Today's Reading
CHAPTER ONE
Mo
"Who. The Hell. Are You?"
Mo did not raise his head. He took a slow breath in, noticing a few missed suds still glistening on his just-rinsed hands dripping over the sink. He willed his heart to slow after the shock of the unexpected voice behind him. He should have been alone in the empty workshop that shared a wall with his own.
"I asked you a question."
The woman's voice was cold, steely. No sign that she'd been hit by a wave of adrenaline like the one that was still coursing through his own body.
"I'm Mo," he said, his voice scratchier than he'd intended.
"How did you get in?" she asked.
While still hard, her voice had lost a bit of its edge, so he took the risk of lifting his head slowly.
"I have a key," he said. Between the harshness of the florescent bulb high on the wall and the large chunk missing from the mirror above the sink, he couldn't catch a glimpse of her without making a sudden movement. Which he was sure wasn't wise.
"Why?" she asked.
It occurred to him that it might be marginally safer for both of them if she could look him in the eye. He turned slowly, keeping his hands in view. Another blast of adrenaline cut his breath as he came face-to-face with a loaded crossbow, its arrow pointed squarely between his eyes.
Months earlier, at his auto shop, Mo had interrupted one of his newer mechanics watching a video on the shop floor with one of the delivery men. They had been far too excited to show it to him, and Mo was subjected to the sight of a deer being taken down by a crossbow. The deer's pain and terror had weakened his bones and forced Mo to look away. Now, at the business end of a bow that looked exactly like the weapon from the video, he was fully aware of the damage they could do. His Adam's apple was as heavy as a billiard ball when he tried to swallow.
"Is that...a crossbow?" he asked, slowly raising his hands.
She lifted her chin, but the crossbow didn't waver.
"Yes," she said.
"A...a real one?" he asked.
"Yes."
The silence was sharp and heavy. The absence of any other sound amplified the thudding of his too-fast beating heart. It clipped at the bottom of his throat. He wanted to shake the adrenaline burn out of his raised hands, but he didn't dare move them.
"So?" she asked.
Her voice widened his vision beyond the crossbow, and it was only then that he began to see the person holding it. She was about five foot six. Her jeans were covered in dust, as was her black shirt. Her hair was dark and long, pulled into a ponytail that fell over her shoulder, more like a cheerleader's than a potential murderer's. Her skin was pale, but he didn't know if that was from fear, or if it was her normal complexion. The depth of her narrowed eyes reminded him of the charcoal dust he'd been washing off his hands. At some point, she'd turned on the hallway light behind her.
"Listen," he said. "I'm just here to wash my hands."
"After you finished chopping people up?"
Chopping people up?
Confused, he glanced down at himself. Nothing out of the ordinary about his work pants. Yeah, his well-used leather apron was dingy, but it wasn't bloody. Was she freaked out about the respirator he'd pushed onto his forehead?
"I'm a blacksmith," he said, looking back at her. "I was working next door. But my sink doesn't work. So Arnie, you know, the landlord? He lets me use this one." Damn, he was having to talk a lot. Far more than he ever did with a complete stranger. But he pushed on through the tightness in his throat because he didn't want to die. "You can come take a look if you don't believe me."
...
