his eyes like black coals. “And why is that?”
I stare ahead, desperate to ignore the heat of his breath on my cheek. He still smells like coconut and cigarette smoke. Forbidden. Wrong. But my nostrils twitch to take him in anyway. “Because…you’ll only use it to terrorize people.”
“Terrorize. Is that what you think I do, rabbit?” He almost sounds unsure. As if he’s traumatized so many people that he can’t really be sure of the lasting damage—or he just doesn’t care.
“Yes.”
He’s standing way too close now. Other people are forced to maneuver around us, casting us strange looks as they do.
“So then why should I stop now?” His breath sears like the blast from a furnace, and I take another step back, nearly bumping into a woman sporting a designer purse and an irritated glare.
He follows, still laughing. Taunting. “You stole from me, didn’t you, rabbit?” he murmurs. “What are you going to give me to make up for it?”
“Nothing. I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be,” he taunts, his smile ripe. “Do you know the only time a rabbit screams? When it thinks it’s going to die. There any truth to that?”
“Is that a threat?” I cut my gaze to his bloodied knuckles.
He copies me, but the emotion I catch flitting across his face isn’t triumph—far from it—and I hate myself for noticing it. Unease contradicts his entire image, at least until he blinks, and all traces of emotion vanish. “Fair is fair,” he says, flattening his mouth into a cold, hard line. “So, what are you willing to trade?”
“T-Trade?” I back up another step. “Like hell would I ever make a deal with you.”
“Not even to save dear old Mr. Zhang?” His tongue shoots out to wet his lower lip. “No… A girl like you. You may not be a reporter, but you play in the slums for ‘enrichment,’ is that it? You’ll run back to your little McMansion like a good girl when shit gets real. So, go on. Run…”
His eyes narrow as he glances over my head. Confused, I turn and catch a flash of telltale blue fabric mingling with the crush of pedestrians a block down. The closer the figure approaches, the easier it is for me to make out the silhouette of a uniform I know well—an officer, but not just anyone out on patrol.
“Bye, bunny.” Without another word, Rafe shoves past me, bumping my shoulder hard, and lumbers down the street in the opposite direction.
I catch myself watching him—staring. He moves without a care in the world.
While I falter, trapped in the path of a man who frowns when he spots me. “Hannah? What are you doing down here?”
“Hey, Liam,” I croak.
Tall, with a head of brown hair, the officer approaches me. “Hey.” He looks me over, his eyes narrowing. “Your brother know you’re out here?”
I force a nod. “I’m working today.”
He frowns. “We got a call from that part of town. I’m on my way there. Everything okay?”
“I don’t know. I… I’m on break. I have to go.”
“Alright, well, look out for yourself.” He continues his patrol as I scurry beyond his range of sight.
Despite the blazing sunlight, I’m numb down to my fingertips by the time I finally reach the block where my apartment building is located. However, it isn’t long before determination washes through my veins and banishes the coldness away.
You’ll run back to your little McMansion like a good girl when shit gets real, won’t you? So, go on. Run.
It’s stupid to get involved. It is. I desperately try to tell myself that as I fish my cell phone from my pocket and dial a number I know by heart.
A charming baritone answers on the second ring. “Hannah, pumpkin?”
“Hi, Daddy.” I’m near the entrance to my building now, but rather than head inside, I pace the strip of concrete in front of the door.
“Hi, darling. I have a meeting in a bit, so I can’t talk long.”
“I know it’s a little late notice, but…” I swallow hard before blurting my request out in a rush. “I need some money.”
“Are you in trouble?” His tone deepens with concern.
“N-No!” Yes. “Unless…you count not being able to purchase the new Michael Kors purse before they all sell out ‘trouble.’” I wince at the lie. “It’s nothing serious, I promise.”
“Kors…a purse?” Suspicion laces his every word. “Since when are you interested in fashion?”
I glance down at my vintage sweater, cargo pants, and sandals—all found at a thrift shop for less than ten dollars