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They’re cold, emotionless—except for the sick grin that lifts a small corner of his mouth.
He’s been waiting here.
For me.
“Thought you could get away from me, huh? We have means, bitch. We can find anyone we want.”
I stumble backward over a wrinkled rug, my eyes scanning the shop for any sign of Lee or more of this guy’s friends.
I can’t see my landlord, and while I can’t see anyone else, I have a gnawing sense that several more Cobras are lying in wait.
“What did you do to Mr. Chen?!” It’s the only thing I can manage to say in return.
“He’s taking a nap. But you really shouldn’t be worried about some old fart. It’s not him I’m interested in. I want the person who let my boy die on some table like fucking dog.”
His tone is level, which is actually worse than if he was screaming at me.
Screaming, raging around like a lunatic—that’s easy to break from. Anger makes people sloppy when they’re looking for you.
A dark memory of my uncle and his wife coming home late and drunk threatens to distract me, but I bury it down.
This guy, this gangster, of all things, is raving mad. He’s calm and collected, and he’s got me pinned down with a stare that turns my blood to ice.
If I can’t make it away from him, I’m not sure what he’s going to do.
But I know I won’t like it.
Stall. Stall for time.
“I didn’t let your friend die. My attending and I tried everything we could to get him stable. His body was just too weak.”
Looking around the room, I try to find something—anything—that I can use to get this guy away from me.
There’s an old landline still connected to the wall in the upstairs apartment. All I need to do is make it there.
“My boy wasn’t weak!” The guy steps forward, his brows down low over his eyes.
Now he’s yelling, and I have to find a way to use that to my advantage.
“I have someone coming right behind me. He’ll find us.”
The Cobra laughs, but it’s damn near humorless.
“I ain’t worried about some douche you got behind you, bitch.”
He stalks forward in a quick jab of motion, hauling me off the floor by the collar of my shirt.
I claw at his hand with my nails, but he’s holding on. I can see the muscles on him this close and know there’s no way I’ll be able to overpower him.
“You’re gonna pay for what you did. You and anyone else who watched Joey die.”
My eyes are frantic as they search the area around us. I need something. I need something to give me a leg up.
At once, my eyes fall on a large antique typewriter, precariously balanced on a pedestal just to our right.
Without wasting another moment, I jerk us in that direction, and the thing comes crashing down across the Cobra’s leg.
It lands on his foot with a sickening crack, and his grip opens.
