I want to ask why she thinks I have any clue what the hell the Underground is. But I keep my mouth shut―Cassie is in the backseat, and her face is buried in her palms.

                     "Cassie?" I call back, flicking my eyes through the rearview mirror. "You . . . are you alright?"

                    "Of course I'm not alright!" she shrieks. "You just told Gavin you were in the Mafia, you have a gun, and we're in the car with someone who talks about breaking bones as easily as the weather report!"

                    "My name is Veah, if that helps."

                    "It doesn't help!" my sister says, and she screams into her cupped palms. 

                   Veah lets out a low chuckle, and it's so endearing I almost crash into the car in front of us. 

                   Idiot. I almost got into a car accident for a cute girl.

                   I need to snap out of it. She's not just a cute girl―she's the lethal ex-Yakuza boss who got me into this mess.

                   Cassie looks up, like something just occurred to her. "Veah what? What's your last name?"

                    My gaze drifts sideways. Good question.

                   What is Veah's last name?

                   "Heaven Tanaka," Veah says, almost reluctantly. "My full name."

                    It's almost like she's expecting us to . . . recognize it.

                   But I don't―so I only shake my head, focusing back on the road. 

                   It's going to be a long drive to New Orleans.

                  "Are you sure this is it?"

                  I glance up at the old, run-down apartment building. We are currently standing in a cold alleyway. Shadows skitter across the brick like insects, and my arms prickle with the feeling of being watched. 

                 Veah doesn't answer―she just opens the door.

                 "I don't think you're allowed to trespass into―"

                "Kaya, shut up," Cassie whispers.

                 I hear the ghostlike echo of Veah's laughter, and I scowl.

                 "Following rules is good," I say, following Veah and Cassie into the dark apartment building. "Following rules keeps the order."

                 There is a receptionist standing behind the corner of a sleek black desk.

                 "How may I help you?" she says, and she looks . . . professional. Polished. Like she should be working in a five-star hotel and not this―whatever this is.

                 Veah doesn't say a word.

                 Recognition dawns bright on the receptionist's face.

                "Miss Tanaka, I'll inform the Alpha that the Cais are here for a meeting right away―"

                "I'm not here with the Cais."

                The receptionist stiffens. She glances back at me and Cassie, like we might be some kind of clue. "Then I'm afraid I can't really let you in―"

                In one graceful, fatal motion, Veah leans over the desk. Her wrist collides with the side of the woman's collarbone.

                The receptionist collapses behind the desk.

                "Come on," says Veah, and the elevator doors open for us.

                "Oh, great," I mutter. "Let's just knock poor unsuspecting people unconscious too. Let's add assault to the list. I love assault. Jail is going to be great."

                "Cool," Cassie breathes.

                "Not cool!" I snap. "You sound just like―"

                Like my idiot best friend, Tommy.

                "Relax," Veah says, and she presses the floor labelled 100. For some reason, the last fifty buttons look new, as if they were recently added. "Nobody's calling the police."

                "Contrary to what the rest of the world thinks, America does have some laws!" I say. 

                Veah's eyes are dark, but there is the faintest tug of her smile. 

                "Nobody's calling the police," she continues, "because nobody is going to risk it. This is the Underground, Kaya. This is the heart of the Wolves, the biggest crime organization in America."

                "The what?" I might really faint. 

                "That's awesome," Cassie says. "I always wondered how they managed to keep their hideout a secret."

                My eyes narrow on my sister. "You know about crime organizations?"

                "I don't live under a rock."

                Veah coughs, and I glare at her―at the wisp of a hidden grin on her full, lush mouth. But once my eyes land on her face, I can't look away.

               The fluorescent lights of the elevator turn unbearably hot. 

               Her grey eyes, against the tan colour of her soft skin, are striking. Her dark brown hair is straight, short, just over her shoulders. I wonder what it would feel like to run my hands through her hair―I wonder if it would feel as silky as it looks.

               What would it be like to tangle my fingers into those locks and pull her closer to me?

               To bring her lips against mine?

               To taste her?

