I drove away from Paco’s house – I hadn’t gone inside to be tempted. His place was isolated, I could leave his keys under his doormat and the magician’s shirt inside the car with a note that said, “Wash me,” as if the smell of sex on it wasn’t warning enough.

Playing with the Pack wasn’t like her. She’d always seemed too smart for that, she didn’t need drugs to get high, she saw enough strange things without them, like auras. Maybe the Pack’d promised her a lead on ayahuasca. I snorted, and took the exit toward my apartment. I wanted to dowse again, to see where the blood would lead, but it was too close to dawn. Hopefully I’d still feel Paco’s blood tomorrow.

It wasn’t till I pulled into my parking spot that I looked at my phone. A short note from Paco, sent two hours after I’d left, I must’ve missed it with all the fucking.

check ur email

was all it said, and I rushed inside.

Sugar was excited to see me, talking at me in Siamese. I picked her up to pet her and went for my desk. I did most of my drawing at Dark Ink on the nice drafting table, but I had a small set up here that included paints and a computer. I didn’t have much cause to look at porn anymore now that I was living my so-called-life, but I still kept it connected to the internet, mostly to scan my art in. I logged in and checked my email, and sure enough Paco’d sent me one, empty of everything except extensive attachments.

Crime scene photos. He did have the hook-up, after all, even after midnight. I downloaded them one by one, watching the last images of Bella resolve, and flipped through them slowly, looking for
something, I didn’t know what. I stayed on the last one, her face vacant, dark hair spilled across the carpet, like a mirror of her blood.

There had to be a reason she overlapped with the Pack – and they didn’t seem like the type who wanted their palms read. I worried at it as long as I could, looking for something in the photos I hadn’t seen already in person, finding nothing. It was almost dawn when I emailed Paco back.

Thanks.

What’ve you got on the Pack?

I let the cursor blink there for a moment and added:
(also really make sure you wash that shirt)
and hit send.

After that I took a long hot shower and crawled in between the wooden walls of my bed-fortress, pulling the lid on before dawn rose.

* * *

I woke up the same way I’d died, with Sugar scratching outside my coffin. “Hey,” I reassured her, and went for my computer.

Paco’d come through again.

Shirt’s clean, but from the smell of it, you’ll never be able to wash the stain off your soul.

Here’s what you wanted -- let me know why.

The Pack’s bad news. Don’t mess with them. I mean it.

This time the attachments were even more extensive.

A lot of them were things I’d heard already, bikers, guns, drugs, and a lot of interesting suppositions – mysterious disappearances they weren’t able to tie to the club due to missing bodies. Of course a member of the Pack would run girls.

But why would Bella let herself be run?

I searched the documents for the names Amber’d given me, Wade, Murphy, Jonah, Daziel and all of them had been in and out of jail, manslaughter, smuggling, lighter charges. The only one who’d ever gotten caught truly red handed was their leader, Gray, and he was ‘safe’ in prison, protected by Las Vegas’s PD.

I rocked back from the desk and wiped my face – it was only nine PM, and I didn’t have much more than I did twelve hours ago. I was going to have to go back to that bar, but I could guarantee nothing nefarious was going to happen there before midnight.

Sugar meowed up at me.

“Yeah, you think so?” I asked her, reaching down to knuckle her head. “I agree. It’s time for laundry.”

I gathered up the things I’d been wearing for my past few encounters and came up with a pile of worn-in dark denim and soft cotton t-shirts, put on some of the same, and walked down the hall with a fistful of quarters.

Paco’s blood and sex had muted my hunger to a dull roar, like quiet TV-static heard through a closed door, but it was still there. It never went away. Today I’d be fine, but tomorrow I’d have to go searching or hope to get lucky. I shoved everything into a washer, fed the machine, and waited till I heard it start just in case, as another tenant walked in, walking to a finishing dryer.

I gave him a companionable smile and a nod, and caught him staring. My arms were visible and my tattoos made a lot of people stare. His stare went a bit past that though, pushing into the territory of being checked out.

So I returned the favor. He was a little younger than I looked, tone and blonde. His shirt advertised a yoga shop in Florida, where I believed he was from, given his thorough tan.

“You new here?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Just moved in. Fourth floor, back corner.”

I replied with a slightly more coy, “Nearby,” and a jerked chin towards the rest of the first. “How do you like it so far?”

He looked to the ceiling for a moment, then laughed. “It’s less humid than Florida was. But I don’t know many people yet – and my job – all I do is move cars from one lot to another when a radio tells me to. I don’t meet other drivers, muchless other people.”

You only told stuff like that to strangers when you wanted a friend. “Yeah.” I leaned back, feeling the running washer churn against me. “It’s even worse to be lonely when it seems like everyone else is having fun.”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding hard. He looked at me a moment too long, and then nervously looked away. He was interested. I was interested. Under his attention my hunger had perked up its ears and trotted over. But this was my own apartment complex – and I could make it a day without sex.

I rocked forward. “Try Bastille. Or the Phoenix. You’ll make friends in no time.”

His face flushed a little and he looked down. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, and tried not to graze him as I left, which was hard when the room was so small, but I managed, walking back to my apartment with an inconvenient hard on.

* * *

I did more research on the Pack on my own, and tried to figure out tonight’s plan. I’d seen what Wade looked like last night – I’d cruise through the bar, make sure he was there, and then stalk him. Once I got him alone, I’d make him fess up, and then the punishing would begin. I stretched out the fingers of my right hand then pulled them into a fist, making a satisfying crunch.

The timer I’d set on my phone rang and I walked back down the hall. Just thinking about drinking blood again made me hungry. Paco’s blood was excellent, but there was something to be said for the blood of a complete stranger, with their frightened adrenaline still singing inside.

Then I turned the corner into the laundry and found Florida standing there.

“Hey,” he said, looking sheepish.

“Hey,” I responded. He wanted my attention – now he had it.

“I, uh, saw the setting on your washer. I knew when you’d be back.”

I tilted my head to hide a smirk. “You lay in wait for guys often?”

“Only when they look like you.” He dared to meet my gaze. I stood still, considering. I’d been thinking about blood all the long walk down here and I’d had to fight down my earlier hard on. But this place was where I slept – where I
died
. I needed to keep it safe. Even if I could scent the sharp hopeful smell of precum in the air – and knew that he’d been thinking about me for the past hour, too. “I’m sorry,” he began, taking my silence the wrong way. “I shouldn’t have –“

“I don’t mind,” I said quickly. I didn’t want my reluctance to possibly chase him back into a closet. “But –“

“You have a boyfriend.”

“No.” It wasn’t too late – and everything about him reminded me of the sun that I’d lost, the way his skin shone, the blonde streaks in his hair. It made me want to do things to him, mad things, wild things, to see if I could take the sun from him and pull it into me. And as if sensing my wavering resolve, he stepped closer. “I have plans,” I said.

“I could be fast,” he promised.

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Teaser from Dark Ink Tattoo Episode 3