Nine: A pINK Novel (A pINK Series Book 1)

by K. S. Thomas

  I’m ignored for the next twenty minutes or so and I’m about to say something to Marcus to let him know that Mouth has likely called the cops by now, when the room finally clears out and I’m left alone with my brother. He’s definitely not happy with me.

  “What the fuck were you thinking? You trying to get us both killed?!”

  “Actually, I only hauled my ass over here to keep you from winding up in jail. Again. You make too much fucking noise. I can hear it inside the shop at night. If I can hear it, others can too, and they’re not going to think twice about calling the cops on your little fight club here.”

  “I’ve got it under control,” he assures me, lighting a cigarette. “You just worry your little head about keeping your girls out of my business and keeping their mouths shut. The rest, I can handle without you marching in here and stirring shit up with the boss.”

  Finding that my legs no longer feel like Jell-O, I stand up from the couch I’ve been banned to since I got here.

  “The boss? I thought the whole point of coming back here and setting up shop on your own property was to be in business for yourself.” Not that it would make the illegal aspect of his dealings more manageable, but finding out that someone bigger and badder is backing my brother definitely comes as a harsh blow.

  “I am in business for myself, but I owe Rediger money. A lot of it. Until this place pulls in enough to pay off my debt, he’s got as many rights to things as any legit investor,” he explains casually.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think legit is the word you’re looking for. Legit doesn’t apply to anything you do. Ever.”

  His eyes narrow, still not appreciating my humor. “Point is, you piss him off again and I won’t be able to do shit to save you.”

  My lower lip curls in over my teeth and I bite down on it, hard, to keep from saying more stuff I shouldn’t. “Got it.”

  I start toward the door, hoping it’s finally time for me to make my exit, when I decide I may as well get the whole story while I’m standing in this seedy place. No need to leave any reasons to come back on the table. “How exactly are you making all this money you need to pay back? Fixed fights? Betting? Drugs? A combination of all of the above?”

  “You really wanna know?”

  “I want to know how many of the kids I find bleeding in my parking lot had their asses kicked before they ever set foot into the ring, yeah.”

  He nods, smirking. “All of them.”

  “You’re a piece of shit, you know that, don’t you?”

  “I know I’d like to keep breathing, and that means paying off my debt by any means necessary.”

  “Good to know,” I whisper grimly. Then I leave, heading straight for the fire escape at the end of the hall. No way in hell am I chancing another run in with that Rediger.

  Lucas

  It’s nearly midnight when I finally hear the door open. All three girls crashed an hour ago, giggling about Sev Straight, up until the very end. I probably should have left at that point, but I’d already stuck around for several hours. Seemed wasteful not to stick it out.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to announce myself before she freaks. It backfires and she screams loudly.

  “Holy shit, Lucas.” She clutches her chest, trying to calm herself. I’m about to apologize when I spot it.

  “What the hell is that?” I demand, pointing at her arm. There’s a mark wrapped all around it. It’s dark red and looks like it’s bruising.

  “It’s nothing.” She brushes past me, moving toward the kitchen. “What are you even doing here?”

  “The girls wanted a ride, so I brought them. Figured I better stay and keep an eye on them until you got home,” I lie. She knows.

  “Who did you think needed a babysitter more? The sixteen and seventeen year olds? Or the one who just turned twenty?”

  “Fine. I wanted to see you.” I take a stance directly in front of her, blocking her from the coffee maker. It’s a risky move. I know that. “What happened to your arm, Liv?”

  “It got into an argument with someone’s hand.” She places her hand on my waist and pushes me to the side. “I’m fine, really.”

  “This has to do with Marcus.” It has to. Marcus always has a way of leaving physical marks on people, even when he doesn’t put them there himself.

  “I handled it, Lucas.”

  “Looks to me like someone handled you.” I can feel my fists clench just thinking about it. I’d like nothing better than to drive straight over to that warehouse right about now and punch everyone who crosses my path square in the face.

