Page 19 of Moth
She leaves as I struggle to place her. She’s familiar, but how?
I don’t have long to contemplate. Low with impatience, a voice calls from deeper in the building, “In here.”
My heart races as I fumble forward and feel along the wall for another door. It opens easily onto a hallway where a pool of yellow light floods from a doorway a few yards down. Soon, my surging pulse is the sole sound I can hear above my footsteps.Thump.Step.Thump.
Observing my surroundings provides a minimal distraction from the building fear. The walls are a faded cream, and a flickering fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling barely casts enough light to illuminate half the room.
But a thousand faces stare back. Most of them gawk from various pieces of paper in all sizes affixed to the wall. Lined paper. Faded parchment. Canvas…
Drawings. They take up nearly every inch of available space like windows into a twisted psyche. One that views the world in vibrant shades of light and shadow. The artist’s style is distinct with bold, sharp lines and painstaking detail.
As much as I cringe from the descriptor, my brain keeps cycling back to one word, over and over.Beautiful. I’m left gaping like an idiot until something new draws my gaze.
In the center of the room, beneath the glow of the lamp, stands a figure not composed of ink or charcoal. His back is to me, and I assume his shirt is the wadded bit of white cloth lying on the floor a few feet away. Chiseled muscle sculpts his shoulders, giving definition to the impressive red and black dragon tattoo spanning the length of his upper body. Its ruby-colored eyes burn into my own, its fiery breath blazing down his left forearm.
“Huh.” His voice draws my gaze back to his face as he takes me in with a single glance over his shoulder. “It’s you. How did I know it would be you…?”
I recall the quip the girl sent his way and feel my cheeks flush. Just how many “damsels” are waiting in line to visit him tonight? Though the topic of his previous conversation didn’t sound like it revolved around sex. More like he was trying to convince the woman to do something…
And she was afraid of someone.
“I assume you’re here for a reason,” Rafe prompts, snapping my attention back to him.
I relinquish my grip on my phone and fish a stiff envelope from my purse. “H-Here’s your money.” I jab it toward him when he doesn’t move. “Take it. Now you can leave Mr. Zhang alone.”
“Zhang…” With deliberate slowness, his eyes fall to the envelope, and he sneers. “Oh, little rabbit. You struck me as the type.”
My hand trembles, causing the envelope to waver back and forth. “The type to what?”
“To take it upon your good-natured soul to begDaddyor some rich uncle for the cash.” He turns back to the canvas with a dismissive shrug. “Tell Zhang that his payment is still due.”
“You can’t…You can’t do that—”
“Why not?” He turns to face me fully, and I flinch.
His scent of coconut without the blood strikes me first. My eyes register his appearance second. There’s a small, white bandage taped over his battered knuckles. Unconcerned by any pain, he holds my gaze with an intensity that chills me right to the bone.
“You made this about me, didn’t you?” I counter. “I’m not a reporter.”
He scoffs.
“And you only picked on him to prove a point, right?” I raise the money again. “Well, this is me, fixing it.”
“You have no clue what you’ve stuck your meddling nose into, rabbit,” he taunts in an almost pitying tone. “I suggest you leave.”
Only then do I notice what he holds in his left hand. It’s slender, and I flinch instinctively. A knife? No. A long stick of wood with a vibrant red tip that matches the stripes of paint streaking the canvas behind him. A paintbrush.
“Tell me something,” he adds before I can obey his command. “You came all the way here, carrying this much cash.” He nods to the envelope. “For Zhang?” He chuckles when I nod and runs his free hand through his hair. From behind a wayward lock of it, those dangerous eyes cut in my direction. “Are you alone?”
I take two hasty steps back. Then another. “N-No.” My eyes drift to the exit, and I can tell from the way he smiles that he suspects the truth. “I’m not.”
“Let me guess,” he muses, playing along. “That boyfriend of yours is lurking outside, huh? Bran with the heart?” He practically scoffs the nickname. “Maybe you should scream for him now, rabbit—”
“My boyfriend? Y-Yes.” I seize upon the lie. “He’s waiting for me. He knows where I am. And… he’s a cop.”
“I’m shaking, rabbit.” The mocking tilt to his mouth steals my breath away. I back up even more while he starts to advance, trapping me within the sliver of space right before the door; a stack of framed canvas is all that blocks my path.
“It’s not just money that Zhang owes,” he says, his breath hot on my face. “It’s respect. Loyalty. If he wants to hire even a little nosy bunny, he knows better than to not go through me. The money is a meretoken.” I can’t move without touching him now because he pins me in with his bulk alone. “You want to pay for him? Then offer something that means more to you than money.”
