Admittedly, getting hardened mobsters pissed drunk was not the best idea in hindsight, though it dulled the aches and pain brought by my adventure down the stairs.

I had long given up riding my motorbike when the third car threatened to collide with me head-on, and the lines on the road kept changing locations. I ended up dragging my heavy ass motorcycle, a black Kawasaki Ninja, and one of the few things leftover from my previous life as the Reaper, along the road.

A gust of wind made goosebumps form on my flesh, and I shivered despite the summer night. It must be getting late if even the wind was cooling down.

There was nothing in sight for a good long mile, the road barely illuminated by the two--no, four--street lamps placed too far apart from one another. Only the chirr of crickets that sounded oddly like an Eminem diss track, kept me company.

A misstep caused me to stumble, my precious motorbike crashing onto the ground with a resounding clang that echoed in the night. The world spun as I got up quickly, dusting my hands and wiping my scratched palms on my top. "I'm okay. I'm okay. Not drunk, I swear," I said to no one in particular.

From the curve ahead, the headlights of a car glared in disapproval. I squinted my eyes at it. "I am not drunk!" I screamed as it sped past. It puffed exhaust mockingly. I kicked the ground and sent gravel flying in its wake.

Self-righteous bastard.

I went to where my motorbike was multiplying and set it upright, or what I hoped was upright. It was difficult to tell when the world was spinning.

For a while, I weighed the pros and cons of returning to the Mansion if only to have a place to crash in, because I had a feeling I took a wrong turn somewhere, and I could be going in the opposite direction from where my apartment was. The intense debate between Ms. Yin and Mr. Yang was cut short when a white car approached, headlights looking angry and threatening. Ms. Yin quickly recognized the Mustang logo--a silver horse on a gallop--and noted that the car cost a shit ton of money.

A loud screech competed against the cricket's diss track. The Mustang stopped within an inch from me, and I grabbed its hood for support when I reeled, the earth spinning around the sun faster than usual.

A figure alighted from the car, features partly hidden by the shadows. He was tall and lean. He looked around before settling his gaze down on me.

"What the hell are you doing in the middle of the road?"

I gasped as the man wrenched me out of the car's embrace, and because my battered ribs protested at the manhandling.

"Are you drunk?"

"Me? What? No!" I readily replied, feeling smug that I had fulfilled the obligatory denial expected of all drunk people.

The man grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and massaged his temples. He grabbed my wrist a moment later. "Come with me. The highway is no place for a girl at this ungodly hour."

I giggled and placed a finger on his chest, which was toned as fuck, I noticed. "And I guess a girl's place at this ungodly hour is with you then?" I giggled again. He snorted, but did not reply. He led me to the passenger seat of his car and buckled me in. Something nagged at the back of my mind. Something I had forgotten. Something important.

Mr. Yang paced back and forth in my head, clicking his tongue and flashing gory pictures of reckless, drunk, hitchhiking individuals. Ms. Yin rolled her eyes and checked her nails.

The driver-side door opened and the man sat and turned the engine on. I sat upright when I realized what I had forgotten.

"Blue-chan!"

The man turned to me abruptly. "What?"

"I can't leave Blue-chan here!"

A pause. Then--

"Who is Blue-chan?"

"My motorbike." I then gestured towards my black Kawasaki Ninja that had fallen on the ground.

The man inhaled and exhaled slowly, hands curling and uncurling on the steering wheel. "I--I'll have someone pick it up." He took out his phone and typed for several seconds before putting it back down on the console beside me.

I clamped down the urge to steal his phone, mostly because that model was theft-protected.

"I'm on my way to the coffee shop. Maybe you can get coffee there and fix yourself a bit," he said as he put the car into gear.

I leaned on the seat with my eyes closed, hands stroking the luxurious leather seat, breathing in the crisp scent of a brand new car. It smelled luxurious, Ms. Yin-approved.

The ride easily became uneventful and boring, with neither of us speaking. Hence, I amused myself. The man, what's-his-face, cursed several times when I repeatedly opened and closed the car window pane.

Then I turned the car radio on and switched the frequency in quick succession. When I got bored of this too, I tried taking over the steering wheel. This earned me a ferocious glare from what's-his-face.

I seemed to have crossed some line, however, when I opened the window pane and leaned my body out, because I wanted to feel the wind on my face. The man yanked me back inside the car through my collar hard. My ribs screamed bloody murder.

"Keep still woman! God!" he growled with a voice that was regretful of his earlier decisions.

"So serious." I glared at him, angry that he thwarted my fun, but I complied because my battered ribs were shooting pain arrows across my chest.

Who needs coffee? Fracture your ribs and sober up, people!

Ten more minutes and the car stopped.

"We're here. Behave yourself. You're not a five-year old," grumpy-face said as he alighted the car.

We stopped in front of KopiKreme. It was a 24-hour coffee shop near my apartment that catered mostly to students. It was also my personal favorite mostly because I could doze off during an all-night study session, and the staff knew me enough to wake me after twenty minutes or so.