  “This isn’t your problem, Lucas. I don’t know how many fucking ways to tell you that.”

  “You know, you’re really starting to piss me off.”

  She looks startled by my statement. “Excuse me?”

  “Save it. You know what I mean. You don’t want to admit what’s happening here, I can’t make you, but don’t you fucking stand there and tell me it’s none of my business when you get hurt. Like it or not, you matter. To me. So when you’re hurt, that fucking matters too.”

  Her jawline softens and her eyes glaze over. For one miniscule moment I can see everything she’s feeling, fear being the most prominent. Then, she swallows it all down again, clears her throat and turns away. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

  I take a deep breath and remind myself that she’s safe for now. And that it has to be enough tonight.

  “Starving.”

  She nods, her thick curls bouncing around softly as she moves. “Alright then.”

  Neither of us says anything while she turns on the oven, pulls two previously baked potatoes from the fridge, and places them onto a cookie sheet, which she then slides into one of the oven racks.

  “I need a shower,” she announces when she’s done. Under any other circumstances, I’d jump on the opportunity to invite myself, even if I know she’d reject me, but tonight it feels wrong. So I keep my mouth shut and watch her walk from the kitchen, disappearing in the dark of the hall. I hear the bathroom door shut and the water turn on a second later.

  I’m torn between running out the door to track down Marcus and staying put, being here with her. She doesn’t need me, or even want me, but I can’t change how I feel. Can’t turn off this instinct I have to protect her, and I don’t even mean physically. I know she can handle herself. Liv is tough, but her heart is soft. It’s huge, and full of love and a willingness to do whatever it takes for those she cares about. And it makes her vulnerable.

  Settled on remaining close to her for the night, I’m still in the same chair I sat down in when she walks back into the kitchen. Her hair is still wet and she’s wearing sweatpants paired with a white tank top that leaves unnervingly little to my imagination. I don’t stare... for long.

  “Feel better?” I ask, trying to read her face. She looks exhausted.

  “Sort of.” She shrugs and busies herself by reaching for the cupboard doors and retrieving a large pot from within. After she fills it with water and places the whole thing onto the stove, she goes about shucking several cobs of corn. “How many do you want?”

  “Corn on the cobb? I’m good with one.” I get up to stand beside her. “What else are you making? I can help.”

  “Potatoes,” she says matter-of-factly, and with a hint condescension considering I watched her put them in the oven.

  “Yeah, I know that. What else?”

  She grins. “That’s it. That’s what I’m having for dinner.”

  “You don’t want like...a protein?” Because I do.

  “Not really.” She drops the last cobb into the water and clears the counter. “I mean, I have eggs if you want me to fry up one of those.”

  “No chicken? Steak? Anything that went through a grinder?”

  Her nose scrunches and I think I’ve grossed her out.

  “Nothing with a face.”

  “You’re a vegetarian.” It’s almost the worst thing I’ve heard today. Everything related to Marcus still
tops it.

  “I’m a vegetarian,” she confirms and I watch helplessly while she prepares a dinner consisting of side items.

  Well, that’s it, I guess. I always wondered how I would die, and now I know. I’m going to starve to death. I don’t have much fat stored, but I can probably live off the muscle I’ve built up for a little while. On the upside, if I get to spend every meal with her between now and the moment I die, at least I know I’ll go happy.

  Chapter Nine

  Heartbreaker

  “Hey.”

  I stop what I’m working on and drop my pen to face him. “Why are you here?”

  He holds a paper bag out toward me as if it’s supposed to entice me in some way. “I brought veggie burgers.”

  “This isn’t the lunch room, Lucas.” This is the third day in a row he’s done this. I’ve tried everything short of not actually eating the food he brings me, but he won’t listen. And I can’t not eat the food he brings. It’s always from some random hole in the wall place I’ve never taken the time to try out, and I’m always starving. I need to learn to pack a lunch. That’ll solve this problem, provided I can pack something that smells better than those veggie burgers.

