The bin bag split on the step and something wet ran down my wrist.
I was still in my apron, still telling myself I was finished with Caldera men.
Boots came around the corner of the loading bay, heavy and slow, like he had all night.
Anders: Hey. Tailor.
Anders: Heard you got a new coat. Heard you been riding in black cars.
Anders. Pale eyes, a red neck, and a smile that always came before the bad part.
Mira: Go home, Anders. Whatever you heard, it's not your business.
Anders: It's the whole street's business now.
His hand closed around my arm above the elbow, and it hurt right away.
Anders: You let that Caldera bastard put his hands on you?
The bakery woman was on her step with her bread. Two men by the bay had stopped working.
Nobody said a word. That was the city for you.
Anders: Everyone's saying it. So which is it, Mira. You a Caldera whore now, or just renting by the hour?
Mira: Get your fucking hand off me.
He pulled me off the step and my knee caught the cobbles, hard and wet.
Anders: Car's right there. Get in and we'll talk about it private.
I got my feet under me and swung my elbow up into his mouth.
It landed. His lip split on his own teeth and he swore at me.
Then his open hand cracked across my face and the wall came up behind me.
My lip split on my teeth. I tasted blood, hot and thin, and my ear rang.
Anders: You think that pin saves you? You think he's gonna care when they pull you out of the harbor?
Anders: I'll put your brother in the water too. Ask me if I won't.
I believed him. That was the worst part, how easy it was to believe.
So I kicked him in the knee as hard as I could with everything I had left.
His leg went sideways and his grip came open like a trap door.
I twisted out of his reach and ran, and I didn't look back once.
Anders: You fucking bitch. This isn't done.
I got into the alley behind the shop and put my back against the cold brick and shook.
Four red marks on my arm, already going dark. Blood on my chin.
Half the street had watched him call me a whore, and not one of them moved.
I never felt smaller in my whole life.
And the one face I wanted, the only one, was Rafael's.
Not for saving. I was past saving. I wanted him to look at me like I was still worth something.
The pin was at the bottom of the bin, under a torn-up card and cold coffee grounds.
I fished it out and closed my fist around the crest until the edges bit me.
I wiped my chin, locked the shop, and put the pin back where he'd hooked it.
Mira: Fuck it. He wants to own something, he can start with this.