Текст книги "Behind Your Back"

Автор книги: Chelsea M. Cameron

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Twenty-Two

“Don’t you have any friends, Quinn?” Saige says in a quiet voice. As soon as I got her home I fucked her against the door because I couldn’t wait. And then in the kitchen. It took us a while to actually make it to the bedroom, but we got here eventually. The fire she ignites in my body is satiated for the moment and she’s resting on my chest and drawing patterns on my skin with her fingertips.

“Would it matter if I said no?” I ask. She looks up at me. The lights are off, but the early light of dawn is filtering through cracks in the curtains, bathing us in greyish light.

“No,” she says, not looking up at me. “But you seem like someone who would have friends. You did so well hanging out with mine.”

I sigh and she stills her hand, looking up at me.

“I do have friends.” She searches my eyes, as if looking for what I’m not saying.

“But you don’t want me to meet them.” It’s not a question. I look up at the ceiling and rub my eyes.

“It’s complicated, Saige. My life is complicated.” Another truth. I’ve given her far too many truths, along with some lies that are starting to feel like truths.

She thinks about that for a minute and then runs her hand over my head in such a sweet gesture, it makes something in my chest ache.

“I can handle complicated,” she says before pressing up and kissing me with the same softness she stroked my head. “I can handle complicated for you.” She speaks against my lips in a whisper.

I open my eyes and find her so close that she’s all I can see.

“You’re going to change my life, Saige Beaumont.” The words are out of my mouth before I can swallow them back down my throat.

She blinks and then moves back.

“You’re already changing mine,” she says.

We sleep for a few more hours and then my internal clock wakes me up. I extract myself from under Saige and go to the bathroom to take care of business. She’s still sleeping when I come back, her brilliant copper hair spread over my pillows and her naked skin on display.

I watch her for a moment before pulling on some pants and going to the kitchen to start breakfast.

I’m just scrambling up some eggs when she comes out wearing one of my shirts. It’s so long on her that it skims the top of her thighs, but if she bent over it would leave nothing to the imagination.

“I found this in your drawer,” she says, looking down at the faded band t-shirt. It’s so old you can’t even read the logo anymore.

“It looks good on you,” I say, my voice rough. She’s so… soft this morning. Her hair is all over the place and she doesn’t seem to care. Her face is makeup free and she gives me a sleepy smile before yawning.

“What are you making?” she says, coming over and standing next to me, looking into the bowl.

“Scrambled eggs, toast and there’s coffee if you want it.” I point to the fresh pot I made less than ten minutes ago. She practically dives toward it. I’d already set a mug out for her, along with cream, sugar and a spoon. I know she takes both.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she says as she stirs the dark liquid until it turns a lighter color from the milk.

“I want to,” I say as I dump the eggs into the waiting frying pan. She leans her back against the counter and holds the cup in both hands as she sips.

“Well, you’re certainly setting the bar high this early in the game. You should have just kicked me out of bed so I didn’t set my expectations so high.” She’s joking and I point my spatula at her.

“Not funny. Anyone who would kick you out of bed is clinically insane.” She rolls her eyes and waves off my compliment.

“I’m not everyone’s type. No one is. There’s a quote by Dita Von Teese that says you can be the ripest juiciest peach in the world and there’s still someone out there who hates peaches.” I start stirring the eggs and shake my head.

“Well, I, for one, am very, very, fond of peaches,” I say, throwing her a grin.

She sets her coffee down and walks toward me until she’s pressed against my back.

“It’s good that you like peaches,” she says, kissing the skin on my neck. I don’t have a shirt on, so there’s only a little bit of fabric from her shirt between us.

Her hands slide down my skin and grip my ass through my jeans.

“Is that payback for last night?” I say, gritting my teeth and feeling the need for her shoot right to my cock. No matter how many times and how many ways I fuck her, I still need more. I’ve never been with anyone like her and I have the feeling I won’t again.

“Maybe. You really shouldn’t have done that. My dad was probably watching.” Her fingers creep around my hips and start heading for my cock, which twitches, because it knows what’s coming.

“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to burn the eggs,” I say in a strangled voice as she chuckles into my back.

“Fine,” she says, taking her hands back and stepping away from me. I let out a long breath and realize my hands are shaking. If I don’t stir the eggs, they are definitely going to be burned. I take them off the heat and fluff them up. We’re good.

