Cora chokes on a breath, backed against the car. He is going to rip my face off, she thinks. She’s read about dogs and chimps ripping people’s faces off. Surely angry white men could find a way. But his fingers hook over the edge of her masks, brushing her lips, the gesture so horrifyingly intimate that Cora’s mind grinds to a halt, every thought gone except the scratch of his rough knuckles on her lips. He pulls down her masks, casts them to the ground, and spits in her face.
