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“I’m beginning to hate that,” Law said.
“What?” I asked, scoffing again. “I just find it utterly laughable that you don’t like lying.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
I yawned, preferring to divert the conversation rather than confront Law. “It’s getting late, and I have work tomorrow—today, I guess.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Nope.” I nearly scoffed again but thought better of it. “No thanks.”
“I’m not about to let you drive in the state you’re in.” The state I’m in? I’d had two drinks and they’d since settled, thankyouverymuch.
I rolled my eyes to the side and smiled acidly. “Let’s get this straight, Law: you don’t tell me what to do, what to think, what to wear, how to act, or
anything else, got it? If you’re looking for some girl to boss around and make you feel like a man, you’ve picked the wrong one. Maybe you heard my story and thought I was damaged and could be groomed easily, I don’t know, but you picked the wrong target.” I coughed, feeling drained. It had taken every ounce of emotional energy I had left to make that speech.
I was fearful. Fearful that I was an easy target, that after what had happened to me, men could groom me. Part of me was beginning to think the reason Law was being so inquisitive in my life was because he had figured out who I was and thought I was an easy target. I hadn’t yet told him my name for that very reason. Still… I hoped Law wouldn’t question me or my speech, that he would just take it at face value and fuck off.
Law took another step back, his face a mix of emotions. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” I hadn’t expected that.
“I wasn’t trying to groom you, or shit, I don’t know. I uh…think I should go.” Law rubbed a hand through his dark blond hair.
I grabbed his arm. “Why did you follow me out of the coffee shop? Why have you been following me?”
His eyes snapped to mine, so fierce they were almost shining yellow. “I’ve seen that face before.”
“My face?” I froze. My fears were materializing. He thought I was an easy target. I was becoming a Nami smoothie, ground up and sucked up.
“One of complete terror and isolation. It’s the face a victim gets when she sees her attacker. ”
I sucked in a breath, snapping out of my whirling thoughts. “How the fuck do you know that?”
“My line of work is…unique,” Law replied, ever the inscrutable one.
I scoffed. I was starting to believe him; how dumb of me. “Your line of work?”
He eyed me incredulously and repeated my words, almost annoyed. “Yes, my line of work.”
“As a fucking political puppet?” I couldn’t help my response. I wasn’t a seasoned liar—unlike the company I kept—so it was hard to keep my tongue in check.
Law craned his neck to the side, eyeing me with confusion. “What are you talking about?”
I fingered my gun again, in case things were about to get ugly. “I know what you do, okay? I know who you work for and I know why you’re out with me. Stop pretending.” I pushed my gun against my purse, so the outline was visible. “And just so you don’t get any funny ideas.”
He eyed my gun, less than impressed. “What are you talking about?”
“You have your reasons for needing the drug stopped,” I repeated the words Law had said to him icily. His face went ashen, just for a moment, before he narrowed his eyes on me.
“What have you gotten yourself into?” Law asked.
I shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
By the time our conversation lulled, the sun was coming up, and people were walking by. We were still in the alley. I had one hand keeping him at a distance and the other on my gun. We had gotten nowhere. I didn’t believe him one bit but then why, why, why…
Why was there a sliver of hope nestled like a shard of glass inside my heart, telling me that he might be for real?
