I wobble as fast as I can, contemplating the fact that I might have to destroy my drag bag.
“What are you doing?” Con asks again.
“Having tea, motherfucker. What do you think I’m doing?”
“Why are you moving so slow?”
“Because I jumped off an exploding tower, and that hurts.”
“That was your idea. Now you deal with it.”
“Where’s my uncle?” I ask. He’s his uncle too, but this is how we talk.
“I don’t know. I disconnected from him to focus on you.”
“Reconnect so I know he’s safe.”
“No. Where are you hurt?”
I dismiss his concern. “I need a way out of here, Con.” I stop at the edge of the mountaintop property. It means I need to get down from this elevation and get lost within the big city.
I drop my bag on the ground and use it as a sled to slide down the steep decline. The city of Selnoa is down there, looking as majestic and beautiful as ever. I hate her. Some of the worst scum in the universe live here and shape what people in the city can do and how they go about their lives.
My uncle Endo tells me not to hate the city because the city itself isn’t the issue, but I can’t do that. I attach emotions to places where I feel like crap. A city can be hated, along with people who made me feel that way while I was there, and this city represents all the things I hate about my dad.
And I say hate because I still hate him, even though he’s probably being covered with a sheet by now.
That thought gives me pleasure. I smile.
That’s when I slide onto the road and a car hits me.
Chapter 2
Wrong place, wrong time
Dina
I’m pretty sure there’s a body under my car.
I can’t think of anything else that would have made that sickening thud before the tires heaved over it. Whatever it is (I hope I’m wrong) tilted the car to the left. The tilt is mild, so at least I’m not toppling into traffic.
Which is good because the incoming traffic is emergency responders, including police cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens. I’ve never seen this many cop cars. Since Selnoa is ruled by criminals, I’m shocked we even have this many.
I sit frozen in my seat, too afraid to check if whoever I hit is alive or dead. I’m pretty sure I’ll join whoever the officers are arresting up there at the Crossbow mansion in the back of a cop car.
They’ll cuff me on their way down.
The sirens ring in my ears, the passing vehicles are a blur, but when an ambulance emerges from behind the curve up the hill, I spot Tris behind the wheel. She works in the emergency room at Selnoa General Hospital, located right across the street frommy hair salon. Which reminds me that I need to get to work so I can pay my lawyer to finalize my divorce before my ex takes my business or I go bankrupt, whichever comes first.
The last car in their emergency convoy passes me. Thick clouds of dust and I are the only things on the road. I can’t very well run the person over again and take off. I mean, I could, but I won’t. Nevertheless, I should, because accidents are punishable by law. Even though the very definition of an accident is something one or both parties had no intention of doing. Intention matters, doesn’t it?
I have good intentions.
I want the person under my car to be alive.
I didn’t mean to hit anyone.
I don’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m a hairdresser. I want people to look pretty and feel good. It’s what I do. My daddy will testify that I have good moral character.
