Heaven's Crime (gxg) ✓

twenty. is this foreshadowing for when i die?

                 There is nothing quite like walking into an abandoned warehouse to meet the leader of the Japanese Mafia after your sister was kidnapped because of the girl you kind of, sort of, maybe, might even like.

                  I wonder where Veah is, even as my breath becomes shaky.

                  "Hello?" I call out. My voice echoes.

                   I feel like the stupid character in a horror movie.

                   Oh, God, I think, scanning the weathered walls. The dust-thickened floor. I'm that idiot. I'm the idiot that dies first. 

                    And then I hear it―music.

                    Music. 

                    But it's not violin. It's not Whitney Houston. It's not even Taylor Swift. It's the worst music to ever exist. Jazz. 

                    I shiver at the melancholic thrum of the saxophone.

                    It becomes louder as I climb each step of the stairway, and I pray the floor doesn't collapse beneath me. That I don't fall right through the termite-eaten structure.

                     There are worse ways to die. 

                      Except . . . no. Not really. I'd rather die in the passenger seat of a car, admonishing Veah about the speed limit, and see a glimpse―a glimpse of fire before the world goes up in smoke. 

                     I want to see the world burn first.

                      When I shiver this time, it's not because of the music. I hadn't realized there was something like that in me―something so raw and needy and chaotic.

                       I . . . I kind of like it.

                      It reminds me of Veah, and I wonder if she is responsible for bringing it out in me.

                      Without meaning to, my fingers drift to the gun hidden in my waistband. And I know that if I need to use it, I will.

                       Once I reach the top of the stairs, I notice a closed-off section of flooring. There is a round poker table, and the scent of smoke becomes so pungent, so heavy that I almost gasp. Cigars. Around the table, three men are seated and there is a fourth, empty chair.

                       Is that for me?

                       Where is Cassie? Where are the others?

                        "You've finally arrived," says the one with the silky voice. Imai.

                        I recognize his handsome face, his searing eyes. He is wearing a satin business suit, and the proud lines of his shoulders are visible through the violet fabric.

                        "Kaya Rivers," he says. "So we meet again."

                        "Where's my sister?"

                        "Patience," he says, and the gleam in his eye flickers. I am suddenly reminded of the way he shot a man without hesitation, just for talking back to him.

                        I swallow. Take a step back.

                        "I want my sister," I say calmly. "I'm here. You have me―so where is she?"