Just like the dark figure at the other end of the street the other day, he scared me.
I tried not to react, but D noticed where my attention had drifted, and he also saw the guy in the shadows watching us as we carried a passed-out Spike into the building.
I spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, attempting to convince myself that it was a coincidence. That he was hiding for any other reason than waiting for us… for me.
I tell myself time and time again that the threat is gone. Jet is dead, along with his goons, and all of that is over. Mum’s gone, her dealer is gone, and I have a new life.
Only, things aren’t ever that simple, are they?
I hate doing it, but old habits die hard, and after I’d dressed for a day at the studio, I slide my flip knife into my boot.
Until I moved here there wasn’t a day that passed where it wasn’t on my body somewhere, just in case something happened.
I’d witnessed people get jumped on almost a daily basis, and fuck if I wasn’t going to be prepared for it to happen to me.
“What’s wrong?” Spike asks, his eyes drilling into me. So much for being discreet.
“It’s nothing.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Kas. Who are you looking for?”
“N-no one. There was just this guy last night.”
He stares at me before his eyes widen as if he’s remembered something.
“That why D told you to lock the door after him?”
“Uh… yeah. It’s probably nothing. Just some scumbag hiding in the shadows.”
“You keep saying things like that.”
“Well, it’s probably true. This is London. There are arseholes on every corner. It’s probably nothing.”
“Or it might not be.”
I shrug, trying really hard not to make a bigger issue out of this than it needs to be.
“All that’s over, right? It’s nothing. I’m just being paranoid.”
He studies me for a beat before our car pulls up and we climb in.
I fight not to stare out the window to continue looking for someone, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right.
Discreetly, I lean down to scratch my ankle, but really I’m just making sure my knife is in place and putting my mind to rest somewhat.
Rebel Ink is still in darkness when we pull up. We’re early, in the hope of talking to Zach before clients start arriving.
My heart pounds in my chest and my palms feel a little sweaty as Spike lets us both inside. The place is in silence as we walk through reception.
“Upstairs,” Spike says before walking through the kitchen and toward the stairs that lead up to Zach and Biff’s flat above the studio.
Silently we make our way up, the atmosphere already making it hard to breathe.
The moment we’re at the top, Spike reaches out and knocks on the door.
Movement inside is almost instant, but when the door is pulled open, it’s Biff who stands on the other side, looking exhausted.
“Hey,” she says softly. “How are you?”
“I’ll live. Is he here?”
“Um…” She glances back, telling us both that he’s obviously inside and hiding. “No?” I don’t think it was meant to come out like a question.
“Just let us in, we need to talk.”
“He’s still angry. At all of us,” she adds quietly.
“I expect him to be, but he needs to hear what I’ve got to say.”
“Not yet, just give him a little more time.”
“What good is that going to do? This isn’t going to go away.”
Biff blows out a knowing breath.
“Zach, get your fucking arse out here,” Spike barks, making Biff jump.
Silence follows.
“I refuse to do this through a fucking door, man.”
“Just go and do your job, and be fucking glad you’re good at it, or you might not have one right now.”
“You don’t mean that, man.”
“Don’t I?” he spits back. “Stay out of my way. Both of you.”
Biff winces at the fierceness of his tone.
“We’ll be downstairs,” I say to her, giving her a sympathetic smile and placing my hand on Spike’s arm to encourage him to move.
His lips part to argue, but after a second he must realise that I’m right because he turns and heads down the stairs with a sigh.
“Just give him some time. He’ll come around.”
“And if he doesn’t?” he asks again.
“He will. Now, what delights do you have for me today?” I ask, trying to turn his thoughts from my pig-headed brother and toward his clients.
He smiles at me, clearly seeing what I’m doing, but he goes over to his computer nonetheless and powers it up.
He talks me through his clients, tells me what I can expect, and sets me up to do a few jobs. Before we know it, his first victim is walking through the door.
“Jesus, mate, that looks sore,” he comments when I stand aside and allow him to join Spike.
“Nah, you should see the state of the other guy,” Spike jokes as he sets about doing his thing.
I watch, I listen, I take everything in that he tells me until my fingers are twitching to have a go once again.
The sound of movement outside Spike’s room has me on edge all day. Every time a door opens, I tense, thinking that Zach’s going to come storming in. But he never does. Every time there’s a knock at the door, it’s anyone but him. All the others poke their heads in to make sure that both of us are okay after what went down.
I didn’t have Zach down as the kind of person who hides away from an issue, so it makes me wonder just how angry he really is if he feels the need to stay away while knowing we’re right here, waiting to talk to him.
Despite the fact that I’m engrossed watching Spike work, the day still drags, knowing that we’ve still got to deal with it.
“I’m hungry,” Spike complains when his penultimate client for the day leaves. “You fancy some dinner?”
“Sure. What do you fancy?” I ask, jumping from the sofa where I