  “I ordered yours with extra guac. I saw the way you tore up those avocadoes last night at dinner.” He grins. And then I grin, like grinning is contagious or something.

  “You’re getting awfully comfortable around here, dude.”

  He nods, taking his seat in on the edge of my desk to prove my point. “I know. I didn’t even flinch today when Mouth yelled ‘How the fuck are ya’ the second I walked in the door.”

  “Yeah, you did,” she announces, walking by. “Although, I have to credit the door a little. The way it slammed behind you just as I opened my mouth definitely added to the effect.”

  “Fine. I flinched less.”

  “There’s always tomorrow.” She winks at him and heads for the corner to join Princess at her station. It’s quiet in here today. It’s been quiet all week. I’d like to think it means nothing, but the truth is, I know we’re all spacing out our appointments and doing next to nothing to get new clients in here at the moment. It’s like we’re all on hold until this business with Marcus blows up or blows over. Unfortunately, I don’t think it will be the latter, and at this rate, my business isn’t going to survive.

  “So,” I reluctantly take the bag from him to retrieve my burger. With extra guac. “How long do you think you’ll be able to hide out here before your parents notice you’re not at home in your room contemplating life and how soon you want to follow in your father’s footsteps?”

  “I’m not hiding, and they know I’m not in my room. I’m not thirteen. I have my own vehicle. My own money. I’m pretty sure they’re aware of both.” He doesn’t even get offended anymore. Just rolls with my shit. It’s bothersome, and it makes me less inclined to give him a hard time, which in turn means I resort to being nice to him and having actual conversations. I can’t have that.

  “Got it. You’re not hiding from your big, predetermined destiny. Whatever. What are you doing? Have you made any plans for your future since you’ve been back, or what?” I lick the avocado spilling out of my burger from the edge of the bun. So good.

  “I’ve got some ideas.” But then he takes another bite and totally leaves me hanging. On purpose.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Why? Do you care about my future? Want to be in it or something?”

  “No!” I scoff at the mere suggestion. I also turn red because, on some sneaky, mortifying level, that’s exactly what I want. “I was simply hoping for some form of entertainment while I eat. Hearing about your life’s ambitions and imagining all the ways in which Pru will try to thwart them seemed like a better alternative to eating in boring silence.”

  “It’s good to know I have at least one person’s support,” he says dryly, reaching for a napkin. “Honestly? I haven’t put much thought into what I’m doing next. I’ve been following a set plan most of my life, first my parents, then the military. I’m kind of enjoying just going with the flow.”

  “Huh.” I’m not even sure I completely understand what that means. Going with the flow. “What?” He’s doing his best to look sincere as he inquires about my thoughts, but I can tell by the gleam in his eyes that he’s amused by my reaction. I don’t even know why. Huh hardly seems substantial enough to draw any conclusion from, let alone one that might delight and entertain you.

  “It’s just...I’ve never had that. That feeling of being in the moment and waiting to see what happens next. I’ve always had somewhere I was going. Something I was working toward.”

  The gleam of amusement turns to curiosity. “You’ve always known you wanted to own a tattoo shop?” Shockingly enough, he’s completely serious now. Not even a hint of mockery in his voice.

  “Ultimately, yeah. Granted, I had no idea the timeline would be so short, but sure, the dream was to open my own place one day.”

  He’s smirking. He finds me funny again. “So, like, there you are, little six-year-old Olivia, and you’re thinking...someday, when I’m all grown up I’m going to be a badass tattoo artist who runs her own parlor of extraordinary ink.”

  “Nine.”

  “Nine what?”

  “I was nine when I decided that.”

  I think he’s almost impressed. “No shit.” He drops the last of his bun back into the take out box and wipes his hands. “How?”

  “How did I come to conclude at the tender age of nine that I wanted to grow up and be a badass tattoo artist?”

  He grins. “Yeah.”