After putting some bread in the toaster and getting out some orange juice, I set the table and Saige watches me. I like the way she watches me move and I like watching her in this place. It’s as close as I’m ever going to get to having her at my apartment.

We sit down to our breakfast and Saige pulls her feet up on the chair, sitting sideways.

“Thanks for letting me stay over. I didn’t think you were going to let me into your Fortress of Solitude.”

“Well,” I say, taking a bite of toast and chewing before I continue, “it’s a lot warmer here, I should hope.” She grins at me over her coffee cup.

We eat in relative silence, both of us enjoying the other’s company without the need to clutter the morning with words. I admire the way she moves her hands when she eats. Saige has delicate fingers that look like they’d be good at playing an instrument.

“You’re staring again, Quinn Brand.”

“I prefer to think of it as aggressively admiring.” That comment makes her snort.

After we’re done eating she says that she has to get back to her place and study. I’d like to spend some more time with her, but I don’t want to be too demanding.

She helps me clean up the breakfast things and then goes back to the bedroom to get dressed.

I’m on coffee number three when she comes out with her bags again.

“I really…” she starts to say before shaking her head and changing her mind.

“What? You really what?” I don’t want her to leave. I want to grab her by the arms and drag her back into bed and fuck her into next week. In this moment, I don’t care about the job. I don’t care about her father. I don’t give a damn about anything but this redhead standing in front of me.

I blink a few times and try to clear my head. She needs to go. Now. I can’t let her take over everything.

“It’s nothing, really,” she says with a quick smile as she heads for the door. She seems in a hurry and I’m grateful because I need to get her out of here.

I know I need to give her a kiss or something, so I make myself walk her to the door. She pauses with her hand on the knob.

“Thanks for everything, Quinn.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me, but pulls back quickly and then she’s out the door. I close it behind her and take a deep breath.

I definitely need to get this job over with. Fast.

“So the office is here,” I say, pointing to the blowup of the floor plan of the Beaumont mansion. “The security system is standard. You’d have no problem with it, Cash.” He grins and cracks his knuckles.

“Easy as pie.”

“I think we should wait until I can get back in the house myself to plant everything,” I say.

“But that could take a while,” Row points out. “Why don’t we just do it now? Then we can get what we need and get out of here.”

He seems… restless. Antsy. They all do. The energy in the room is ramped up and I can tell they’re losing their patience with me.

“Give me a week. I think I can swing another dinner invitation for the weekend. I have the feeling Beaumont is going to want to have me over as much as possible so he can keep his eyes on me.” That causes Baz, Row and Cash to snicker.

“With that said, it’s time to pull the trigger and get ready to move. Where are we going next?” It’s better when we democratically decide.

“Well, I think we should head to California,” Cash says. “Sand, sun and lots of bikini bodies. Plus, I’ve already got a few potential jobs lined up.” He hands me a printout with a few names on it, along with their crimes against humanity. I scan the paper and notice they’re all real winners.

“Anyone have any other suggestions?” I look around the room and get the feeling they’ve discussed this without me. Usually there’s a big fight over where we’re going to go, but they’re giving up without even a little protest. That definitely doesn’t sit right.

“Someone want to let me in on a conversation I was clearly not involved in?” I ask.

Hardy is the one that meets my eyes.

“You’re too wound up in your own head right now, Sylas. You’re not thinking straight.” No one needs to tell me this. I know I’m wrapped up with Saige. I know it’s happening and I can’t stop it. The second I saw her the first time I hopped on a runaway train and I’ve been riding it ever since. I will get off. I have to. But I might not make it all in one piece.

“So you all just made this decision without me?” I’m getting angry now. “What other decisions have you made without me?” I glare at them. My brothers. All of us bonded together by pain and blood and sacrifice and vengeance.

“Someone had to,” Cash says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Look, we know you’ve got something going on with Saige. It’s written all over your face. Your voice changes when you talk to her, or about her, and I’ve seen you with her. You’re getting involved and it’s dangerous. You’re putting everything at risk. This isn’t just about you. This is about all of us and the work we’re trying to do.” I hear his words and I know he’s right. They’ve definitely talked about this more than once.

“I need a drink,” I say, and I’m not talking about beer.

Cash nods and goes to the bar to get something a little stronger. He emerges with two bottles of Jack and starts handing out the shot glasses.

