Page 28 of Flame
He glowers at the ceiling, and I can’t ignore the part of me that aches in sympathy.
I recognize that look. It’s the same one I see the few times I’m brave enough to look in a mirror.
“He hurt you,” I deduce. He doesn’t react, but I sense it’s the truth. “Is that what he does to keep you working for him? Hurt you. Make you commit crimes at his say so?”
“He’s getting out of the game,” he says tiredly. “It’s only until I can break away on my own.”
“So, now what?”
“I bought us time,” he snaps, his gaze on his hands, bruised and streaked with blood. One by one, he curls a fist, his frown determined. “That’s what.”
Discomfort congeals in the pit of my stomach, growing with every tidbit of information I wring from him.
But I can’t resist asking for more. “What kind of drugs?”
“Bad drugs, bunny. The kind that goes up your nose or into a vein. Shen’s been out of the game for years due to the risk—at least directly. He’s been focusing on ‘legal’ revenue, buying up property and shit. Trying to stay clean for a pivot into politics, I guess. The drugs are petty change to him now. He just made me get my hands dirty to prove a point.”
What kind of point takes this kind of risk to prove?
“How much money did you give up?” I ask him not out of curiosity—but a twisted need to keep this conversation going. As long as he’s still talking, I don’t have to process this. Not yet.
He wrinkles his sore lip, pondering the question. “A fucking lot of money.”
“Money that you get by selling and buying drugs? And shaking down shop owners,” I add, picturing his interactions with Mr. Zhang. “Is this what you do? Sell cocaine or heroin—” the two most dangerous drugs I know of, “and then shake down old men to stay ‘legal’?”
He doesn’t shy from my accusing gaze. “Bunny, where the hell do you think Zhang’s debt comes from?”
“What… I…” Shock renders me speechless.
“The old man’s had a problem for years, between that and gambling. That store of his has kept him afloat, but he’s racked up more on his tab than you would think. But I let it slide,” he adds, staring beyond me. “I thought I could make up the deficit on my own, but…”
“For me,” I croak, filling in the blanks of what he doesn’t say. “You let it slide because of me.”
Silent, he glowers into space, but he lost his grip on the towel in the course of the conversation, letting his arm bleed freely again.
Cautiously, I stand and approach him, eyeing the wound. “He did this to you?” Up close, the viciousness of the injury is on full display. I can’t imagine a family member doing this to his own nephew—though I’m not one to talk.
Given their shape, his injuries could be caused by a fist. A shoe. His body striking something hard enough to slice into his arm. Brutal, grueling punishment.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, dismissing me with a wave of his good hand.
I don’t move. “You might need stitches.”
“I might.” He cocks his head toward me and lets his hand fall. “You up for it, Florence Nightheart?”
“Nightingale,” I correct through a lump in my throat. Sinking down beside him, I wad up the towel and press it against the gash, applying pressure despite his hisses of agony. “I have to stop the bleeding,” I explain as he groans. “I’m not even pressing that hard.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret, bunny,” he says, his voice tight. “I fucking hate pain. Hate it. Call me a pussy, but it is what it is.”
“Your ribs could be broken,” I point out, alarmed by the discoloration over his chest. Not to mention what might happen if the wound on his arm severed an artery. “Why do it? Work for him?” I ask without taking my eyes off the bloodstained towel. “You have money. You have your shop. You have your talent. Or is it all just a front?” I’m surprised by the sheer amount of anger leaching into my tone.
“Why?” He turns his gaze to the ceiling, frowning as if he never considered the question before now. Whatever conclusion he comes to makes him exhale dejectedly. “It’s not that simple.”
“Explain it then,” I snap. “In ‘pretty words.’ Why?”
“I don’t know… Call it genetics.”
I pause in my ministrations. “What do you mean?”
