Trouble

by Kira Blakely

  He called her a good lay. He called her—

  “You’re a dog,” I growled. “That’s what you are. Now, go fetch.” I tossed him backward and his back hit a lamppost. He groaned but scuffled to his feet and dashed off and disappeared around the corner.

  “Cain!” Margot appeared at my side and tugged on my arm. “Jesus Christ, you just—the fuck—you—” She sucked in a breath. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t fucking think. “Why the fuck did you do that? Are you crazy?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” I said. I still didn’t look at her. I stiffened under her touch, stared at the crushed camera out in the road. “Fuck it, I’m out.”

  I turned my back on the chaos and walked off, sweat running down the center of my spine. This anger wasn’t right. I cared too much.

  Margot’s voice rose behind me, shaking slightly. “Fine. That’s fine, Cain. But if you’re leaving, don’t come back. You’ve caused enough trouble for me as it is.”

  Chapter 17

  Cain

  I’d caused her trouble, and she’d filled the hole. Fuck, this was beyond a problem.

  If I didn’t work it out, she’d lose everything, and I’d end up hating myself for it. Did I care about the charity? About my behavior? Maybe, but not as much as I cared about her, and that was a fucking problem.

  I strode down the sidewalk, away from the mayhem I’d caused. That little creeper had it coming. I’d never been a fan of fedora-wearing motherfuckers, but he’d taken it one step too far. Literally.

  Flashes of Margot came again. They blocked out the street in front of me.

  Her laughing at something the purple-haired chick had said at the front desk, the sound of it chiming like fucking bells, striking chords inside me I’d refused to believe existed.

  You’re a pussy, Foster. You’re going to let it go because you’re a pussy. The words sounded too much like the ones my father had tossed at me years ago, the ones that had forced me onto the streets and out of his house.

  No one knew what had happened during those dark times, except for me, and they’d tempered me like flame tempered steel.

  Except there were chinks in the metal, cracks and weaknesses.

  I blinked visions of Margot away and continued walking. Where to? Fuck it, back to my hotel? No, all the way to Margot’s house? That was the path my feet wanted to take me, because back then, her house had been my second home.

  Her father, Frank, had been the man I looked up to. Fuck, I hadn’t even had a chance to mourn his death after his passing.

  I ground my teeth and stomped onward, changed direction, passed men and women, cars, lampposts, it was all a blur. I kept to Lakeview but away from Get Ink’d.

  “Cain?” A woman’s voice intercepted my thoughts. “Cain Foster?” It was more of a purr than a name, the voice breathy.

  I stopped mid-stride and turned my head.

  A woman with long dark hair and tattoos arcing across her chest and up to the base of her neck stood in the doorway of a shop a few feet from the lip of the sidewalk. She had a hooked nose, a piercing in her eyebrow, and one in her lip. She rested one hand on her hip and popped it beneath a pair of cut-off jean shorts.

  “I didn’t expect to see you around here.”

  Who was this chick? I searched my mind for an answer and gravitated toward Margot in that black dress, music jiving around her shoulders. This was… “Kelly?”

  “That’s right,” she said, and beamed that I’d remembered her.

  It was a first for me. I was bad with putting names to faces. The only one that stuck in my mind was Margot’s. It was lodged there, like it’d been there from the start.

  “What are you doing in my street?” Kelly asked. She looked like someone had drawn a caricature of what they thought a tattoo artist should look like and transmuted it into living form. “I would’ve thought it would be off-limits for you.”

  Her words piqued my interest despite the circumstances. I walked over to her and stopped short, frowning down at her. “You want to explain that?”

  “Only if you want me to,” she said, and fluttered her eyelashes at me.

  She was a little shorter than me, but tall for a woman, and I immediately drew comparisons between her and Margot. Margot was petite, sweet, determined, made for me. This woman was the polar opposite.

  “Well,” Kelly said, and gave a short, sharp laugh. “Clearly, I’ll have to explain myself without you having to ask. Margot wouldn’t approve of you being in this street. I would’ve thought you’d stay away. You are her… partner, after all, aren’t you?”

