“Mara?” I finally recognize my surroundings as the busy block housing the Chan’s restaurant. Mr. Chan stands in the doorway, scanning the people passing by. I suspect it’s almost time for the lunch rush, which explains why Mara has a stack of flyers tucked beneath one of her arms.
“Have the day off?” she asks.
“Y-yeah.” I cross my arms over my chest and try to seem nonchalant. “Um…sort of.”
“Sort of?” She gives me a funny look before shaking her head and reaching for one of the flyers. She holds it out for me to read. A Night of Poetry (and free drinks)! “Don’t forget about the spoken word tonight. You coming? I promised you noodles on the house, and I plan to deliver.”
A part of me wants to say yes, but thoughts of poetry only conjure a harsh voice proposing a single question—You write about lying a lot, rabbit. Why is that?
“Hannah?” Mara snaps her fingers beneath my nose. “You spaced out there for a minute. You’re coming tonight, right?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe…”
“I’ve decided you are.” Mara shrugs. “You have to. You can have anything you want off the menu on the house. Shit, not now—” She breaks off, glancing over her shoulder.
My eyes follow the same path, over to the front of the Chan Noodle House, and land on a tall figure looming over the smaller frame of Mr. Chan. The stranger’s black hair clashes with the red awning shading the restaurant entrance.
Rafe.
Beside me, Mara stiffens. “I have to go—”
“It’s him again,” I rasp. Apparently, I’m not the only one he decided to visit today. He’s speaking to Mr. Chan, his words inaudible. “Is he threatening you? You should call the police—”
“No,” Mara says, her teeth clenched. “Just leave it alone, Hannah. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight if you’re coming to the spoken word.”
When she approaches the two men, the taller one turns, and our eyes meet. My stomach clenches in recognition, but his expression reveals nothing as he brushes past Mara and disappears into the crowd. I can only watch as the Chans duck inside the noodle house while my mind grapples with what just happened.
I start for my apartment, but I don’t even go a block down before I smell it.
Smoke.
“You can’t keep clear of things that don’t concern you, eh?” The closeness of his voice startles me. I stumble forward a few steps, but I can’t resist turning to face him.
In the ten minutes since he terrorized Zhang, he’s managed to wrap his injured hand with a rag, but blood is already seeping through the gray fabric. My book is nowhere in sight, and I eye his pockets, searching for its distinct shape against the leather.
Thus, my earlier theory is strengthened. He’s already trashed it.
“You wouldn’t be following me, now would you?” he taunts before I can respond to his original question. “Reporter or not a reporter? You certainly scurry around like one.”
I clench my jaw shut and eye my surroundings for an exit. If I shift a little to the right, I could slip past him and race for my apartment. Yet despite how my toes flex in my sandals, I never move.
He’s standing just far enough away from me to prevent arousing alarm in any nearby bystander. Regardless, he’s so close that I feel the body heat wafting from him anyway. And he’s so tall that I have to crane my neck just to see his face clearly.
“Not so talkative today, huh?” His lips twitch. He almost seems disappointed. The same way a cat gets bored when the mouse it’s toying with doesn’t fight back. “All that courage seep away overnight, rabbit?”
Leave, my intuition warns. I press my heel to the pavement, shifting my weight to move. I don’t know why my lips part, a question spilling from them. “Where’s my journal?”
He chuckles. “Where it belongs, bunny. In the fucking trash.”
I grit my teeth as a flush of alarm creeps into my skin. Is he lying? I can’t tell from his sneer. Anger festers, biting through my usual resolve, and another question springs to my tongue before I have the sense to choke it down. “Where’s your lighter?” I blink, mortified by the shift in my tone…mocking?
His eyes widen and narrow as a dawning realization flits across his features. “Little bitch…” He sounds angry, but a contradictory smile shapes his mouth, stealing my breath. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”
“No,” I lie in a rush.
“I think you do.” He eyes my hands as if I’d be stupid enough to dangle it before him. Though maybe I should flick the flame in his face and see how he’d react to having the tables turned…
A pang of alarm makes me frown, and I back up another step. This isn’t like me. Because of him. He feeds on these dark thoughts I’m not used to thinking. The hate I’m not used to feeling.
At any other moment, it’s so easy to suppress it all.
But he’s like a flame licking at the thin wick linked to my control. One taste of his fire, and I can’t slow the blaze.
“If I do know where it is…” I lick my lips, meeting his gaze. “I don’t think you deserve to have it.”
“Oh, really?” Within an instant, he’s towering over me, 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…”