Chapter 6 · The Switch That Doesn't Throw

"Let go of my wrist." I said it flat, the way I say REJECTED on a form nobody wants stamped twice.

Vale didn't let go. The elevator had stopped somewhere between the claiming floor and the vault level, no light on the panel except a dead amber six, and his hand was still wrapped around my wrist like he planned to keep it there until the building fell down.

"You want out," he said, "you ask nice."

"I don't ask nice. I stamp things."

"I noticed." His thumb moved over the inside of my wrist, right over the fast little pulse point, like he was reading a heartbeat off a form. "REJECTED. Big red letters. In front of the whole floor."

"That's the job."

"That's a weapon, Gia. You just don't know whose hand it's in yet."

The car groaned. Not moved — groaned, metal complaining somewhere above us, and I felt it in my back teeth more than my ears.