Page 80 of Moth
“Deliver?” I ask, though a part of me suspects his answer.
He sighs and shoots me a knowing look. “To him. I’d go myself, but…” He fingers his glasses, adjusting them nervously. “I cannot thank you enough for all your help. You’re a good girl.”
He hurries away as my lips part, but in the end, I don’t have the heart to refuse. As I leave the shop, my feet carry me aimlessly, and eventually, I find myself standing before a familiar building.
It’s closed with the door locked and lights off, casting most of his artwork in shadow. There is no mailbox, no sign proclaiming where one could leave his blood money. I consider shoving it beneath the door or throwing it in the street. Perhaps dumping out every last bill in a spiteful row right here for anyone to take?
If Mr. Zhang wouldn’t be the one to ultimately suffer for my actions, I’d do it. I’d give in to the violent, cruel impulses only he ever seems to inspire in me. Maybe the emotions are my own psyche trying to warn me? Nothing good could ever come of him.
I should be glad he made that painfully clear. He belongs with someone like Bonnie, and I belong with…
Someone like Liam?
The question hurts too much to think about, so I shove the envelope back into my bag and start for my apartment. As I do, my fingers brush against a crumpled flyer. Something I don’t even remember slipping inside.
I run my finger gently over the smiling face printed on the page, and then I change direction, eventually arriving at the Chan Noodle House. Unsurprisingly, it’s packed with locals eager to show their support. There are more volunteers than the building can hold, and excess people spill out onto the sidewalk, craning their necks to hear the conversation taking place inside.
Mr. Chan stands near the front of the restaurant beside an older couple who must be Faith’s parents. Tears streak their faces, and their hands are clasped in solidarity. But not far from their orbit stands a figure who seems out of place amongst the bright, if somber atmosphere. He has his arms crossed, his gaze scanning those gathered with a piercing intensity. I can’t help but notice that a certain giggling blond isn’t anywhere near him, though he could have switched her out for a different model of floozy.
And if he did? Why do you care?
“You came!” A warm hand gently brushes my shoulder, and I turn to find Mara easing through the crowd toward me. “I’m glad you’re here. This is starting to get a little scary.” She frowns, glancing worriedly in the direction of Faith’s parents. “I thought she might just be out having a little bit of fun, but no one’s heard from her. There are rumors going around that it could be payback from Gino’s gang of idiots. My parents are freaking out. If there’s retaliation…” She trails off, her gaze on an approaching car. It’s a sleek luxury model out of place amongst the modest vehicles parked along the curb. “Speak of the devil,” she murmurs. “It’s Mr. Shen.”
She’s presumably referring to the tall, broad-shouldered man who exits the driver’s side of the car dressed in a crisp black suit. His dark eyes sweep the assembled bunch, his impression indecipherable. Moving assuredly, he starts forward and almost as if in some bizarre synchronized dance, most of the crowd hurriedly parts for him, muttering greetings as he passes.
“Who is he?” I ask before I realize that I already know the answer.
“Rafe’s uncle,” Mara says. “Shit just got real if he’s involved. Last I heard, he was supposed to be out of town for a while. He wouldn’t come back unless this was serious.”
Two other men exit the car in his wake, wearing suits in muted shades of gray. While lurking in the background, they scan the immediate vicinity like sharks on the hunt.
“I’ll be right back,” Mara says before inching forward. Her voice reaches me from over her shoulder. “My parents will kill me if I don’t show respect.”
I watch her slink over to Mr. Shen and bow her head in greeting. The man places his hand on her shoulder before turning his attention to her parents. There’s a rehearsed quality to it all, and I can’t escape the sense that so much more is playing out beneath the surface.
The reason Mara was so shaken the night Rafe first accosted us. Why Mr. Zhang would entrust me, a relative newcomer, to approach these people rather than do so himself. Why the locals shuffle warily in the presence of a man who seems to command so much power just by arriving.
He takes up the remaining sliver of space between the Chans and Wens, showing sympathy with a bow of his head. But I notice that another presence is suspiciously absent. Even when I inch forward to enter the restaurant proper, I don’t find him anywhere.
But as curious faces glance in my direction, I can’t escape the sense I don’t belong here either. It’s as if everyone knows I’m a sheltered interloper watching from the outside looking in.
Finally, Mr. Shen steps forward. “Here, we are family,” he says, his booming voice easily reaching throughout the wide space. “We protect one another. Look out for one another. And we fight for one another. Tonight, we search for one of our own, and I have no doubt that everyone here will search for Faith with the same intensity you’d search for your own sister or daughter. We are family here.”
As he falls silent, the Chans set out, passing out stacks of flyers along with suggestions of where to begin. I start forward, my eyes on Mara, but a heavy hand falls over my shoulder. Alarmed, I turn to find a stranger looming over me. I vaguely recognize him as one of the figures who arrived with Mr. Shen.
“What’s your name?” he demands, eyeing me up and down. “You live around here? Or are you a reporter? Or…” He leans in, his eyes narrowing. “Are you a snitch for that fucker Gino?” His grip tightens, his nails digging in. “Which one is it—”
“She’s with me.” A different hand lands on my opposite shoulder, and my entire body resonates with the heat emanating from it.
The other man grunts, but when he eyes the figure behind me, he nods and lumbers off, joining the press of people breaking off into small groups to search.
“What are you doing here, bunny?” He sounds so cold. I can clearly predict his expression before I even turn to face him—guarded eyes and a mistrustful frown.
As if he has any right to be.
Saying nothing, I reach into my pocket for Mr. Zhang’s red envelope. I shove it at him so fiercely he barely manages to catch it. Then I turn on my heel with my chin in the air and my shoulders back.
I don’t even make it a step.
