Brooklyn places the helmet on my head, snapping it to the padded jumpsuit so my neck isn't exposed. I flex my fingers in the protective gloves, and curl my toes in the boots.
"I'm officially nervous," I jest, trying to play it cool. "Are we going spelunking?"
Brooklyn smirks, fastening the buckle beneath my chin. "Are there many caves in Hunts Point?"
"There are drug dens, and old subway tunnels." I stare up at him, enjoying his careful concentration. Even at rest, he's just so handsome—and he's all mine. "Have you ever heard of mole people? Some New Yorkers believe there's a society of inbred mutants living beneath us. There's no light in the tunnels, so they're blind. They eat rats when they can't find children to drag into the sewers."
Brooklyn blinks at me, his long lashes fanning out. "That's terrifying. Where do you learn these things?"
"If it's not cartoons, it's creepy Netflix documentaries." I reach up, brushing my thumb across his brow. The hair is dark and thick, but perfectly shaped. "You have really nice eyebrows."
He turns his head, kissing my palm. "Your compliments are so specific."
"No, but seriously," I segue, glancing around the empty waiting room. "What are we doing?"
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We're in a brick building in South Bronx, right across the water from Ryker's Island—a prison floating in the East River. This building is reserved for businesses, though the storefront didn't have a sign above the door. We entered an antechamber, and Brooklyn began strapping riot gear over my street clothes. However, Brooklyn remains unprotected in his fatigues and t-shirt. Whatever danger we're about to face, I'm assuming he won't be participating.
"What song makes you want to set the world on fire?" Brooklyn asks.
"'For Whom the Bell Tolls.'"
He raises an impressed brow. "Metallica?"
"Were you expecting Taylor Swift?" I counter. "Her Reputation album slaps, but it doesn't make me consider arson."
"Metallica it is," a female voice announces.
A door opens, and a woman joins us. She's young, and dressed similarly to Brooklyn, with camouflage cargo pants and a fitted tank top, which showcases her strong build. Her head is shaved, and her earrings are shaped like baseball bats. She crosses the antechamber, shaking my hand.
"It's a pleasure to have you with us, Josephine," she greets, her voice naturally raspy. "I'm Brynn, and I'll function as both your DJ and safety officer today. Once you enter the room, the only rule is you can't put yourself in jeopardy. That means you can't remove your protective gear. I will be watching from a double-sided mirror. If I think you're in danger, I reserve the right to intervene.