               Maybe she tastes like the first kiss of dew. I would lick the raindrops from her bottom lip, inhale the fresh scent of a storm. 

                Something hot curls deep in my navel.

                I've been staring for too long.

                Veah's eyes meet mine, and it's a look so intense, so breathtaking, that I am the one to look away first. 

                Are my hands shaking?

               The elevator doors open.

               There is a woman already waiting, silhouetted in bright blue light. Her features are sharp, and the angle of her jaw is honed, flexing, as she says, "I see you came without an invitation, Chimei-tekima Megumi." 

               I make a mental note to ask Veah what that means later.

               "I'm collecting a favour, Hunter," is all Veah says. 

               The woman is tall, lean―she has brown hair knotted into a bun, and strong features that remind me of a model. But what really stands out to me is her eyes: they are both blue, but mismatched. One is the deep colour of an evening sky, and the other is the quiet colour of a summer morning. 

                Then, from behind her, another girl appears.

                Her hand snakes over Hunter's waist, pulling her in with a touch that is possessive. And Hunter answers by leaning against the girl, her mouth dipping toward her neck until she is grazing the girl's ear with her teeth. She whispers something.

                I feel like I am watching something I shouldn't be.

                And I don't know why I glance at Veah, but I do.

               "Save it for later," Veah says coolly. "We have business to do. And Jude―it's a pleasure to see you."

                "As always," the girl―Jude―says. "But tell me, are the rumours true? Are you no longer the Cai boss?"

                Something in Veah tenses.

                I don't know if anyone else notices, but I see the way her mouth twitches for the faintest hint of a second. 

                "Believe what you want," Veah says.

                Jude untangles herself from Hunter. "You know, we don't do business with exes."

                "Not now, Jude," Hunter says quietly.

                But Jude's eyes narrow. "Why did you leave? Was it personal or professional? Are they after you, because we can't take the―"

                 Veah steps forward.

                "It's my business," she says darkly. "And I hope you remember that I'm collecting a favour. Don't make me remind you what it is exactly I did for you."

                Jude recoils.

                And I can't help wondering what it is that Veah did for them.

                My heart starts to pound, but Veah only brushes past the two of them. Something about Hunter is strangely familiar . . .

                "I'm Kaya," I say quickly. "This is my sister, Cassie."

                "Hello, Kaya," says Jude. "Hi, Cassie."

                From behind me, Cassie waves shyly. We follow Veah into the 100th floor, and though the blue lights remind me of a club, it's not at all what I was expecting.

                It's . . . a brewery.

                "What is this?" Cassie whispers.

                "This is how you make beer," I say under my breath. The room is divided into different areas, and the clink of glass bottles swirls through the air like chiming music.

                "This is how we make money," Jude explains. "Our front is a beerhouse. It funds the Underground."

                "I always thought Mafia money came from drugs and sex trafficking," Cassie says in awe.

                I elbow her. She can't just say that to the face of a gang boss. What if they kill us or something? What if they get offended?

                Jude's expression flickers ever so slightly.

                "We found a better alternative," she says simply.

                What does that mean?

                I shake my head―Hunter and Veah are walking ahead, talking in low voices.

                Well, Jude didn't kill my sister for saying something offensive.

                Maybe I should try my luck.

                "So," I begin. "This favour that Veah's collecting. What's it for?"

               Jude glances back at me, narrowing her eyes. I think she knows what I'm doing―digging for information. But she answers anyway, "She put someone in Mito prison for us. Someone very dangerous and very, very hard to catch."

                "Who?"

                For a moment, I think she won't answer me.

                But her voice becomes as low as a breath. "Do you know the supermodel, Pierce Nakamura?"

                "No?" 

                Cassie's head snaps up. "Yes! Her Paris fashion look last year was so gorgeous I got a poster of it for my wall."

                "Pierce Nakamura is an assassin for the Yakuza," Jude says.

                "Oh," Cassie says weakly.

                "An assassin that's now in Mito-whatever prison, right?" I add.

                Jude's eyes linger on Veah with a calculating edge. "Thanks to her . . . yes. For now."

