Page 53 of Flame
Horrified, I turn to the pile of boxes down the hall and picture the item lurking inside one of them—the hair clip.
The muffled chime of the front door snaps me back to the present danger.
“Officer?” Rafe inquires, his voice seeping through the floor. “What the hell is this about?”
“We have a warrant to search the premises,” a man replies. I vaguely recognize his voice—the same officer who came the other day about the fire. Judging from the commotion, he didn’t come alone this time. I can make out at least four other figures marching in through the shop’s entrance. “We’ll need access to both the shop and your private residence, Mr. Wei-Shen. We’ll try not to make too much of a mess.”
From his tone, it’s obvious they aren’t here on a whim. They’re looking for something.
And I think I have a sinking suspicion as to what.
As quietly as I can, I lunge toward the box of my belongings and dive into the first one. Inside is just a random assortment of clothing and books. The second one is no different.
Panic urges me to keep searching as muffled footsteps emanate from the lower level, moving toward the back of the shop with a purpose that leaves no doubt as to where they’re headed next.
Gritting my teeth, I double my efforts, ripping through my belongings as quickly as I can. It isn’t until I reach the third one that I finally discover my old shoebox of trinkets. I grab the hair clip and wrench open the window just as a cadre of footsteps ascend the staircase.
There isn’t time to think or plan. Without barely a glance downward, I scramble onto the windowsill and aim for the fire escape below.
With a heart-stopping thud, my feet land on the rickety structure, which squeals in protest. The sharp noise is loud enough to be heard across town, and I can’t stop myself from glancing at the window. If the officers noticed, I only have a second or two to react.
So I move, blindly scrambling to the lower level where a steep drop separates me from the ground. There isn’t time to unfurl the nearby ladder. Clutching my bag, I close my eyes and jump instead, landing in a crouch on the pavement.
Staggering upright, I scramble deeper into the alley. Another glance over my shoulder reveals no one is following me—yet.
But a sudden movement from the corner of my eye dashes that hope—it’s already too late. Someone grabs my forearm, dragging me around a corner before I can even get my bearings. Alarm shoots down my spine as a familiar smell itches my nostrils.
I know before I even spin around to face him, just who has me.
“Wait,” Branden warns in a low tone before I can say a single word. “Don’t do something stupid. Just hear me out.”
He’s not wearing his uniform. Instead, a nondescript black shirt and jeans help him blend into the shadows of the alley. His hair is mussed, his chin coated in fresh stubble. One look at his gaze, and I feel an instinctive impulse too strong to resist.
Run!
“Let go of me!” I tug my arm, discretion be damned. In fact, I should want to bring attention to myself, police or not.
But just as I open my mouth, he tightens his grip.
“Think of your little friend,” he warns, dragging me closer to him, his nails gouging at my flesh. “What’s her name, huh? Mara Chan? She hangs around the same pieces of shit you do, isn’t that right? It would be a damn shame if she wound up like that other girl.”
I go limp as my heart pounds. I can’t even tell if he means it as a threat or just an observation. It’s pathetic how a part of me desperately wants to cling to the latter option.
Even though I know which one is the truth.
“Like ‘the other girl.’ Like Faith?” I hiss, hating how my voice breaks.
“Hannah...” I’m too slow to cringe from the hand he swipes along my cheek. “I would never hurt you,” he says. “All I want to do is protect you. Even if I have to protect you from yourself.”
“I didn’t hit myself,” I point out, swatting his hand away. “I didn’t hide cameras in my room, either.”
His eyes narrow, unreadable from this angle—but the subtle shifting of his posture sets every nerve in me on red alert.
“Why don’t you ask the bastard you’re fucking about that, huh? I’m sure he’s already bragged to every gangbanger in the city what an easy piece of ass you are—”
I lash out without thinking. My hand harmlessly glances off his chest, but the violence leaves me stunned anyway. I hit him.
And in retaliation, he snatches my wrist so hard I cry out. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