He pours out the dark liquid and then we all toss them back. There’s a round of silence after we drink.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I hand my shot glass over for another. Cash fills it and everyone else joins suit. “I’m sorry that I’ve got my head up my ass. If one of you were doing this, I’d be pissed.” If I was in their shoes, I would have done the same thing. Shit.

“Just give me three weeks. Three weeks to get it done and then we can leave. Is California where everyone wants to go?” All the heads around me nod in unison. I down shot number two and swallow.

“California it is.”

“Three weeks,” Cash says.

“Three weeks,” I agree.

Time is ticking down. Days, weeks, hours, minutes, seconds. There is a gun pointed at my head and if I don’t get done what I need to get done, it’s going to go off and I have no idea what the damage will be.

I get wasted with the guys so Cash has to take me home.

“It’s okay,” he says as he helps me up the stairs and unlocks the door to my place.

Everything is hazy and fuzzy and all I want to do is close my eyes and shut everything out.

“It’s going to be okay, Sylas,” Cash’s voice says as he gets my boots off. I mumble something at him and then I’m down for the count.

When my eyes open again, I groan and slam my eyelids shut. My head is screaming in pain and my mouth tastes foul. I roll, very slowly, over and open my eyes just a little bit. There’s a glass of water on my nightstand along with a few aspirin. Cash must have left them. I take the pills and swallow the water, which is cool on my throat.

I need to go to the bathroom, but it takes me more than a few tries to get there. I do my thing and come back to the bedroom to find Leo sitting in the middle of my bed, glaring at me. As if I’ve done something to disturb him.

“Sorry,” I say as I grip my head and fall back into bed. There is absolutely no way I’m making it into work today. Shit, shit, fuck. I never miss work.

Last night was a bad idea, but it’s too late to take it back now. Something buzzes and I realize my phone is going nuts right next to the empty glass of water.

It’s a text from Cash asking if I’m alive. I type one back and send it. It’s still early, so I have time to get myself together before I call in to Grace. I’d rather not have her know the reason I can’t come in is because I’m hung over. I have the feeling that little bit of gossip would make it around the office pretty damn fast. I ignore my coworkers for the most part, but I do have to interact with them every now and then at meetings.

The next few hours are spent trying to get my head screwed back on straight. I get up and make a fried bacon and egg sandwich and feed Leo. My apartment is an absolute mess, but I definitely don’t have enough energy to clean it. I crash on the couch and turn on the television to something mindless.

I finally call Grace and let her know that I have the flu. I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but she asks if there’s anything she can do. I tell her no and that I’ll be in tomorrow, if I can. With that taken care of, I get to my feet and decide to have a workout to sweat out the rest of the alcohol. It’s a miserable way to get rid of a hangover, but it works.

After my workout I shower and start pacing around, thinking about Saige. I need to get her to ask me over to her parents’ house again.

I chew on my lip and finally just send her a hello text. She writes back right away, since she’s not currently in class. I’m guessing she’s at the coffee shop and a quick check on the tracer I have in her phone shows me that she is.

Aren’t you supposed to be at work?

I answer back that I’m playing hooky.

Oooh, that sounds like fun. Mind if I join you?

Well. I can’t think of anything I’d want to do more.

Three weeks.

Not at all. Did you have anything in mind?

Her answer is an address. I smile to myself and go to into something Quinn would wear, but I put my boots on my feet. She’s seen me in them once, so wearing them again isn’t going to matter.

I head out of my apartment in my hoodie and walk to the parking garage to get one of the cars. Baz is my escort today and I can feel him behind me.

I keep my eyes open everywhere, looking around every corner. I’m always cautious, but I’ve taken this to a whole new level. The boys are right. I need to be more careful and I need to make sure I don’t take risks. This thing with Saige can’t be denied, but as long as I have a handle on it for the next three weeks, things will be fine. We’ll head out to California and I’ll be off the hook for the next job. We change our appearances as much as we can to throw off suspicion when we move. I’ll grow my hair out and dye it and get another job. I should probably grow a beard as well.

I hop in the BMW, but notice something on the windshield. It looks just like an advertising flyer, one you’d get if you parked on the street. But I know that’s not what this is. I grab the white piece of paper and find what looks like a photocopy of me and Cash from last night as he helped me home. Fuck.

