project

by Torrance, Asa

  “And tattoo you,” I add. I push the bag from the drugstore towards her. “Put that stuff on it every few hours.”

  “My mom is gonna kill me,” she utters, a looming realization coming up in her eyes.

  I smirk. “No, she’s not,” I say. “She’ll probably want a matching one when she sees it.”

  Windy narrows her eyes at me, but a corner of her mouth curls up in a grin. “You are not allowed to tattoo my mom.”

  I hold up my hand in a solemn swear. “Now that’s a promise I can keep.”

  She leans forward and kisses me, letting her lips linger on mine for a beat before she pulls away. “Just in case you die.”

  “I like your attitude,” I murmur, catching her arm again before she goes and kissing her again. She lets me, soft lips opening just enough to make me want to come back for more before I’m even gone.

  But I leave it at one extra stolen kiss, because I need the incentive of getting back to her. “Stay safe,” she tells me once she’s outside of the car, holding her things in her arms. “Call me when you get there.”

  I grin at her joke. “I’m coming back for you,” I tell her.

  “When?” she says with a shake of her head.

  We lock eyes. “You’ll know,” I say.

  I take off, forcing myself to leave her behind. It’s what has to be done if I’m going to attend to the matters at hand. I idle at the last stop sign leading out of her neighborhood and pull my phone from my pocket to reply to Ace’s message from earlier.

  ME: Make it happen

  Almost as soon as I send it, another message flashes onto my screen. This time, it’s from my mother, and I read it with a measured dose of trepidation.

  MOM: I told him everything.

  30

  I have no control. I have control. I have no control. I have control.

  I’m sitting perched on the newly restored steps of the shed, plucking petals from a flower as I try and focus my thoughts. With each movement of my fingers, I feel my anxiety rise and fall.

  It wasn’t long ago that I reached out to Samaire, sending her a vague-ish text explaining that Damien wasn’t willing to tell me much.

  To keep me safe, supposedly. At least, that’s the way he made it sound. But I didn’t add that little detail to my message, because I still feel like I’m caught between multiple worlds, ones at odds with each other yet so viciously intertwined it’s not even funny.

  The only one that stands apart is the relationship I have with Damien. The one that exists outside the realm of the gangs, outside the influence of Diablo Beach, the one that stands on its own, just him and me. It’s a place that could be beautiful, if given the chance to flourish.

  So far, the only response I’ve received from Samaire has been radio silence and it’s managed to make me even more anxious than before. I’m still clinging to the fragments of our friendship, but I know it’s hard for her to trust me when I’m so obviously entangled with someone she sees as an enemy. Choosing to stick with Damien possibly makes me an enemy, too.

  But I’m also willing to consider that she’s been too preoccupied to respond. Besides, what was there really for her to say? Well, thanks for trying!

  I’ve always been an ineffectual friend, I think dramatically, stewing in my own emotions even if I know doing that is getting me nowhere. Impatiently, I rock up from the steps of the gazebo, dropping the bare stem of the flower I’ve plucked into oblivion towards the grass.

  I should have made him take me with him. Samaire and Carina wouldn’t have just stood idly by. They’re fucking involved, not left home alone like some forlorn puppy.

  My lip raises as the dull pain from the fresh tattoo on my arm sets itself front and center in my brain. Since when do I give a shit about any of this? I never wanted to be a Snake Eyes, and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t even think I want to be one now.

  The problem, as usual, is Damien.

  I just want him back, and I want to know he’s safe. I won’t be able to rest until at least one of those things happens.

  Sliding my phone into the pocket of my sweatshirt, I head into the house. Who knows if it’s going to be another late one from Mom again, so far I haven’t heard from her, which means I’ll be free to fret over things distraction free, at least until she gets home.

  Which could be hours away.

  I decide to distract myself by unwrapping my bandage to survey the fresh ink underneath. It’s been wound around my arm with so much care that it nearly feels wrong to undo the meticulous work. I liked the way he took his time with it, strong hands shifting and moving over my arm with soft strokes. When he wants to, Damien can be incredibly gentle.

