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.