I crumple it up in anger and then curse. I pull out the burner and call Baz.

“What’s up?” he says, instantly on the alert.

“We’ve got problems.” He swears.

“What kind of problems.”

“I’ve got a flyer on my windshield with a picture of Cash hauling me home last night. Whoever it is, is following us and doing a damn good job.”

He lets loose a string of curses.

“We’re just going to have to roll with this. Just three more weeks.” He curses again.

“I swear to God, if this goes south, I’m going to beat the shit out of you.” If this went south, I might not be around for him to beat.

“If this goes south, then you’re probably going to have to take turns with everyone else. Might as well draw straws now,” I say, getting in the car and throwing the flyer in the glove box.

This has become more than a job for me. This is something else. It’s a mission. I won’t be the same after this is over. Things are changing and I don’t know what my life is going to look like on the other side.

“Mother fucker, Sylas. You are playing with fire and we’re all going to get burned. I’m not going back inside.” Baz has hinted about being in prison before. I know Row has also flirted with the law, but we have a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy about it. As long as it doesn’t interfere with their work now, it doesn’t matter.

“I’m going to get us out of this,” I say, turning on the car and pulling out of the garage.

“You’d better. Call me if you need anything else.” The offer is made grudgingly.

“Will do.” I hang up and want to smash my face on the steering wheel, but I have to go see Saige.

Three weeks.

Twenty-Three

I’m shocked when the address turns out to be that of a tattoo shop. I park my car down the street and see Saige’s car. She gets out and waves to me.

“What are we doing here?” I ask as I walk up to her.

“Well, you said if I asked you to get a tattoo, you would.” I clench my teeth. That had been my cock talking. I’d say anything to her in bed.

I turn my head to the side to see if she’s joking.

“Are you asking me?” I say.

Her eyes narrow.

“Would you?”

I nod slowly. She smiles.

“No. I’m getting something, but I thought you would want to come.” She pivots on her toes and walks toward the front of the shop, opening the door with a ding.

“You coming?” she says and I follow her inside. It’s bright and has a cool rockabilly vibe. A woman with dark black hair done up in a victory roll, wearing a bright red dress with full sleeves greets us with a smile as Elvis pipes through the shop. They’ve converted the front of a vintage car into a table that has an old-school desktop on it and several people are getting tattoos in various positions. Art and color are splashed all over the wall and I can tell from experience that it’s a clean, well-run shop.

“What can I do you for?” the girl asks and I finally notice the dimple piercings in her cheeks.

“I have an appointment with Crash,” Saige says, leaning on the car-slash-table.

“Are you Saige?” the girl says, scanning the computer. The thing must be running Windows 98 or something. I don’t remember seeing a desktop that old in a long time.

“Yes, I am.” The girl grins.

“Great. I’ll just let him know you’re here.” She skips off into the back of the shop and through a door.

A guy a few feet away is on his stomach and getting a killer back piece done. From this angle it looks like an old school American eagle. He’s probably military. At the next station a girl is getting something small on her hip and is wincing like she’s being cut open.

The girl comes back out to the desk and behind her is a guy with slicked back hair on the top, shaved hair on the sides and a killer beard. He’s got on flannel and epitomizes a stylish lumberjack.

“Saige?” he asks and sticks his hand out. The shirt covers his arms, but he’s got some work on his wrists and knuckles. Saige shakes his hand and smiles.

“Nice to meet you, come on back,” he says. I’m not sure if she wants me to follow, but she seals the deal when she grabs my hand and tows me behind her to Crash’s station near the back.

“So, first thing we’re going to do is fill out some paperwork and then we’ll get you ready.” Being inside this shop and smelling it and hearing the buzz of tattoo needles makes me feel comfortable and relaxed. At peace.

“This is Quinn,” Saige says, and I shake the guy’s hand. He looks familiar, but I know we’ve never met. I have a good head for faces.

Crash has Saige fill out the standard forms and takes a copy of her driver’s license.

“Okay, so I’ve drawn something up for you based on the design you sent me. Let me know what you think,” he says. Saige has obviously been in contact with this guy. She planned this.

He shows her the sketch and I’m surprised.

“What do you think?” she asks, leaning close to me.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, and it’s the truth. It’s a skull, but made out of flowers. It’s dark and delicate at the same time. And it’s big. I wonder where she’s going to put it.

