Page 2 of Breaking His Law

No response.

“Help,” I call out as best as I can.

Through the fog and over the sound of what I think is the car hissing, I hear quick footsteps.

“Help me, please,” I try again, praying someone, anyone, will hear me.

The footsteps run closer.

“I’m in here.” Making sure they can hear me this time, I shout louder. “I’m stuck; please help me,” I plead. “And my sister.” My emotion bubbles over, and I sob hard. “Can you help her? Can you see my mom? Is that you, Dad? Please. Help.” My words fade out as I weep.

“Shit,” a weak and wobbly whisper of a man’s voice utters, followed by, “Shit. Shit. Shit.” The fear is evident in his hurried cuss words.

Tears wet my face, the fat droplets mixing with the fuel that’s gathered around my cheek like a puddle. I look at my sister’s motionless body again. “Please help my sister,” I helplessly beg as the sound of the man’s footsteps begin to run away fast and disappear, my hope fading with them.

“No,” I bellow as loud as I can into the ether. “Please come back.” Panicking, I jolt my body upward. Instantly, I’m hit with searing white-hot pain in my back, making me feel like my shoulder is being ripped open, and I scream into the emptiness.

Feeling woozy, my body goes limp, and as hard as I try to keep them open, my eyes shutter close.

Floating memories dance through my mind. My mom laughing… Dad dancing with her in the living room… My sister and I chasing each other around the backyard… and laughter… so much laughter… and as I go under, everything disappears into a black hole…

1

ARI—FOURTEEN YEARS LATER

As I run the tip of my forefinger in a circle around the lip of my cocktail glass, a loud roar of jovial laughter from behind me fills the bustling bar, pulling me out of the hypnotizing movement. It’s packed to the rafters with white-collar workers, and the noise levels rise as they celebrate the start of their weekend.

In the mirror along the back wall, I cast my eyes down the line of people seated to the left and right of me, chatting, laughing, and catching up with friends.

This time next week, it will be me kicking back, rejoicing the two days away from my new boss: the son of a corrupt man. And while I won’t be working for him directly, simply being within reach of his orbit makes me want to scrub my skin raw.

My new job is a means to an end.

I have a plan.

I’m uncertain whether I can accomplish it, but I will give it my best shot. For my family’s sake.

Unease runs through my veins, causing me to wiggle on my barstool. To settle my nerves, I lift the cocktail to my lips, enjoying the bittersweet taste of my Manhattan, the herbal undertones filling my mouth with full flavor and making mehum in response. I rest my glass down on top of the hammered copper-topped bar.

That hit the spot. I already feel better.

“Can I get you a drink?” A man appears next to me.

Here we go. Cheesiest pick-up line ever.

Letting out a dramatic groan, I twist my neck in the direction of the man who the cocksure voice belongs to, and recognizing him instantly, I look away.

Predictable.

“I’m good, thanks.” I rest my hand over my now empty glass.

I wondered if he would have the balls to talk to me. After all, he’s been watching me in the mirror for the last half hour.

Far from subtle, he’s been checking me out, making eye contact, then looking away, smirking, then looking back. He’s an incorrigible flirt.

So cliché.

Just, no.

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