Declan's comment about payment almost caught Jack off guard. The idea of Declan actually oweing something to him for what he had done didn't seem to faze him. Perhaps it was because Jack wasn't thinking straight. Perhaps it was the surging rage and straight forward mindset that he had obtained - find the men who killed his family, and return the favour. Anything else was just a detour or a distraction from the main objective. That's what this was. 

But there was more to this than met the eye. It seemed almost as if Declan was reading him like a open book, the puffiness of his eyes as the printed words, and the burning fire in his actions as the numbered pages. And the remark he made about Jack's father even furthered the uniqueness of the situation. 

Jack only stared at the man, his eyes narrowed in attempt to keep the dust and sun away from his eyes. In that one look, he knew. He knew Declan was looking right through him, figuring him out with every action. "Unless my father pops his head out the grave, then I doubt he'll ever know about what happened here today." His voice quivered. As strong and powerful as Jack felt now with his charismatic trigger itch, he was still nothing but an emotional wreck of a man. Hell, he wasn't even a man. Jack was merely 19 and the only surviving child from his parents. The wounds of their deaths were too fresh to even touch. 

But Jack couldn't help but notice that Declan had a shiny set of car keys in his hand and claimed to want to repay him. 

"How much gas you got in that tank?"