Chapter 31
It’s been three days since we came up with the plan and I reached out to some of my underground contacts, but finally, one of them got back to me and arranged a meeting.
The only trouble is, they insisted I come alone. Which the prof was not happy about. In fact, no one was happy about it. Especially Malia.
I swore to her that I’d be safe, that there was zero risk in meeting with my contact, and I hate lying to her. But sometimes you have to tell little white lies for the greater good, and keeping Malia from worrying herself sick about me – or worse, following me – is definitely the greater good.
The night air clings to my skin as I step out of the shadows and onto the cracked pavement. I pull my hoodie tighter around me, keeping my head low and my hands shoved deep into my pockets. The meeting spot is a few blocks away, tucked in the back of an old warehouse district that hasn’t seen much life since the factories shut down years ago.
It’s the kind of place you don’t wander into unless you’re desperate – or you know exactly what you’re looking for. Tonight, I’m both.
My boots crunch against gravel as I cut through an alleyway, the sharp tang of rust and oil filling my nose. A single street light flickers overhead, casting long, jittery shadows against the graffitied walls. I check my watch: 11:57 p.m.
Three minutes to midnight.
They said not to be late.
The warehouse looms ahead, its corrugated metal walls reflecting the faint glow of the city skyline. One side of the building sags like it’s ready to collapse under its own weight, but the other side looks sturdy enough to still host some kind of activity – legal or otherwise.
I approach the rusted side door and pause, my pulse thudding in my ears. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the ocean’s waves crashing in the distance. My hand hovers over the door handle as I scan the alley one last time, but there’s no sign of anyone following me.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on my back.
Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. It groans on its hinges, and I wince at the sound as I step inside.
The air is colder here, damp and stale like the breath of something long buried. My footsteps echo against the concrete floor, bouncing off towering shelves stacked with crates and rusted machinery. The faint glow of a single bulb ahead tells me I’m in the right place.
“Bhodi.”
The voice is sharp, cutting through the stillness. A figure steps out from the shadows, tall and lean, their face obscured by the brim of a baseball cap. The glint of metal catches my eye – a knife, hanging loosely from their hand.
“You’re alone?” the figure asks, their voice low and rough, like gravel under a boot.
I nod, lifting my hands slightly to show I’m unarmed. “Just like you asked.”
They take a step closer, their movements fluid but cautious. The knife isn’t raised, but it’s not put away either.
“Smart. Let’s keep it that way.”
I don’t flinch under their gaze, but the weight of it presses down on me. This is the moment where everything could go sideways if I say the wrong thing.
“I need information,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “And I’m willing to pay for it.”
They tilt their head, the brim of the cap lifting just enough for me to catch a glimpse of dark eyes, sharp and assessing.
“Information costs,” they say. “And not just money.”
“I know the rules,” I reply, my jaw tightening. “Just tell me what you want.”
The figure chuckles, the sound low and humorless. “It’s not about what I want, Bhodi. It’s about what you’re willing to give.”
Before I can respond, the sound of a door slamming echoes through the warehouse. My head snaps toward the noise, and the figure in front of me tenses, their grip on the knife tightening.
“Did you bring someone?” they hiss, their voice sharp with accusation.
“No,” I say quickly, my heart hammering against my chest. “I swear, I came alone.”
But the footsteps that follow the slam tell a different story. They’re slow and deliberate, each one sending a jolt of dread through me.
“Looks like you’ve got company,” the figure mutters, stepping back into the shadows. “Let’s hope they’re not here for the same thing you are.”
The bulb overhead flickers, plunging the room into brief darkness before sputtering back to life. When it does, the figure is gone.
And I’m left standing alone as the footsteps draw closer.
I turn toward the sound, every nerve in my body on edge. The footsteps are steady, echoing through the cavernous space. Whoever it is, they’re not in a rush.
“Who’s there?” I call out, my voice sharper than I intend. The question bounces back at me, hollow and unanswered.
For a moment, the footsteps stop, and the silence that follows is worse.
Then, a low chuckle reverberates through the warehouse. It’s faint at first, almost like I imagined it, but it grows louder, carrying an edge of mockery that makes my stomach tighten.
“Bhodi.”
The voice is familiar, but not in a comforting way. It’s one I’ve heard before, somewhere buried in the shadows of my past dealings.
I grit my teeth and scan the darkness. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”
The chuckle deepens, and a figure steps into the dim circle of light cast by the lone bulb. He’s stocky, dressed in a tattered leather jacket and heavy boots, with a scar cutting across their jaw. His face is a jigsaw of rough edges, a patchy beard failing to hide the years of violence etched into his features.
“No,” he says, shaking his head with a grin that doesn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes. “I’ve got the exact guy.”
I don’t recognise his face, but I recognize his type. He’s the kind of person you don’t turn your back on, not even for a second.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice calm despite the adrenaline pumping through me.
“What do I want?” He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, the tip glowing red in the dim light. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re the one poking around in places you don’t belong.”
“I’m here for information. That’s it.”
“Sure you are.” He exhales a plume of smoke, his grin widening. “But information isn’t free, kid. And you’ve been asking the wrong questions to the wrong people. That puts a target on your back. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous tonight.”
“Generous how?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want the answer.
He takes a step closer, the scent of smoke and sweat hitting me like a wave. “I’ll give you a piece of advice for free: walk away. Whatever you’re digging into, it’s bigger than you, bigger than whatever pathetic plan you’ve cooked up. You stick your nose in too far, and you won’t get it back.”
I don’t move, holding his gaze even as my pulse pounds in my ears. “I’m not walking away.”
His grin falters, replaced by a flicker of irritation. He flicks the cigarette to the ground and crushes it under his boot.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I figured you’d say that.”
Before I can react, he lunges forward, grabbing the front of my hoodie and slamming me back against one of the rusted shelves. The impact sends a jolt of pain through my ribs, and I bite back a grunt.
“Listen to me, you little shit,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. You think your contact’s on your side? Think again. Everyone’s got a price, and yours isn’t worth much.”
I clench my jaw, glaring at him. “You don’t scare me.”
He chuckles, a dark, humorless sound. “Good. Fear just slows you down.”
With that, he lets go and steps back, watching as I catch my balance. He adjusts his jacket, his expression unreadable now.
“You’ve got two choices,” he says, his tone suddenly businesslike. “Turn around and go back to whatever safe little corner you crawled out of, or keep going and find out just how deep this rabbit hole goes. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns and disappears into the shadows, his footsteps fading until the warehouse falls silent again.
I lean against the shelf, my chest heaving as I try to process what just happened. My contact’s words echo in my head: Everyone’s got a price, and yours isn’t worth much.
I glance around the empty space, my fists clenching. Pulling my hoodie tighter, I step back out into the cold night, determination burning in my veins.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe we’re all in over our heads. But we’ve already made our choices.