Child of Mayhem (sneak peek!)

10

Rara was sure she was safe. When she got to the mini-mart, Husna was nowhere to be seen, so she wouldn't notice her being late. As she tiptoed to the counter, a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders from behind.

"Running a little late, aren't we?"

Her arms flew up. Safwan ducked, laughing as she glared at him.

"I see your reflexes are still doing good," he commented.

She took in his ironed shirt and briefcase. "What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be at the office?"

"I won't be in for another hour. Thought I'd stop by for a drink."

"You and coffee can never be separated, can you?"

"You know me so well. Anyway, I've been meaning to ask. What time do you get off?"

She dumped her backpack on the counter. "Why are you asking?"

"Just wondering if you want to have lunch later."

She halted in the middle of unzipping her backpack. "Who? Me?"

"No, the cash register behind you."

"Oh, um, sure."

She was still rooted to her spot, even after he had walked off to make his drink. She sat on her stool, thinking. Safwan had asked her out to lunch, and as her seventeen-year-old self squealed in excitement twenty-four-year-old Rara told her to pipe down.

"What are you grinning about?"

She hadn't seen Husna enter. The breeze coming through the automatic doors made it apparent she had just arrived. "Nothing."

"Well, stop. You'll scare the customers."

Rara was confident there wouldn't be people around to see her smiling to herself, but there was in fact a group of young men who had walked in. Ilham strode past the counter to the refrigerator. The rest followed suit, including the one she had practically knocked out. If the stories Damia told her about them were true she should have been running for her life.

Adi browsed with a basket on one arm while the others picked out drinks. "See if you'll fit in there," he was telling Zarif. He pointed at the refrigerator.

Zarif laid out his palm. "Twenty ringgit."

"You're rich."

"Money is money."

Rara observed from the counter. There was no way Damia was telling the truth. Ever since they were little Damia had lied to her about many things. She was convinced her sister was lying. It was impossible to think these bunch of guys were anything like she said, especially the one attempting to fit himself inside the refrigerator. But then she thought about the day at the bakery, how the one named Wira drove away the loan sharks. His brothers. She didn't know what to believe anymore.

"Aren't we supposed to stop them or something?" she asked as Zarif continued to squeeze into the refrigerator.

Husna reached across the counter to grab her notebook. "See the blond one? His mom owns this place."

"The branch?"

"The franchise."

Rara studied the blond whose name she remembered was William Teoh. He had on a pair of distressed jeans and a brown leather jacket. There wasn't much about him that screamed "wealthy millionaire." She would believe it if it were Zarif. His jacket and shoes were familiar, possibly from a high-end brand she had seen online worn by top celebrities. Out of the six, Zarif was the most clean-cut. They were each different in many ways, with only one thing binding them together. Painted on the backs of their jackets was an artwork of a heart with a crown.