“I thought you might like it. He’s hiding it right now, but Quinn has his fair share of ink,” Saige says to Crash. He looks up at me as if it’s the first time he’s really seeing me. I wish she wouldn’t have said that, even to this guy.

“Oh yeah?” he says, taking the design back. I have no choice now.

I pull up my sleeves and show him some of the work I’ve had done. He leans in and examines me, his eyes widening.

“This is good work. Reminds me of this guy I know. You didn’t get any of this done by Razor, did you?” I feel the blood drain out of my face and I fight to keep my breathing even.

“Yeah,” I say, pushing my sleeves down.

“No way, small world.” Crash doesn’t seem to notice my reaction and turns his attention back to Saige. I can’t even look at her to see if she caught my little freak-out.

Razor did all of my work. We’d been friends in high school and when he started tattooing, I sort of volunteered to be a human canvas. Fortunately, he was a damn good artist or else I would have ended up with some shitty stuff on my skin forever.

I do not need this. But how was I supposed to know that Saige was going to bring me into a tattoo shop with an artist who happens to know someone from my past? Sure, the tattoo world is small, but it isn’t all that small. Still, Razor has made a name for himself and owns several shops all over the US.

“You ready?” Crash asks Saige and she gives him a thumbs up before sitting down in the chair he’s indicated. It has a place for her to rest her chest on, so her back is exposed. She pulls her shirt up, exposing her bra. She snaps it undone and then readjusts herself. Razor cleans and shaves her skin before laying down the transfer.

The tattoo is about the size of a real skull and he centers it on her back, below her shoulder blades. He gets the ink all ready to do the outlines.

It’s probably going to take more than one session to get it done, depending on how much detail she wants and her pain tolerance. Something tells me that it’s pretty high.

He puts his gloves on and I sit back in my chair. I’m still reeling a little bit, but then Saige reaches out to me.

“Hold my hand?” She doesn’t seem like the type who would need that, but I scoot the chair closer and reach out to her. She takes my hand and gives me a wink.

“No pain, no gain.”

“You ready?” Crash asks, holding the tattoo needle just above her skin.

“Yup.”

She holds my hand tight for the first few strokes of the needle, but then she relaxes.

“It’s not that bad. I don’t remember the last time. I was a tiny bit drunk when I did it.” She turns her head to the side so she can look at me as Cash works.

He gets into the rhythm, drawing and wiping away the excess ink and blood with a paper towel. I used to spend lots of time with Razor at the shop he apprenticed at, so I’ve seen countless tattoos. Crash is completely in the zone. He’s focused on Saige and her skin and nothing else. I respect that.

He asks her questions about her life, trying to keep her calm.

“Did you have an inspiration for this?” he asks and she winces just a little as he goes over a sensitive spot.

“Not really. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while, but finally got the nerve to do it.” She grins at me. I wonder if I was the catalyst. Tattoos can be addictive and seeing them on someone else can make the itch come back.

It’s been quite a while since I got my last tattoo and being in this shop is giving me that old familiar feeling. I don’t have a whole lot of skin left that hasn’t been covered, but there are still a few spots.

“Most people who don’t have tattoos think all of them have to have intense personal significance, but sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they’re just tattoos.” I completely agree. My first few tattoos didn’t have much significance. An anchor, barbed wire, that sort of thing. It wasn’t until I got a little older that I started inking my life on my skin. Saige doesn’t know it, but the ink is a roadmap of my life. Every tragedy, everything is there if you only know how to find it and what it means.

“Well, I’m kind of hoping to piss my parents off a little with it,” Saige says with a wink in my direction. Crash laughs.

“I get all about that. When I got my first tattoo when I was sixteen, I thought my mother was going to have a heart attack. But she’s come around to it and she’s even let me do a few pieces on her. I’ve tattooed my whole family.” That’s nice. He’s lucky he has a family to tattoo.

The buzz of the needle and Saige’s hand in mine lull me into a relaxed state. We’re going to be here for a few hours.

“Are you hungry?” I ask. I hope she ate beforehand. I don’t want her passing out.

“No, I’m fine. I had lunch before I came.” Good girl.

“Well, I’ll take you home when we’re done and you can lay on the couch and I’ll feed you,” I say. She squeezes my hand.

“You take such good care of me.”

“You’re easy to take care of,” I say back.

