Rush hour. That’s when Adam calls me to come bail him out of God knows what. The middle of rush hour. On Thursday.

Taking a cab might not have been the smartest decision I’ve ever made, but when I heard the sheer panic coming through loud and clear in my younger brother’s voice over the phone, I didn’t take time to weigh all my options. I went.

Jesus, I left.

My boss isn’t going to be thrilled. The name Hadley Martin may make you think she’s the kind of happy-go-lucky woman she pretends to be on camera and that’s depicted in the light-drenched photo where she’s dressed in creamy pastels that’s posted on her website—the website she owns and that I work for—but don’t be fooled. I’ve never met a more ruthless and demanding person. It’s not that she doesn’t have a heart—it’s that the one she does have makes Antarctica seem like a tropical rain forest. Hadley eats, sleeps and breathes profit, profit, profit. The concept of having a “personal life” doesn’t exist in her world.

I was lucky, in one way, though. She was out of the office attending some late meeting when I got the frantic call from my brother. Still, I have no delusions. She’ll inevitably discover that I ducked out before five and....

I can’t think about that right now. Adam is in trouble.

What kind of trouble, I have no clue. He didn’t—wouldn’t—say. My chest tightens as do the muscles of my jaw. It’s not the first time he’s called me like this since we both moved to the city. I’m going to be royally pissed off if this is because he can’t pay his rent again. Or for his groceries. Or because he’s blown his paycheck by going out with his friends, again.

At twenty-four, he should be able to clean up his own messes.

My mouth goes dry when I remember the way he stumbled over his words.

From the front of the cab, the driver sighs. “Traffic,” he mutters under his breath, then slams his hand down against the horn for good measure. I crane my neck and see nothing but cars all around us, backed up bumper to bumper, all of us trying to get to Brooklyn.

During rush hour.

Sweat pricks underneath my arms despite the A/C blasting from the vents on the front panel of the cab’s dashboard. For Christ’s sake, running there would probably be faster, and I’m wearing heels. I’m considering paying the fare, along with a handsome tip, right now and making a break for it when, at last, the cab lurches forward.

“Thank God,” I say, half to myself.

The cabbie shakes his head. “Amen.”

It’s another forty minutes before we pull up in front of Adam’s apartment building in Sunset Park. It’s a third-story walk-up in a brick building that was recently renovated to cater to the influx of tech types in the area. His first nice place.

My stomach clenches as I shove money into the cabbie’s hands and turn to face the building. The late afternoon sun glints off the windows, of Adam’s apartment but from here, nothing seems to be amiss. I grit my teeth. If this is some last-minute bid for rent money....

I take a deep breath.

There’s only one way to find out why he called.

I push the new plastic call button next to his name on the building’s intercom. Seconds later a buzzing fills the air and a clicking sound indicates the front door has been unlocked. As soon as I open the door and enter the vestibule, I’m hit by a wall of stuffy air. Obviously the landlord doesn’t believe in paying for central air.

Three flights of stairs later, I’m wiping the sweat from my brow and standing in front of the metal door to his place. A small plate positioned at eye level reads “3B.”

I knock.

Adam opens the door before I’ve even had a chance to lower my hand, and I see instantly that something is very, very wrong. His face is pale, almost ashen, and he looks like he’s been holding back tears.

“Adam,” I say worriedly, stepping inside the apartment. He closes the door behind us before flipping the lock, and then unflipping it. “What—?”

My brother clears his throat, cutting me off. We’re standing side by side on a welcome mat that covers part of his living room’s hardwood floor. “I have a guest, Ang.” His voice is tight, even though he’s clearly trying to appear cool and collected.

There’s a man sitting on Adam’s futon. He unfolds himself from his seat, revealing his height. He’s well over six feet tall, and as he stands up, a shiver of dread streaks down my spine. The clothes he’s wearing are nothing special—khaki shorts and a black t-shirt that’s neatly tucked in at the waistband, the material fitted tight against his hard muscles—but there’s something off about the way he holds himself. His back is ramrod straight, yet his muscles flex like his limbs might fly out of control at any minute.

“Hello, Angelica,” he says, his voice sharp, though the grin stays in place. It’s like he wants to eat me. It pisses me off.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask, drawing myself up to my full height—all five foot four of me.

The bastard chuckles. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot.”

“Answer the question.”

“You can call me Charlie,” he says, spreading his hands out like he’s a celebrity. I shoot a look at Adam. What is this?

“Charlie,” I say, very slowly. “What are you doing in my brother’s apartment?”

“Waiting for you.”

A sharp heat surges across my chest, and on its heels my stomach flutters. What does he mean, ‘waiting for me?’ “I’m not interested in playing games, Charlie.”

