Page 9 of Veil of Ashes

I back down the stairs and circle around the building to the alley. There's a steel pipe I wedged into the trash chute months ago, for reasons just like this. I pry it loose, grip it tight, and head back up the stairs.

The door still hangs open.

I step inside.

My apartment has been turned inside out.

Drawers pulled. Cabinets open. My workbench scattered. He didn’t take anything. He’s still looking. But for what?

He doesn’t hear me at first. He’s hunched over my file cabinet, rifling through folders. Built like a bouncer, wide shoulders and a beer gut stuffed into black tactical pants. His back is to me. A pistol holstered at his side, but he hasn’t drawn it.

I step quietly.

The floor creaks.

He spins around, gun half-raised.

"You lost?" I say.

He freezes. Masked. Generic black ski gear. Like every two-bit enforcer who thinks black means invisible.

"You her?" he asks, voice low and hoarse.

"Depends on who’s asking."

"Forget the job. Stay away from Rizzi."

He says it like it’s a casual warning, like he didn’t just tear apart my apartment looking for leverage. His eyes dart around the space, calculating. He realizes now that I came back earlier than expected.

"You people never learn," I mutter.

He raises the gun. Not enough to shoot—just enough to threaten.

I swing the pipe.

It cracks against his forearm. The gun clatters to the floor.

He yells, staggers back, clutching his arm. I jab forward again. He blocks with his elbow and drives his boot into my thigh. Pain shoots up my leg, but I don't drop the pipe.

He charges. We crash against the table. Papers fly. My laptop thuds to the ground with a sick crunch.

He punches. I duck. He grabs my hair. I slam my elbow into his gut.

We grapple. It’s not elegant. It’s rage and instinct and blood.

"You keep digging," he snarls, breath hot and sour, "they’ll bury you next to your mom."

That stops me.

Just long enough.

He headbutts me. Stars burst behind my eyes. I fall back, catch myself on the chair.

He grabs the gun.

I throw the pipe. It hits his wrist. He drops the weapon again and bolts for the door.

I scramble up, but he’s already gone. Down the fire escape, boots clanging. Gone before I can track him.

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