  “You’re playing games,” I said. “I don’t have time for games.”

  “No games,” she replied. “I swear. I’m concerned about her. We went to school together, you know, we were good friends, until she went her own way. But I’m sure you remember that.”

  I shrugged. School had passed beneath my notice after mom had died. I vaguely recalled some dark-haired, olive-skinned chick hanging around with Margot, but that was about the extent of it.

  “Would you like to come in?” Kelly asked, and tapped the wooden jamb. “We’ve got espresso, and you can check out some of our designs.”

  Fuck it, why not? If Kelly could give me some insight into why Margot was so closed off, it would be a bonus. Maybe that was hypocritical of me: when I’d told her we were nothing but a fling back in the hotel room, I’d expected an emotional reaction. I’d gotten nothing.

  I had to know why I didn’t make her feel the way she made me feel.

  “Uh, Foster?” Kelly passed a long-fingered hand in front of my nose. “You having an aneurysm or something?”

  “I’ll take an Americano,” I said, and followed her into the shop.

  The décor in here was insane. Bright purple walls with black paint zigzagging across it, pictures of Kelly on the walls in various states of undress, her tattoos on display, no doubt meant to be artsy. She smiled and gestured to one of the images, which showed a honeycomb tattoo on her lower back. “That’s one of my favorites. A lot of our clients ask for something similar, whether it’s there or somewhere else.”

  I nodded and took a seat on one of the armchairs in the waiting area, ignoring the squeak of leather. The coffee table was glass and chrome. This place didn’t feel natural to me, not like Get Ink’d. It was put together to push that caricature into everyone’s faces.

  “I’m real!” The pictures screamed. “I’m important!”

  Kelly brought me a cup of coffee, and I dragged the hot fluid into my mouth and swallowed. It was bitter and strong, perfect for my mood.

  “Well,” Kelly said. “It’s an honor to have you in here. I’ve heard you’re quite skilled at what you do.” She phrased it to emphasize the “skill” and left the question open: What skill did she mean? “I’m sure Margot’s very happy to have you around.”

  I didn’t comment on that.

  “How is she?” Kelly asked.

  “She’s doing great,” I replied.

  “I have difficulty believing that. Margot hasn’t been doing great for over a year, and I don’t blame her after what happened. Poor girl, she deserved so much better than what she had, and I guess you could say that I helped her out with that.” Kelly tossed back her espresso and slapped the cup down on the coffee table.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” I said.

  “Oh.” Kelly’s expression brightened considerably. “Well, in that case, it’s probably not my place to tell you about it. Strange that Margot hasn’t spoken to you about it yet, though. I would’ve thought she’d share it with her partner. You are still her partner, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I snapped.

  Kelly sat down in the armchair next to me and laid a hand on my arm. “Oh, that’s good. You’ll look out for her like I used to, before—well, you ask her about that.” She patted.

  So, there definitely was something Margot had kept from me. I couldn’t be mad at her for wanting to keep her secrets. I had my own,
but a beast unfurled in my chest regardless.

  Whoever or whatever had hurt her would fucking pay for it. They’d regret it until the last fucking breath.

  Easy, fuckhead, this isn’t the Cain show. Not right now, it isn’t.

  Since when did I have an inner conscience holding me back?

  “Listen. Clearly, Margot doesn’t trust you enough to talk to you about important matters. What happened with her was directly related to her business, which is directly related to you.”

  I stared off into space, envisioning her again. I couldn’t shake this woman. I hadn’t been able years ago and I couldn’t now. God, this was fucked up. This would be the end of my grinning exterior.

  “So, if Margot’s not going to appreciate you as a partner, perhaps you should start looking for other business opportunities,” Kelly continued, and I focused on the words and the fact that her hand was still on my arm. “Think about it. You could work here, with me, doing what you do best. I hear you’re fantastic at abstract design in your tattoos. I’d love to see what you’re capable of.”

