Page 67 of Moth
She cocks an eyebrow. “He runs in the triad, for one,” she says matter-of-factly. “Well, this city’s version of it, anyway. Not to mention, well… My dad isn’t racist or anything, I swear, but he just has this fantasy of me marrying some rich Chinese businessman due to a promise he made to his mother on her deathbed about never forgetting his roots or something. He’s dramatic.” She rolls her eyes.
“Rafe isn’t Chinese?” I ask, unsure of how else to phrase it.
“Rumor is his dad was, but his mother wasn’t,” she explains. “His dad was pretty infamous around here, from what I’ve heard. He ran things before his brother took over. But he went to prison, though I’m not sure why. Murder, I think.”
“That’s awful.”
“For Rafe, yeah,” she admits, frowning. “Could be why he’s such an ass. Angry, damaged, and sexy as hell. A perfect candidate for bad boy sex.”
“I guess so…”
“Night,” Mara chirps, waving me off. “Hopefully tomorrow will be averygood night for me.”
I leave, still mulling over that unique perspective. In reality, I don’t think I match her enthusiasm. My bout with “bad boy sex” has just left me…
Cold. Tired. Alone.
I can’t tell if I were ever heading to my apartment at all by the time my feet bring me to a different destination—The Paper Crane. I let myself in and head for the storeroom. Mara’s duffel makes a decent pillow, and I curl up behind a box of damaged inventory.