                Before I can ask what she means by for now, Hunter approaches warily. "Tanaka proposed our end of the favour."

                "What is it?" Jude asks.

                "Keeping her safe." Hunter nods to me.

                No, not to me―to Cassie, who is beside me.

                "My sister?" I demand, focusing on Veah. "Your plan is to keep my sister safe in the heart of gang territory?" 

                 When I notice a few people watching me, I lower my voice.

                 "No offense," I add. "But sorry if my idea of safe is not a bunch of bloodthirsty, beer-brewing criminals!"

                  "Beer-brewing is perfectly legal," Jude snaps.

                  "Can we talk about this?" I hiss to Veah. "In private?"

                  There is a relaxed smirk on her face as she motions to a shadowed corner of the room. Her fingers graze my forearm lightly, and warmth runs through me.

                   "What's wrong?" she asks.

                   But I've lost my train of thought―her dark eyes glitter in the blue light, and her hair shines violet-black. Her mouth looks tantalizingly sweet, and if I could just close the distance . . . if I could just know, for one time, what it would be like . . .

                   There is feline grace in her movement as she plants one hand on the wall next to my face. Leaning towards me.

                    Like she might really kiss me.

                    This is crazy. This is really, really crazy. 

                     I take in a shuddering breath. But she doesn't move any closer―she just looks at me. And I realize she is waiting for an answer.

                     "What's wrong," I repeat. "What's wrong? What's wrong is that your idea of keeping my sister safe is dropping her off in some underground lair! The Mafia are not babysitters!"

                    "Maybe not," she says coolly. "But they are killers. And now that Imai knows you're with me, he might use your family as leverage. Cassie will be safe here."

                     Leverage.

                     I should have thought of it.

                     For a moment, I really miss my best friend. Tommy probably would have made a stupid joke, but it would have at least made me feel better.

                    "Once I fake my death, though, they'll leave Cassie alone, right?"

                    Veah's eyes search mine, and she nods once. "They won't need you anymore."

                    But that begs the question: What did they need me for in the first place? 

                    "Come on," Veah says, removing her hand from the wall and leaning back on her heels. There is so much agility, so much power in that one motion alone―she straightens the lapels of her jacket, and the tip of her tongue drags over her lower lip.

                    She must know what she's doing to me.

                    She has to know.

                    But right now, she seems . . . indifferent. Gone is the playful, amused girl I know from these past few days―there is something dark and serious in the tensing of her jaw.

                    What's bothering her?

                    Too personal. Too intimate.

                    I shouldn't care.

                    I don't have to care. 

                   "Let's go. Cassie will be safe with Hunter's brother. You probably already know―"

                    "What Hunter called you earlier, what did it mean?" I blurt out.

                    Nice going, Kaya. Smooth.

                     "Chimei-tekima Megumi?" Veah says.

                     I nod wordlessly.

                     She laughs quietly, almost as if to herself. "It means 'Fatal Grace.'"

                     Fatal Grace. A shiver runs down my spine.

                     And then, so confidently, so self-assured, as if there is no possible doubt in her mind that I would protest, Veah takes my hand. Lacing her fingers through mine, tugging me back towards Hunter, Jude and Cassie.

                     My breath catches.

                     Veah raises an eyebrow. A challenge.

                     But the feel of her skin on mine . . . it's electric. It's lightning, harnessed. And I . . . I don't have a single bone in my body that would let me refuse right now.

                     My common sense might be having a breakdown.

                     Against all rational thought, I feel safe with her. The protective way her gaze lingers on me . . . this is a girl who knows how to defend herself. Who knows how to take care of what's hers.

                     Am I hers? I wonder.

                     No, absolutely not. I can't . . . I can't. 

                     Just this once, I promise myself. Just once. Just to know what it's like, holding her hand. 

                     Maybe, if I hadn't, I'd still be alive.

                     Just this once.

                     Even then, I should have known I was lying to myself.

>>>

How much do you think the Mafia charge to babysit people? Is there a price for childhood trauma? Let's start a business.

From the moon and back,
Sarai