This was meant to be low level for now. He didn't have a wire. He didn't have an ops team on standby. He couldn't call anyone in to get him out.

"I think I'd rather stay just your wheelman if it's all the same to you." It was said quickly, barely differentiating the words, his voice thick with two very necessary things. The first being an attempt to not breathe, so he wouldn't have to smell that blood. The second being a focus on not vomiting on Mike's shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut as the former became difficult by sheer biological need, and he tucked his face harder against his sleeve.