  My thighs clench together instinctively as I remember the gentle strokes of his tongue against my clit, and the way his fingers slid in and out of me to make me come.

  The entire morning had been unbelievable, the perfect setup to ensure that I practically ache for him now, but maybe that was point.

  The tender skin around my tattoo has calmed down a bit, revealing still dark lines, two single bite marks in my skin. I wind the bandage back around my arm, hastening my pace as the sound of knocking at the front door makes me jump.

  I desperately want it to be Damien, so I run. I want to throw open the door and jump into his arms. Maybe even let him twirl me.

  He’ll tell me everything is over with, stowed away in a neat little package. We can finally begin some sort of normal life, together this time rather than fighting alone. Is that such an unreasonable thing to ask for after we’ve been through so much shit as individuals?

  I open the door, not bothering to look and see who it is. I’m so fucking trusting in the universe that it’s going to be Damien gazing back at me, and my confidence only leads to a plummeting fall once I realize who it is.

  “Sheriff Black,” I utter, something inside me willing me to stand up straighter in the face of authority. But knowing how much Damien hates his father makes my brow lower in confusion, my mouth framing a grimace on my face. “Hi.”

  Some save that greeting was, but I know I need to play off the fact that I’ve caught on to all the disparaging things about him, including the hell he put both Jessa and Damien through. It’s sickening that half of this city follows him blindly, seeking solace in a promise of safety he can’t keep.

  His eyes trail from my face and down to my body, stopping at my bandaged arm. “Are you okay?”

  My hand travels subconsciously towards my arm, cradling it in my grip as the tender flesh underneath reminds me of my fresh tattoo. I don’t want to tell him the truth, that it’s nothing, but I can’t think of a quick enough lie. “I’m fine,” I say. “I just…burned myself. Is everything okay?”

  I flip the question of concern back towards him. After all, he’s the one showing up at my doorstep, not in uniform, but still with his squad car parked out front like he’s about to arrest me.

  Maybe he is. With uncontested power in this city, Sheriff Black could probably get away with whatever he wanted. It’s entirely possible that he already has, and that sends a shiver down my spine.

  He looks at me. “I think you’d better come with me, Windy.”

  I open my mouth to speak but no sound comes out, not until I will it to, and even then, my voice is hoarse. “What’s going on?”

  There’s a sense of genuine concern swimming through my veins. For a long time, Sheriff Black had been a friend of the family, and a part of me still wants to trust him. He was at my own father’s funeral. If someone was going to alert me that something had happened with one of the only people I care about the most in this life, either my mother or Damien, it would most likely be him.

  But that thought quickly becomes an impossibility as I see something dark wash over his face. He pushes his way through the doorway in an instant, and I let him. My heart hammers in my chest at the transgression, and I finally begin to realize that he’s not here on official business.
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  He’s here for me.

  “It’s your mother,” he says. “There’s been an accident.”

  My stomach sinks. A part of me nearly believes that what he’s saying could be true.

  But I don’t.

  “You’re lying,” I utter.

  His eyes narrow, and I know any good in him is gone. He reaches towards me, attempting to grab me. I turn around and run for the still open glass door that leads out to the backyard, imagining a plan of escape that sends me scaling over our fence and into the neighbor’s yard, seeking solace, and help.

  Only he’s too quick. I feel his hand circle around my wrist like a shackle, pulling me back towards him with a vicious roughness that tells me everything is definitely not okay.

  My father’s voice echoes in my head, the same advice he always gave me. If someone is trying to take you somewhere, fight like hell.

  Only Sheriff Black has made a career out of subduing people. In an instant, he presses me down into the floor, knee perched against the small of my back as he gathers my wrists behind my back.

  I open my mouth to scream, but he quickly suppresses any noise with the cover of his hand over my lips. I hear the snap of handcuffs behind my back, and I wrench one of my hands out of his grip, clawing along the slick tile just past my still open front door.