  I pulled my arm from her grasp, scowling, and movement shifted in my peripheral vision. A shape blurred. I snapped around and spotted a man outside, holding a phone up, aiming it at us.

  Christ, it was Fedora Guy. That fucking slug had followed me. He realized I’d spotted him and backpedaled.

  “Cain? What’s wrong?” Kelly asked, and followed my line of sight.

  I lurched out of my chair and banged my shins against the coffee table. Coffee sloshed over the lip of the cup, but I didn’t quit moving. I sprinted for the door and wrenched the handle.

  It was locked. “What the fuck?” I flicked the lock.

  “Foster, wait! Wait, you need to hear me out before you leave,” Kelly called out.

  I dragged the door open and burst into the street, spun in a circle looking for the fucker and his phone. I’d destroy that too. Rage blinded me. It tore through all the sensible thoughts that should’ve been in my mind.

  I jogged down the road and looked in the alleys, bashed past people, searched the crowds when I hit the corner. Nothing. The asshole had disappeared.

  “Cain!” The breathy voice annoyed the fuck out of me. Kelly halted beside me and fanned her long face. “God, are you kidding? How do you run that fast? Did you do track in high school or something?”

  “What do you want?” I grunted.

  “Whoa, sheesh, no need to be so short. We weren’t finished talking,” she said. “I was asking you if you’d like to work with me, or at least, set up a meeting to discuss it. What do you say? I’ll give you half the business, or, no, like forty-nine percent, ha, and we can go from there.”

  “Just like that?” I asked. “You’re willing to do that right off the bat? Why?”

  “Let’s just say I have a competitive nature,” Kelly replied and batted false eyelashes at me. “And when I see something I want, I get it. What I want is the best team in Chicago and my own TV show. I figure that will follow after I have you on board.”

  I studied her from head to toe, my upper lip curling back. “No,” I said.

  Kelly barked out a single laugh. “You’ll regret that.”

  “I’ve never regretted anything in my life.”

  Chapter 18

  Margot

  I drew the pattern across the blank page—a series of two triangles, then a circle, then two triangles, then a circle. I left space at the end, then handed the thick pencil to Jemma-Kate and leaned against the sofa’s end.

  We’d taken up a spot on the living room floor, the TV playing an old rerun of one of the Tom and Jerry cartoons, the sound turned low.

  “Can you finish the pattern, Jemma?” I asked.

  I spent some time each day with her, helping her refine her fine motor coordination, whether it was playing with LEGOs or practicing patterns and letters. This was part of our bonding time. It felt sisterly, rather than motherly, and I loved every second of it, regardless.

  But this afternoon, I couldn’t bring myself to the present. I was stuck in this morning, watching as Cain wrecked a man’s camera then tossed him backward.

  “Like this?” Jemma asked, and the scratching of the pencil followed. She completed the pattern and sat back, grinning as only a five-year-old could.

  “That’s exactly right,” I said and kissed the top of her head. “Man, soon you’ll be drawing patterns for me, and I’ll be completing them.”

  “I won’t draw triangles,” Jemma announced, and filled out each circle with two dots and a curved line, transforming them into smiley faces.

  “Oh yeah? What would you draw?” I asked, and stifled a yawn—I was exhausted after today. Work hadn’t ended after Cain left, and him leaving had stuck me with a cameraman following me around as I spun to cancel Cain’s appointments and fulfill my own.

  “I’d draw hearts,” Jemma said, then made good on her promise by drawing one below the pattern. “See, this heart is for you. And this heart is for Gamma.” She drew two, then tapped her bottom lip with the end of the pencil. “And this smaller one is for me.”

  “You should have the biggest on of all,” I said, and grabbed a red crayon from her pencil bag on the carpet. I drew an extra big one for her. “There, that’s your heart.”

  She grinned, then drew another one.

  “Who’s that one for?”

  “Cain,” she replied. “Gamma said he’s part of the family too.”

  Oh for god’s sake. I can’t escape him. Not even at home. Not even in my own thoughts.

  “That’s sweet of you, Jemma,” I said. “Now, why don’t we color in these hearts? What about purple?”

