“Just remember,” she warns. “No one is untouchable. Not even you.”
I step back from the screen, every nerve ending lit like a fuse, the darkness inside me unfurling again. It wants blood. It wants her. It wants vengeance. And I don’t know which it’ll get first.
“Come on,” I mutter, already moving for the door. If I stay, I’ll unravel. At the threshold, I glance back to Rosa, searching for any glimmer of reassurance in her eyes.
But it’s not there. Just cold disappointment.
Everything I’ve promised Giselle echo in my mind. Tonight, they feel heavier than ever.
I’ll either die between her and a bullet, or between her teeth.
Even if she kills me, I’ll go down smiling. Because I’m never fucking letting go.
35
GISELLE
My heart is poundingagainst my ribs as I step out of the cab, a migraine beckoning at my temples. The rhythm of New York used to be second nature to me. But now, it feels like an alien landscape. Except I’m the alien.
Chinatown pulses with life—plastic brooms knocking each other gently from awnings, little mechanical dogs yipping and jittering, laughter spilling out of steam-clouded storefronts.
It’s a stark contrast to the dead silence and shadows of Roman’s mansion. The most color I’ve seen in weeks, a riot of neon appetites.
One of these things is not like the others…
It’s me. I’m the thing.
I’m probably the only person on Mott Street who tortured and killed a schoolteacher last night.
I mean, maybe not, but probably.
Each step toward the bar feels like I’m dragging a ball and chain. My resolve’s wrapped tight around my ankles, slowing me down but keeping me upright. I don’t want to know what Arata’s found because I don’t want to live in a world where I betrayed Roman this way.
I want to go back to yesterday morning, when all I had was afterglow and anticipation.
I pause outside the bar, studying the block one more time. Looking for a tail, or Roman himself—he left this morning, the way he always does, and I snuck out shortly afterward. I have to hope he’s been too busy hunting down our next target to keep an eye on my phone.
Or maybe Arata has already circled the wagons, and that black SUV over there is Teddy, waiting to arrest me. You know, for all the murders I’ve been doing.
Even if I knew what I was looking for, it wouldn’t matter.
I’m here and it’s too late.
It’s been too late for far too long, Giselle. It’s been too late since he saw you at the gala. It was too late even before he saw you at all. You’ve been on the road to this moment your whole fucking life.
Inside, it’s the usual cocktail of sweat, stale beer, and low-stakes despair. Arata’s at a table in the back, nursing a Red Bull vodka, naturally. His curls are damp with sweat, eyes jittery, scanning the room like someone’s about to arrest him for forgetting to clock out of the lab.
Chinatown is a rude reminder that I’m no longer living in the same world as everyone else. Arata is an even ruder one: I’m no longer fit to wear a badge.
Why not? Haven’t you taken more monsters off the streets these past two weeks than you did all your years on the force?
Ugh. I’m not in the mood for a civil war between my id and my ego. Luckily, Arata spots me and perks up like he missed me. It hurts to think he might have, and that there are people I miss, too.
I know I can’t have both lives. Maybe that’s the silver lining here: giving Arata that sample means the choice is no longer mine to make.
“Giselle!” He nods, waving me over. I feel a swell of relief mixed with dread as I weave through the maze of barstools and bodies, trying to dodge laughter that feels like it’s aimed directly at me.
I take a deep breath, forcing down the memories of darker nights—the man who pissed himself as soon as he saw me, the one whose teeth were so rotten that pulling them out felt like charity—and smile, trying to ease into the professional camaraderie we once shared.
