y was left slick and hostile. Puddles of oily water reflected the gray sky. A taxi splashe

elve dollars and forty cents. Not enough for an Uber to B

tion, her heels clicking an u

s were tinted so dark they looked like ink. Inside, Javion Brigg

. Heading to the

voice, distorted by the tra

nd a seat in the corner, clutching her bag to her chest. A ma

t, he slurred. I

ask of ice. Va te faire foutre, s

mped back into his seat. It was a

eeling paint and a radiator that clanked like a dying engine. It was a far cry from the penthouse on Pa

xes and cheap fashion magazines. Tara Kowalski, her roommate

a girl Dylan had once defended from bullies. Now, the dynami

, not looking up. I guess th

ast the sofa to her bedroom. Tara s

s. Your dad got beat up in the yard t

old spike of fear in her

s cheap red, acidic and staining. With a flick of her

nt of Dylan's beige trench coat.

r eyes gleaming wit

as one of the few things Dylan had m

he humiliation, the fear-it all boiled over into

d shoved her back against the cushions. Tara shri

face inches from Tara's. You think my lif

's hands. I'll call the cops! I'll tell the

t have a record. One arrest, and she would never pass the backg

he were burned. Dylan back

Jax is coming tomorrow to collect the rent. I'm going to tell him you tried to ki

ax. Everyone in the neighborhood knew about Jax. He was a

ming the door and engaging the flimsy loc

ll screaming insults,

tried to scrub the stain with club soda, her fingers rubbing the fabric until they were ra

eavily encrypted laptop. It was her real lifeline. She booted it up, the screen glowing in the dark room. She wasn't just a victim hiding from a bully. She was a hunter. She typed in a password and began to scan the dark web for chatter about Brennan Group's

floor. A text message

. We are e

it was a wrong number, or maybe a cred

ow to wrap her hand around the handle of a heavy-duty bo

d. Javion looked at the live feed on his tablet. He coul

en, drawing a red

e, he typed. Threa

, a reply came

a