Page 161 of The Rust in Her Hair

I scan the ceiling once more for cameras. There's one mounted high on the far wall, but it's aimed off the other way, watching the elevator doors and the lane that feeds into them. Nothing points back into my corner.

I don’t see others, but that doesn't mean there isn't one, only that I haven't found it.

Reaching up, I adjust the ski mask on my face, making sure all my hair is tucked away. Then I tug at my leather gloves. I’ve got latex gloves under these, and they’re making my palms sweat like crazy.

The elevator dings, and everything in me goes quiet and hard at once, that old readiness dropping over me like a thrown switch. My weight settles down through my heels and hand curls tight around the pipe.

Ten years fall away and I'm all instinct again, the kind that kept me alive back when I was living on the streets.

The doors slide open, bright light flooding the open space, and the motherfucker actually steps out. He's got his phone pressed to his ear, talking loudly as he marches through the dark. Behind him, a guard leans halfway out of the elevator, one hand holding the door, and watches him go.

Holding my breath, I flatten myself into my corner, then I force every muscle to freeze. I keep my stare fixed on that guard, waiting to see if I’m gonna have to handle him too.

Crispin keeps walking, those expensive shoes echoing off the walls, and the guard watches him the length of the lane, patient, making sure his boss gets where he's going. I count Crispin's steps in my head while I wait, and, I swear to god, every one of them takes a year off my life.

My eyes go wide as Crispin moves into the sightline of that fucking camera.

Shit!

The guard nods once, and leans back into the elevator. His hand comes off the door, and he hits a button.

My lungs start to burn, my patience running out with each passing second, waiting for those fucking doors to close. They finally start their slow crawl toward each other and I swear they stop halfway to spite me. My heart slams so hard I feel it in my teeth.

Come on. Come on.

Fucking shut!

The gap slooooowly narrows and the guard's face disappears behind steel, and finally the two halves kiss shut with a soft clunk.

I move.

I come off that wall as fast as I can, my tennis shoes whispering on the concrete. But instead of going for Crispin, I set my sights on that fucking camera. I run, then jump as high as I can, reaching for it. I manage to get a hand on the camera housing, and force it toward the ceiling until it's staring at nothing but concrete and pipe.

Then I drop and run.

Thankfully, Crispin doesn’t hear me. He's got the phone at his ear and his keys out, thumbing the fob. The lights on a black Porsche flash once, then he reaches for the door handle.

He's still talking when I pick up my pace, running as fast as I can.

"No," he growls into the phone. "You tell them if Hargrove wants to renegotiate at the eleventh hour, he can watch the whole deal burn, and you can put that on the record." He wrenches the car door open. "I don't care what time it is there. Wake him up."

He hangs up, right as I hit him full-on.

All of my weight slams into him, right as the door swings wide. We leave the ground together. His phone goes flying off into the dark and the keys skitter under the car as the two of us come down onto the concrete in a heap. The pipe in my hand slips, clanking loudly on the concrete floor.

Crispin makes a sharp grunting sound as we hit, all the air punches out of him at once. And I don’t give him a second to recover.

I straddle his chest, pin him under my weight, and I start swinging.

My fist comes down into his face and something gives, and I pull back and do it again, and again. There's a feeling that comes up in me with every hit, and God forgive me, it's a good one.

It's the best I've felt in years.

This is the piece of shit who put his hands on my Lyra. He touched her and terrorized her and made her fucking bleed, and I will end him for it.

I hit him for every bruise he left on her skin. For every tear she shed and every drop of blood she lost.

I hit him until I can’t feel my knuckles anymore.