Chapter 6 · Switch Six

"Move your hand or lose it." Marco's fingers were already closed over my wrist before I got the crate lid shut, and the ice underneath sent a burn straight up my arm.

"That's my inventory," I said.

"Get off my ledger."

"It's my ledger tonight." He didn't let go. His thumb found the tendon under my glove and pressed, testing, like he was checking a scale reads true.

"Fourteen tides, Mrs. Crowe. You signed occupancy. Occupancy means I get to see what you touch." The counting room smelled like brine and diesel, and under that, him — cedar and gun oil, close enough that it crawled up my nose and sat there. I hated that I noticed. I hated more that my pulse answered it.

"Occupancy doesn't mean you get to grope me over a crate of halibut."

"No." He turned my wrist over, slow, like he had all night.

"It means I get to know if you're skimming weight before the federal boys do. You want to keep this place standing, you let me look.