Other arrangements. Like being trapped in one of Grishnak’s restaurants, working off a debt that would never get paid down. Like being just another object Grishnak collected.
I keep my thoughts to myself this time. “No thanks. I’ll find another way.”
Vex snaps his fingers, and two hulking trolls materialize from the crowd. “Honestly, Mei. You should really hear the boss out. Come with us, quietly, and he can renegotiate the terms of that pesky little contract.”
Indentured servitude to the goblin syndicate that runs the underworld of New Vegas? No thanks. I’d never see freedom in this lifetime.
My heart pounds against my ribs. I clutch my knife roll tighter—not that my collection of precision-forged Japanese steel will help against seven hundred pounds of troll muscle.
“I have twelve hours,” I say, taking a step back. “I’m just getting some things finalized as I figure out my next move.”
“Your next move is coming with us for a little chat about asset liquidation.” Vex nods to the trolls, who start to close in.
I’m calculating my odds of outrunning them (terrible), my chances of talking my way out (worse), and whether I could feasibly claim sanctuary in one of the casinos (laughable), when the ground beneath us literally trembles.
“Problem here?” The voice sounds like it originated somewhere deep in the Earth’s core, rumbling up through layers of bedrock to form words.
The crowd parts, and I have to tilt my head back to take in the newcomer: an orc, easily seven feet tall, with shoulders wider than my first apartment’s doorway. His skin is a deep green with intricate tribal scars tracing patterns across his massive biceps. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that reads “DRINK TILL YOU’RE PRETTY” stretched to its absolute limits.
“None of your business, greenskin,” Vex sneers, though I notice he takes a subtle step back. “This is between me and the chef.”
The orc’s eyes narrow. They’re green—a deep, clear, forest green. From everything I’ve gathered in my three months in New Vegas, orc eyes run toward amber and yellow. Green is unusual. Striking. The kind of detail that makes you look twice, then a third time.
“It’s Greenfist, as you know,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. One of his lower tusks is capped in what looks like platinum. He steps closer to Vex, and I swear I can feel the temperature drop. “And this chef is Mei Tan. And you’re crowding her.”
My brain short-circuits. This mountain of muscle knows who I am?
Vex clearly didn’t expect this either. He recovers quickly, though. “She owes a significant debt. My associates and I are simply facilitating a conversation about debt relief and repayment options.”
“Looks more like intimidation to me.” The orc crosses his arms, biceps bulging like they’re trying to make a break for it. “And I don’t like bullies.”
“This isn’t your concern,” Vex hisses. “Back off now before you regret it.”
The orc’s laugh sounds like an avalanche. “That’s cute.”
What happens next is so fast I almost miss it. Vex signals to one of the trolls, who lunges forward. The orc moves like someone three times smaller, sidestepping the troll and grabbing him by his shirt collar. With a grunt that sounds more annoyed than strained, he lifts the troll—who must weigh at least four hundred pounds—and hurls him directly into a neon sign shaped like a bowl of noodles.
The sign explodes in a shower of sparks and glass as the troll crashes through it, electrical components shorting out with a sizzling pop. The crowd gasps collectively, then erupts in cheers and applause because, well, it’s New Vegas. Street fights are practically on the tourist checklist between the fountain shows and all-you-can-eat buffets.
“Anyone else feeling brave?” the orc asks, not even breathing hard.
Vex and the remaining troll exchange glances. Debt collectors are intimidating because people are afraid of them. When someone demonstrates they’re not afraid—especially by tossing a troll through expensive signage—the power dynamic shifts dramatically.
“This isn’t over, Chef,” Vex spits out, backing away. He checks his watch once more. “Twelve hours. Then we are legally entitled to everything you own. Including you. Not even your greenskin can save you.”
And just like that, I’m alone with my green guardian angel in the middle of a buzzing crowd that’s already losing interest now that the violence has ended.
If he hadn’t intervened, I’d probably be kicking and screaming from the trunk of a limo on my way to the goblin mines.
“Thank you,” I say. “For that. I don’t even know what to say.”
The orc’s smile transforms his intimidating features entirely. He looks like a damn puppy. “You don’t have to say anything. You’re Mei Tan.” He sounds genuinely delighted. “From Bowl Goals. I watched your spicy pork episode twelve times.”
I blink up at him, still processing the way the conversation flipped from life-threatening violence to a trip down memory lane. “You... what?”
Words are hard to come by when your brain is short-circuiting.
“The way you balanced the gochujang with the honey and rice vinegar,” he says, shaking his head like he’s remembering a religious experience. “That cross-section shot when you cut into the pork belly? I had to pause it. Take a moment.”
