critically acclaimed thriller, pride can no longer keep me silent.
“That goes over here,” I blurt out before moving the book to its correct spot on the other side of the shop.
Either he doesn’t hear me, or he doesn’t really care, seeing as how he never stops his careless stacking. I don’t know why I find myself following in his wake to either tweak the placement or to stare in shock when he manages to place something in the right spot.
Soon, one stack becomes several. He reassembles more shelving units, and eventually, we’ve restocked the rest of the undamaged merchandise.
“Why are you here?” I direct the question from over my shoulder, hoping he won’t answer.
Because he’ll leave.
“I’m asking you the same question.”
“I work here.”
“For how long? All things considered, I own this shop now, rabbit. I prefer my employees to have more spine.”
With a sigh, I turn to face him. The shadows paint his skin, turning him into a patchwork creation of darkness and light. My eyes don’t know which part of him to settle on first—or how to interpret this man who’s made up of so many contradicting hues of ivory, silver, and ebony.
In the end, I pick his hair, as the pure, harmless black seems to be the least threatening element to focus on.
“Ask me what you really want to know,” he demands. His voice catches me off guard. It’s too guttural, his breath searing the nape of my neck as I turn my attention to the opposite end of the room. Anywhere but him. “Ask it.”
“You said I owe you a debt,” I croak. “What do you want?”
“What do you think I want?” He takes a step closer, but there’s a dangerous edge to his tone—a demand he hasn’t uttered out loud—yet.
I lick my lips, desperate to stall. Combat him. Anything. “I think you want to annoy me. What are you, some kind of criminal?”
I look back just in time to catch his eyes narrowing—it’s not the question he expected. Nonetheless, he has an answer ready. “Maybe I am, rabbit. But that wouldn’t scare you, would it? No…” He leans in, his nostrils flaring as if he can smell the truth on my skin. “You love knowing that I’m some dirty little fiend you can sneer down your nose at. It makes it easier to play with fire if you know you’ll get burned.”
I turn away, hissing through my teeth. “You don’t know me—”
“Don’t have to. It’s written all over that pretty face,” he interjects. “You can never hide who you really are for long, Hannah.”
I glance back to find his eyes on my name tag pinned to my sweater. It’s the first time he’s actually called me by my real name, but his voice catches over the syllables, distorting the pronunciation. Harmless Hannah transforms into something else. Something guttural and dangerous.
“But judging from the shit you wear, that’s all you’re good at doing. Hiding.”
I self-consciously finger the hem of my sweater. It’s even thicker than my bunny one. “So now you’re a criminal and a fashion expert.”
“Better,” he corrects. Another step and his shadow cuts my body in half. “I’m a criminal who can fucking read.”
He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an item he either carries around for moments like this, or he brought with the sole intent to seek me out—my journal.
“Give it back.” I reach for it, but he dangles it just beyond my reach, letting the pages sway.
“You want it, rabbit? Where’s my lighter?”
I stiffen, reaching into my pocket. A part of me despairs at relinquishing my one bit of leverage over him, for about a second. Even the thought of him pawing through my journal again makes me relent. “Here.”
I present it on my palm, and he snatches it. Juggling my journal, he grabs a cigarette from his pocket, then flicks the lighter one-handed and ignites the end.
Shoving the lighter back into my hand, he turns for the door.
Confused, I stare down at the ombre object before returning it to my pocket. As I do, my head swivels in his direction, tracking his retreat. “Wait! Give me my journal—”
“Come and get it, bunny. Hop this way.” He inclines his head for me to follow before he exits the shop entirely, letting the door slam.
I ignore the barb, preferring to focus on the obvious. I should leave. I am. Returning to the counter, I grab my bag, then I approach the door and cautiously pull it open. He isn’t lurking outside it.