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, warding off sleep. My side of the door opened up.

"Get out," he said with an unmistakable air of a person used to giving out orders.

I gave him a mock salute. He scoffed and turned away, heading for the entrance of KopiKreme.

I gritted my teeth as I got out of the car, trying my best to hide my injury from him since that might lead to questions, and I was not in a creative mood to make up stories.

The inside of KopiKreme was bright, and considering I just broke-in someone's place, being in a well-lit room with see-through glass walls made me a bit paranoid. I resisted the urge to glance back and check if someone was following me.

I followed the man to the counter where Gellie was manning the cash register. Behind her was Henry, the barista. They both smiled broadly at me and I nodded at them in silent acknowledgment. The gestures didn't come unnoticed. The man looked back at me and paused. He seemed to be scrutinizing me. His eyebrows scrunched together as a look of puzzlement etched on his face and vanished in an instant.

For once, I could see him clearly. He was very tall with his six-foot frame. My five-foot self took two steps back from him, so I didn't have to crane my neck to see his face. That, and because I was miffed that he could be so tall.

I have an inborn beef for tall people, so what?

He was incredibly good looking with his black hair and obsidian eyes. His features were angular in a perfectly masculine way. His face, an epitome of good genes, while his car and clothes screamed good fortune.

Something tugged in my chest. Something at the back of my head was screaming, although I could not make sense of it. I could feel my heart pound in my chest as I was frozen in time. Clamminess returned to my hands as they sweat.

Calm down, Reianne. Man, must be the shots.

My hand found my neck as I cleared my throat, breathing deeply several times until my heart beat normally again.

"I'll have an Americano--" he told the barista, then turned to me. "What will you have?" He looked at me very intently, like he was taking in and memorizing my face. I wondered if my emotions were visible on my face. Did he suspect I just raided a mob boss' mansion in the dead of the night and got stupidly drunk with his men? Did he know I just might steal his car when he was not looking? Did he know that Ms. Yin had plans for that thick wallet of his?

I cleared my throat some more as I massaged my chest. "I--I'll have a Coffee Jelly Frappe."

"Will that sober you up?" he asked.

"If it's free, it might."

He scoffed--he was doing that a lot--but paid for his coffee and mine. Five minutes later, we were sitting at a table--him neglecting his Americano, and me, happily sipping my Coffee Jelly Frappe.

"What did you say your name is again?" he asked while taking out his laptop.

"Anna."

"Anna?" he smiled as his brow shot up. "Then why does your bracelet says "Reianne?"

My eyes immediately went down to look at my wrist. True enough, my bracelet was there with my name spelled out. I inwardly facepalmed. I just conducted a break-in with a nametag. Stupid. Damn, this is not my night!

"It's my nickname," I answered him and shrugged.

He snorted. "No. Your nickname is Rei."

My eyes landed on my Frappe. Henry had inked my nickname on the cup without me asking. I shrugged again. "They've messed up my name again. Seriously, these people. Don't you have work to do?"

"Mhmm. So, Anna--"

Whatever he was about to say what cut short when his phone rang. He answered it and began talking to the person on the other end. There was a ring on his finger.

He's married! screamed my voice of reason.

So what? Ms. Yin said.

Shut up! I told them.

"My secretary brought your bike. It is outside."

Not a minute after, a tall lanky fellow sporting black hair and brown eyes went to our table.

"Sir, I've brought the vehicle." The secretary glanced at me and offered his hand for a shake. "I am Anthony. You can call me Anton. I believe these are your keys." He smiled courteously.

"Uh, thanks. Anna," I replied, shaking his hand. His grip was firm and confident.

His eyes landed on my bracelet, then back to my face. He grinned, as if he was used to giving fake names all the time, and amused to find someone else who did the same.

"Uh, I better get going. I'm sober enough, I think." I smiled at Anton and then at his boss. I was so tired and aching, all I wanted to do was collapse on my bed and sleep. "And thanks for the coffee. I did not get your name," I told Anton's boss.

"It's Allan," he answered, not missing a beat. He was obviously lying too. I saw the name on his cup. It says "Gio."

I gave him the middle finger and went away. I heard him and Anton chuckle as I went out of the store.

I stroke the thick wallet clutched between my hands. Ms. Yin was deliriously happy. I couldn't help but chuckle.

Somewhere in my mind, Mr. Yang was berating me. "Bad Reianne!" he said.

Rent money, I screamed back at him, as my ribs screamed bloody murder at me.

I clutched my chest at the sudden onslaught of pain. Okay, maybe hospital money too.

I looked back at Gio from outside the shop, and the earlier uneasiness returned. He was on a video-conference call with Anton seated beside him. I had a deep feeling in my gut that this was not the last time I would be seeing him, nor the first time I met him in my life.  

What do you think of Ms. Yin? She's a character, am I right?

What do you think of the story so far?

Yours truly,

RF

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