By the time Crash finishes the outline and the black shading, Saige is definitely done. She’s taken it like a champ, but everyone gets fatigued after a while.

“It’s looking really nice,” Crash says, cleaning the skin and then slathering it with clear goo before wrapping her up and taping the plastic to her skin. He gives her instructions on what to do and what not to do as she stands and winces.

“Wow, that felt like it took years,” she says as she puts her shirt down and re-hooks her bra.

“It always seems like forever until it’s over with,” Crash says, snapping off his gloves. “You can go ahead and schedule your next appointment with Ruby and she’ll give you printed out instructions if you forget anything I’ve just said because you’re in tattoo haze.” He smiles and pats her on the shoulder before turning to give my hand a shake.

“Nice to meet you and I wish I could see more of your work, but I totally understand if you want to keep it private.” Given other circumstances, I might whip off my shirt and show him, but not with Saige here. I don’t want this guy to remember me any more than he already will. I wish Saige would have told me and I wouldn’t have come. Too late now.

Saige pays and sets up the next appointment for three weeks from now. Just after my deadline. It’s a shame I won’t get to see the finished piece, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s my boys or her and I’m going to choose them. Every time.

I escort her out of the shop.

“Are you sure you can drive, or do you want me to take you and then I can come back for my car?” I ask.

“That would be wonderful, Quinn. Thank you.” She slumps against me and I hold her, being careful not to touch her back where I know the skin is raw.

I decide to drive my car, since the guys would go ballistic if I left it here. With the threat of the stalker, I know it’s not a good idea to leave this thing out in the open.

“If you want, I can take a cab here and bring your car back in an hour or something. If you’re worried about it getting jacked.” This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood and her ride is pretty sweet.

“You’re the best,” she says as I help her into the passenger seat. She leans forward so the seat isn’t pressing against her back and sighs.

“Remind me again why I thought this would be a good idea?” she says as I get in and start the car.

“I didn’t tell you it would be a good idea. You surprised me. But I can’t say it was a bad surprise.” A complete lie.

“I thought you’d like it. And there isn’t anyone else I’d rather have with me.” Even though we’ve been holding hands for hours, she reaches out for me again. We stay linked all the way to her place.

I get her some painkillers and situate her on her stomach on the couch.

“Did all your tattoos hurt?” she asks. “That’s a stupid question, of course they did. You seem young to have so many. Did you get them done all at once, or gradually?” She seems obsessed with tattoos and there’s really no way I can avoid her questions. So I’m going to give her a little bit of truth and hope she’s happy with it.

“Yes, they all hurt, but to different extents. I started getting them when I was seventeen, so I’ve had a few years of accumulating them.” That’s all she’s getting.

“Do you want some water or something?” I ask. I’d been so eager to hang out with her, but now I just want to leave.

“That would be great,” she says and I go to her kitchen to get it for her.

When I come back she’s got the remote in her hand and is flipping through the channels. I put the glass of water on the coffee table and wonder what I should do. She’s draped across the whole couch, so I’ll have to move her if I want to sit.

“Sorry I’m being a couch hog. You can move me, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. I, ah, I think I’m going to go catch a cab and bring your car back.” She props herself up and I know I can’t escape the scrutiny of those green eyes.

“I’m sorry I asked so many questions. I know you don’t like it and I didn’t respect that. I should have told you that’s where we were going. I just… I wasn’t thinking. I was excited about the tattoo and I wanted you to be there. I should have asked you.” She reaches out for me again.

I sigh. I can’t fuck this up. I smile at her.

“It’s okay. I’m just stuck in my head. Don’t even worry about it. I’ll be back in a few.” I grab her keys from where she left them on the table by the door and head out to the street. My chest is tight and I don’t know where my head is at. I haven’t felt like this for a long time and I don’t like it.

I call a cab with my phone and see Baz down the street, watching me.

I’d get him to give me a ride if I didn’t think that someone was watching every single move I’m making. They probably followed me to the tattoo shop and took pictures while I was there. Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to hide and I’m not going to be threatened by anyone.

For a moment, I think about Saige, alone in her apartment, but whoever is following me is going after me, not her.

I get to the tattoo shop and Crash is outside smoking. He gives me a wave as I hop in Saige’s little red sports car. I don’t want to, but I give him a nod back and drive away as quick as I can.