“Neither am I,” he says, taking a sudden step toward us. My brother and I both reflexively step backward, toward the door, but one more step and Charlie has closed the gap. “Here’s the deal, Angelica,” he says, and I can smell cheap cologne rolling in waves off his skin. It hits me that I have no idea where my phone is. It’s somewhere in my purse, probably buried under the flats I walk to work in and cast-off granola bars. There’s no way I can get to it fast enough if this guy is a drug dealer, or, Jesus, an assassin.

Charlie doesn’t finish his sentence. He takes a half step back and turns his evil smile on my brother, who looks down at the floor. “You tell her, Adam.”

Adam’s jaw works but no sound escapes. He can’t bring himself to look me in the eye when he finally speaks. “I owe Charlie some money.”

“Jesus, Adam,” I say through clenched teeth. I want to shake some sense into him, but I ask the question he’s waiting for. “How much money?”

Charlie steps in. “Ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand dollars?” I wheel on Adam again, but his eyes are glued to the floor. “For what?”

“We’ve made some...investments in Adam over the past few months,” Charlie says, pursing his lips like he feels sorry for my brother. “But they didn’t pan out.”

Adam has asked me to bail him out countless times since we left home and moved to the city, and I’ve always done it. Who else was going to? Our mother doesn’t make any money and our father has never been in the picture. Up until now, his money problems have always been annoying, yet they were for simple things like rent and food. He hadn’t contacted me for money for several months so I thought it proved he was working his way out of the habit. I have no idea what kind of investment Charlie is talking about, but it can’t be good.

“What the hell do you two expect me to do about that?”

“Pay it,” Charlie answers, his tone direct and matter-of-fact.

“I don’t have ten thousand dollars.” I’m having trouble keeping my voice steady. I desperately want to project an air of confidence to this asshole and somehow convince him to get the hell away from us. This entire thing seems so absurd. What was Adam thinking?

“She doesn’t need to be part of this,” Adam bursts out. “I can do whatever it is you need her to do.”

Charlie laughs cruelly. “We’ve discussed this. It won’t be nearly as successful unless your sister—” he pauses to look me up and down, eyes lingering on the buttons of my top, “—does exactly what we tell her to do.”

“Leave her out of this.” Adam’s voice is shaking.

Charlie clicks his tongue. “It’s a bit late for that now. Keep in mind, Adam, that it could be worse. We could have taken her for payment.” Charlie’s eyes haven’t left my breasts.

“You’re a sick bastard.”

Adam takes one step toward Charlie. That’s as far as he gets.

Charlie’s movement is so fast, so calculated, that Adam doesn’t have time to flinch. Fist meets face with a sickening crunch, and before I know it, Adam has dropped to the floor, clutching at his nose. “Fuck,” he spits. There’s blood, a cut—Jesus Christ. I drop to my knees next to him, my heart in my throat.

“I’m not generally a violent man,” Charlie continues, as if nothing has happened. “But we have some terms and conditions.”

“We?” I choke out as Adam groans, twisting his body away from Charlie.

Charlie grins at me, then shakes his head as if he’s saving the surprise for later. “It’s not important for you to know the names of my associates. The important thing is…” he says, and every muscle in my body tenses as he reaches behind him. Does he have a gun? Time seems to slow as Charlie’s hand disappears behind his back. It reemerges...holding a phone. “The important thing is that you realize what’s at stake.”

“I think we get it.” My voice trembles now despite my best efforts to remain calm. I want this man out of Adam’s apartment.

“Listen, Angelica, I can tell you’re angry.”

I bite back a caustic reply, instead turning my attention back to Adam. His hands are pressed to his face, but blood is seeping out from around his fingers.

“I don’t know what your people are into—.”

Charlie holds up his hands. “Now’s not the time to go into detail about our organization. Your brother offered to resolve this himself, but it will be far easier for you to complete the assignment.”

I still don’t know what Charlie’s talking about, but the more he says, the more I’m certain that my only option is agreeing to whatever it is that he wants. My brother writhing on the floor is proof of that.

“What assignment?”

Charlie smiles like I’ve made the right choice. “You’ll complete a little side project for us, and we’ll leave your brother unharmed.” He looks down at Adam and chuckles. “Well, mostly unharmed. But remember, if you call the police, the deal is off. You tell anyone about what you’re doing, the deal is off.”

“Fine.”

“Ah, ah,” he says, holding up one finger, and suddenly he’s in my face, his breath hot on my skin. “One wrong move, and the deal is off. You don’t want your brother to face the consequences of your failure, do you?”

What can I possibly say?

“No.”

“Of course not,” Charlie says congenially, reaching down and patting my shoulder. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to flinch away from his touch.

Then Charlie looks down at the watch on his wrist. “I’d better be going,” he says, and moves toward the door. Adam jerks toward me as he steps around us, but Charlie doesn’t land a kick. He pauses once more before he leaves. “I’ll send the instructions on Monday.” The door swings open, closes behind him, and then he’s gone.

I’m left alone with my bleeding younger brother, his life, once again, in my hands.