Behind Your Back, стр. 23

“It’s none of your fucking business! Just give me the cock-sucking money!” He’s on his feet and we’re all a little shocked by the outburst. He’s asked for mysterious money before, but he’s never been so adamant about it. His light blue eyes snap and crackle as he looks at us.

“Simmer down, man,” Cash says, putting his hand on Baz’s shoulder. Baz shakes it off and starts pacing around the room. Row and Hardy share a look. They have that weird twin thing that freaks me out, honestly. Like they are one brain in two bodies.

“I just need it, okay? Can you just do me a solid and give me this? I’ll never ask like this again. I just need it.” Baz being this desperate for money means one of two things: Either he’s in trouble, or someone he loves is. He never talks about his family. We have a sort of “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy about our personal lives.

I look around at the boys and we all sort of realize that he’s serious and he’s not going to tell us, no matter how much we ask.

“Vote?” I say.

“All in favor of giving Baz money?” Every single hand goes up. Well, except for Baz’s. He just stands there and stares at us all, as if he can’t believe it.

“Okay, vote is unanimous. Hardy, can you set everything up?” He nods and Baz sits back down with a thump.

“Thank you,” he says, so quiet I can barely hear him.

“You’re welcome. But just know this is a one-time thing. And it better not get you into trouble.” I have the feeling this is going to get him or someone out of trouble. Hopefully.

Track cleared his throat and then asked if anyone wanted another beer while he was up and getting one out of the fridge.

That breaks the tension and the business portion of our meeting ends and the non-business part starts. Yes, we all work together toward a common goal, but we also genuinely like each other. For lack of a better word, these are my brothers. My family.

I’m the last to leave and Cash grabs my arm before I head out the door.

“Hey, are you doing okay? You seem a little… off.”

Shit. I don’t want to talk about this.

“I’m fine. Seriously. Just tired.” He studies me for a while and then smiles. So fucking happy. Cash is so good at faking a smile, sometimes I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.

“Just checking in.” He slaps me on the shoulder and holds the door open.

“Well don’t,” I say before I head downstairs and out into the night.

Twelve

“Have any lunch plans?” Saige says after Grace puts her through on my work line.

“Why, are you going to suggest something?” I say, glad I’m not with a client so I can talk to her without anyone eavesdropping.

“Well, I just got out of class and I was thinking that maybe you’d like to grab tacos or something at this little place off campus. But if you’re terribly busy, I understand.” The last sentence is dripping with sarcasm.

“I think that can be arranged,” I say and she rattles off the address. I grab my cell phone and type it in so I can find it. I’m going to have to cab it to get there.

“Meet you there in ten?” I say.

“Perfect.” I hang up and realize there’s a smile on my face. I definitely need to stop that. She’s a job. A mark. Well, the daughter of a mark. Nothing more. When she’s gone, I won’t even think about her. Just like I don’t think about the other former marks. Their names and faces and bodies all blur together. I don’t even know how many there have been. I should feel bad about it. But I don’t.

I think on that for a moment as I put my cell phone in my jacket pocket and head out to meet Saige. But then her face fills my brain and cancels everything else out.

“Dare you,” Saige says when our tacos come with three choices of salsa. Mild, Regular and Surface of the Sun.

“Only if you do,” I say, reaching for the cup of Surface of the Sun.

“You’re on,” she says, sticking her fork into the sauce and then blobbing it on top of her taco. I do the same and we both lift our tacos up.

“Ready?” she says.

“Absolutely,” I say and we bite down at the same time. Shit, they weren’t kidding. I’m no pansy when it comes to salsa but holy SHIT.

I chew and swallow, but I can’t do it without a cough. My eyes instantly water and I drop the taco on my plate before reaching for my water. I know it won’t stop the pain, but I don’t know what else to do.

“Holy fucking shit,” Saige coughs out and I can’t see through the tears streaming through my eyes, but I can imagine she’s doing the same thing I’m doing.

Pain. So much pain. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d be amused by her cursing.

It takes a while for both of us to be able to breathe and see again.

“Tried the SOS salsa, didn’t you?” our waitress says, coming to refill our water glasses. I blink at her and see the smirk on her face.

“Yeah,” I choke out as I reach for the water and drain it.

“Well, don’t say we didn’t warn you,” she sing-songs as she goes to check on another table.

“That was a terrible idea,” Saige says, her eyes red. I’ve finally stopped crying so I can see her now. Her hair is straight, and partially held back on one side of her face with bobby pins. She’s casual today, in jeans and a black t-shirt that’s just a little bit tight. It’s a good look for her. There are tiny little crystal skull studs in her ears. I imagine this outfit pisses her father off and that pleases me. Soon, this will seem like no big deal. Not after I’m through with him.

“That was a bad choice,” I agree and we both laugh.

“I think I’m going to stick with the mild. If I have any taste buds left.” I wasn’t sure if I had any either.

We shared the mild salsa and finished our tacos before splitting a piece of chocolate cake.

“I’m so full, I don’t want to move,” she says, leaning back in her chair.

“Same here. And I’m pretty sure it’s going to take a while to recover from that salsa. Holy hell.” She cringes.

“Do you have to go back right away?” she asks as I look at my watch.

“No, I have some time.” This is a lie. I have an appointment in twenty minutes and it’s going to take at least ten to get back by cab. I pull out my phone and send a quick message to Grace.

“So, how was class today?” I ask. I need to learn as much about her as soon as possible so I can use it to get closer.

She describes her classes and I ask her more about her major and why she chose it.

“I’m not sure. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision. And I think a little part of me wanted to pick something my dad would hate.” She’s always talking about her dad, but not about her mother. I wonder if there’s a story there. Something I might be able to use to my advantage.

“And did it work?”

She laughs.

“Did it ever. I was treated to quite the lecture. But I went ahead and declared my major anyway. I’m not a child. I can do what I want.” No, she’s definitely not a child and I suspect even when she was, she didn’t let anyone push her around.

“And you love it,” I say. It’s not a question. It’s easy to see when she talks about her classes. Well, except for drawing. She doesn’t like that very much.

“It feels like I’m doing something that matters. Something important. That might sound silly, but I don’t care. Paintings are some of the only historical records we have in some cases. Especially of historical figures. Even though the portraits probably aren’t as accurate. But who doesn’t put a filter on their Instagram pictures?” The last part makes me burst out laughing.

“That’s a good point. So, what are your plans after you graduate? Travel the world? Find yourself?”

She presses her lips together.

“Not sure yet. We’ll see. I don’t like to speculate on the future beyond today.” I like that.