  “No, yellow! I like yellow. Yellow is my favorite color of all the colors because it’s the color of the sun,” she said and plucked out the crayon.

  I responded by stroking her hair and switching my gaze to the cartoon on the TV. Tom ran around the corner and stepped on the end of a rake. The wooden handle flipped up and whacked him right on the nose with a comical “boing.”

  Right now, I was totally Tom. I’d walked right into this problem.

  Then again, I’d hardly seen it coming either. Cain still hadn’t explained exactly why he wanted to be in the shop, why it was so important to him, but I could only figure he had selfish reasons.

  That’s not fair. He took you to Japan. That wasn’t for him, it was for you.

  My phone pinged on the coffee table, and I scooched forward and snatched it up, unlocked the screen. It was a message from Guy. He hadn’t come in this morning, and I’d been pretty happy about that.

  “Hi, Margot. I’ll be by later in the week to talk to you about the script and the pilot. Hope everything is going well at the store. I heard there was an altercation this morning.”

  I dragged my teeth across my bottom lip and returned to my position beside Jemma, who’d now selected brown as her next best color to decorate the hearts.

  “What’s wrong, Madgie?” Jemma asked. “You’re making those noises again.” She looked up, the brown crayon dangling from between her fingertips.

  “Noises?”

  “The ones where it sounds like you’re a fish on the floor.” She mimicked my heavy breathing and I burst out laughing and ruffled her hair. “What, it’s true!”

  “I’m fine, kiddo,” I said, and enjoyed the ray of joy that speared through me. She was the little bit of sunshine that kept this household smiling, even through the dark times. The joy faded, and the somberness of the situation set in. I couldn’t let Jemma down.

  I lifted the phone and typed out a reply. “Nothing serious. I’ll see you this week.” I sent it off. That was fine. It was short and to the point, casual, even.

  I sighed and dropped my phone in my lap. No sooner had it hit my legs then it pinged for a second time.

  Sheesh, what was I, popular or something? Maybe all the attention I’d missed out on in high school as the nerdy chick who read too many books had suddenly come screaming into my life. I lift
ed the phone and checked the number.

  No one I recognized. Weird. And it was a text. Who’d text me from a number I didn’t have plugged into my contacts?

  I clicked on it and an image opened on my screen.

  It was a shot taken from the outside of a shop, the interior of which sent ice through my veins. That was Kelly’s shop, all right. God, I’d recognize the garish purple paint and half-naked images from a distance of three miles. It was that tasteless.

  But who was—?

  “What?” The word escaped my lips before I could stop it.

  “What?” Jemma-Kate asked and peeked at my screen.

  I shifted it away.

  Cain sat in a leather armchair beside Kelly, who had a hand on his arm. What the hell was this? Was he discussing business with her? Or something else?

  He doesn’t want her. He can’t want her. Oh my god, who cares if he wants her or not, what is he doing in there with her?

  I scuffled to my feet and Jemma frowned up at me. “Madgie?”

  “I’ll be right back, sweetie. I’m going to check what Gamma’s making for dinner.” I walked out of the living room, keeping my pace even, though my heart beat like it wanted to bust out of my chest and yell, “Hey, Macarena!”

  This isn’t a big deal. It’s manageable.

  Or was it?

  As much as I hated working with Cain every day—because I couldn’t stand lusting after someone and feeling things I wasn’t ready for—I couldn’t deal with the potential stress that he might pull out of Get Ink’d.

  If he did, we’d fall flat on our ass. His finances were the only thing that had kept us afloat after Dad had passed. We simply hadn’t made enough in the past month to cover the losses, and if he left, I wouldn’t make rent.

  I walked down the hall toward the kitchen and peeked in. Mom had left a casserole in the oven, and the smells of garlic, rosemary, and cooking meat filled the kitchen, but she was nowhere in sight. That suited me just fine. I needed the moment to breathe, to calm the hell down.

  Nothing was the end of the world.

  That was what my father had taught me. All challenges were manageable if they were viewed from the correct angle.