Chapter 5 Careful What You Wish For

• MALIA
• My fingers felt sticky from the blood. They constantly stayed pressed against the gash on my left side, and pain radiated with each step I took. Yet compared to the sick twist in my stomach and the cold dread curling up my spine, the wound felt like background noise.
• I had come here expecting confrontation. I’d imagined catching my father in a lie. The idea was to corner him and demand some answers. I hadn’t imagined this.
• Crouched behind a stack of rusted barrels and crates, I moved forward inch by inch, the soles of my Converse moving as quietly as possible across the stained concrete. In some spots, the floor was slick with oil, and I nearly slipped. The scent of something unmistakably coppery coated the air. My breath came shallow, barely enough to fill my lungs, and my chest ached from the effort of staying quiet.
• My side pulsed with each heartbeat. I knew I was bleeding too much, but there was nothing I could do about it right now. Not while my father was in danger.
• He was on his knees in the center of the factory floor, slumped forward like he no longer had the strength to hold himself upright. His clothes were dirty with stains in different colors and torn in places. The tremble of his hands against the uneven concrete beneath him was visible all the way from where I was hiding.
• Across from him sat another middle-aged man in a chair, dressed in a dark suit, his silver cane glinting as he tilted it lazily in his grip. His expression was unreadable. Completely detached, like he had no problem at all harming someone else. The kind of calm that made my skin crawl.
• That man didn’t speak. He didn’t have to in order to dominate the room.
• The way he nudged my father’s shoulder with the tip of his cane, like he was nothing more than a piece of trash, made my stomach turn. I bit down a cry and shifted slightly for a better look, when my foot knocked against something soft. It twitched.
• My heart lurched as I realized too late what I’d disturbed.
• The shadows exploded with motion.
• A rat lunged from the darkness—then another, and another. I barely had time to react before the first one sank its teeth deep into the side of my foot, right through the thin canvas of my sneaker. I jolted, trying to pull back, but a second one scurried up, sinking its fangs into my Achilles.
• A third bit down near my ankle, sharp and fast, tearing through skin like tissue.
• I slapped my hand against my mouth to stop the scream building in my throat.
• Kicking wildly, I flung them off, but the damage was done. My foot throbbed, fire spreading from every bite, blood soaking into my sock. I collapsed back into the shadows, chest heaving silently, every nerve screaming.
• My foot pulsed with pain, and I tasted blood from biting too hard on my lip to stop myself from screaming.
• For a moment, everything was still.
• Then one of the rats—bless its tiny, terrible heart—darted out from my hiding place and into the open, skittering across the light-streaked concrete.
• Every head in the room turned.
• Eyes followed it. For one horrible second, I thought they’d look past it and see me crouched behind the barrels. But they didn’t. Their attention shifted back to the scene unfolding before them, as if a rat in the shadows was the most normal thing in the world. I guess for them it was.
• I didn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My entire body stayed locked in place, heart pounding, until the silence resumed.
• The man with the cane still hadn’t said a word. His presence seeped into the space like poison into water—silent, colorless, and fatal. My father whimpered softly as another tap of the cane hit his shoulder, and still, the man didn’t so much as blink.
• I didn’t know what my father had done. I didn’t know what he owed or how deep he’d gotten in with these people. But I knew—watching the blood drip from his nose, seeing the bruises blooming across his jaw and arms—that this wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was punishment.
• My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. Guilt surged in my throat, thick and choking.
• How long had this been going on, and how could I not have seen it?
• There had been signs for me to start wondering. More than one night, he had come home late, reeking of sweat and whiskey. Other times, he’d flinched at sudden noises for no reason at all. Even though I had noticed and worried about it, I hadn’t done anything. I didn’t even ask.
• I should have followed him sooner, should have demanded answers. I should have known.
• Tears welled up behind my eyes, but I blinked them back. Crying wouldn’t help him. Screaming wouldn’t change this. I scanned the room instead, desperate for something—anything—that might turn the odds.
• My phone was useless. The police didn’t patrol this part of town. Not unless they were paid to look the other way.
• I had no weapon. My fists were worthless. My bow was sitting in the corner of my bedroom at home, uselessly waiting for practice.
• I considered distractions. Like making a noise or throwing an object. Something that might break their focus. But what if it made things worse? What if they killed him before turning to deal with the new problem?
• What did I have that could make them stop?
• What did I have that they’d possibly want?
• Nothing. That was the truth. I had nothing. No leverage. No plan. No power.
• My father was begging—brokenly, repeatedly—but every time he tried to speak out of turn, the man with the cane would cut him off with another blow.
• Hopelessly looking around for anything that could help, I saw him.
• One of the men standing behind the seated figure stepped forward slightly, half in shadow. He didn’t wear a vest now, just a white shirt rolled to the elbows, the ink on his arms clear beneath the overhead lights.
• It was the guy from earlier.
• The one I had met not long ago in front of the premises—the one who’d smirked at me. Flirted with me, I think. He had implied that it would not be our last meeting. It wasn’t.
• But he was different. He hadn’t shown much emotion before either, but there had been a glint of mischief, a flicker of humor. Now, his expression was stone-cold, his vibe just as dangerous as that of the man seated in front of him.
• And in that moment, one thought popped in my mind, making me forget all the pain and panic for a second:
• This is why they say to be careful what you wish for.