  I shrug. “My Uncle Camilo. I was nine when I met him. He came to visit from Mexico. Spent all summer with us. And he would tell these...amazing stories. One evening, sitting outside under this crazy starlit sky, he told Marcus and I about the night he met the love of his life, Aurelia. It was the most romantic story I’d ever heard. For the first time ever, I actually believed in true love. Then, he reached the end of his story, and it was tragic. Aurelia died the night before their wedding. He never loved anyone else ever again.” My hand finds my heart without my efforts. It doesn’t matter how many years go by or how long it’s been since I’ve heard it, remembering Camilo’s story still fills my chest with an overwhelming ache.

  I’m lost in thought, remembering Aurelia’s beautiful face, when Lucas clears his throat and brings me back to the present.

  “I can totally see it now. Your dream taking shape...from that depressing story about your uncle.”

  “I wasn’t done telling it,” I huff.

  “Oh. Well, then by all means, please continue.” He does a little wave and bow combo to encourage me.

  “After I found out what happened to Aurelia, I was devastated. I even started to cry. That’s when my uncle wrapped me up in a hug and told me all was not lost. That even if it wasn’t clear to the rest of the world, really, he’d never spent a day of his life without her.” I take a deep breath in and let it out in one long, steady exhale to keep from getting more emotional. “He rolled his sleeve up to his elbow, and there she was, the most stunning woman I’d ever laid eyes on, painted into his skin, bound to him for the rest of his days.”

  “Ah.” He nods slowly. “I think I’m starting to get it now. You’re a sappy, hopeless romantic and it controls every aspect of your life, including your career choice.”

  “What? No! I just thought it was a beautiful gift someone gave him. Something eternal. A part of her that lived on with him. The idea of someday being that person who could give a gift like that, I don’t know, it just called to me in a way nothing else ever has.” Then I hear myself. Comprehend what I’m saying. Really understand it. Maybe for the first time ever. “And...I’m a sappy, hopeless romantic whose whole life has been ruled by this sick fascination with fairy tale love. Ugh.” I flop into the backrest of my chair. “God. Who knew?!”

  “I know, right?!” He laughs. It’s an unusually quiet, subdued laugh, but he’s
laughing at me none the less.

  I jump to my feet, because sitting here being analyzed and consequently charmed by a man who makes me both melty-hot-weak-in-the-knees-giddy and utterly, mind-achingly confused is simply no longer an option. “You can’t come here anymore.”

  “You still owe me half of a dragon.” It’s almost like he’s been waiting to make that argument. Like he’s had it on reserve, chilling in his back pocket, ready for the moment that he would push me too far and make me freak and insist he get lost so he could yank out his magic golden pass to remind me that I can’t get rid of him. Yet.

  “Make your appointment with Cherry on the way out, and make it for tomorrow. Or sooner. I have to get back to work.” I turn toward my desk, away from him and the nerve-wracking way he stares at me in between my saying my words and him saying his words. The time he takes to decipher what I mean. To read between the lines. I hate that he does that. I especially hate how efficient he is when he does it.

  “See you later, Heartbreaker,” he says quietly, and I can hear the soles of his shoes squeak on the floor as he twists them, starting to walk in the opposite direction. Toward the door. Where I won’t have to see him. Or hear him. Or smell him. God, he smells good.

  But I don’t look up. And I don’t say goodbye. I just stand here, pretending with all my might to focus on the blank page of my sketch pad while I listen for the bells to jingle and let me know that he’s left the building.

  Then it happens, and I release the air I was holding in, shaking slightly. I might be losing my mind.

  “How long are you going to keep doing that?” Sketch is standing right beside me when I finally take in my surroundings again.

  “Doing what?” My attempt at oblivious fails miserably. I knew it would.

  “He’s going to get tired of your bullshit sooner or later, you know that, right? You’ll wear him down and he’ll give up. And then...”

  “And then what?” I practically spit the words at her. I don’t even know why my defenses are on high all of sudden, except maybe that I might be afraid that it’s possible that...she’s right.