Behind Your Back (25 page)

T
ime 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.

W
hen 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.

B
y 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.