  “Help!” I manage to cry out as his hand leaves my mouth to get control of my wayward hands.

  But I know no one can hear me past the walls of my own home, a place that’s obviously no longer safe. Sheriff Black grips roughly into my bandaged arm and I cry out, my muscles losing all resistance as I seek a refuge from the pain. He shackles my arms behind my back before lifting me up from the floor and onto my feet.

  I don’t say anything because I know it’s already too late, gritting my teeth together as he yanks me towards the front door and out towards his waiting car. Whatever he plans to do with me is anyone’s guess, and all I can do is hope that it doesn’t end with my demise.

  I jut my foot out against the doorframe in a feeble attempt to stop myself from getting taken to the next location, but he only pulls me harder, jerking me out into broad daylight. His grip on me tightens. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself than it needs to be.”

  “Fuck you,” I utter, my head jerking to the side a second later as a slap hits my face with vicious accuracy. My ears ring and my cheeks sting, but it’s only further proof that whatever is happening isn’t good.

  “Be a good girl, Windy,” Sheriff Black tells me, opening the door of his police cruiser to let me in. “I know you know better than to step out of line.”

  “You’re not going to get away with this,” I say weakly, but I’m so tangled with nerves by now that it feels like he just might. Whatever his plans are, they can’t be good.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he reassures me, pushing me into the backseat of the cruiser with a roughness that sends me tumbling onto my knees.

  “How do I not believe you?” I reply, but he slams the door in my face

  I watch as he comes around the side of the car, heading for the driver’s side. My heart beats at an uncontrollable pace.

  Oh, fuck, what is happening?

  Knowing I’m about to be used as leverage is the worse part. There’s something from Damien that Sheriff Black wants, a concession, cooperation, something he can’t get without having me first.

  But it’s also entirely possible he just wants to make him pay.

  The driver’s side door opens and closes. I’m officially in possession of the highest ranked officer in Diablo Beach.

  Whatever happens to me now is anyone’s guess.

  I arch my back, pretending to struggle against the tightness of the cuffs. Sherriff Black gazes back at me, a look of satisfaction painted on his face as he watches me struggle. I grimace at him, and hope he doesn’t realize what I’m trying to do.

  “What?” I say loudly, my voice coming just as my phone slides out of my pocket and thunks down into the seat behind me. I grasp it with desperate fingers, urging myself to be able to make some sort of outgoing phone call or text without looking. It might take a few tries, but it just might be all I have.

  Sheriff Black says nothing, his gaze shifting out the windshield as he pulls away from my house and begins to head down the street.

  “What do you want with me?” I ask, heart still hammering in my chest as I fiddle with my phone.

  He smirks from the front seat, as though he knows. The whole point of this is to unnerve me, and it’s worked to an extent, but it annoys me that he thinks he’s won.

  “Never mind, I don’t care,” I murmur, staring out the window as the familiar streets of my neighborhood begin to disappear. “You’re fucked either way.”

  “Where are your manners?” he coos in a sickeningly calm voice. “Would your father want you speaking to an authority figure like that?”

  “One that just kidnapped me? Yeah, I think he would be all for it,” I shoot back. “You’re so far gone that by the time they’re done with you, you’ll never be thought of as anything but a disgrace in this city ever again.”

  He makes a tsk noise with his teeth as the self-assured smirk he’s wearing lingers on his face. “By the time who’s done with me? You seem to forget I’m the highest officer in this city.”

  I glare at him. “I wasn’t talking about the police.”

  I can only hope I’m right.

  31

  It feels late by the time I get to the Loco Lobo, even though the sun is still hanging low in the sky just past a thick layer of fog that’s rolling in from the beach. Ace and Fabian greet me tensely, the both of them hovering in the front seat of their car, passing a bottle of whisky between them.

  “You’re getting drunk?” I say in greeting, taking the bottle from them and taking a swig.

  “This shit makes me tense,” Ace murmurs. “What if the Daggers are in there, waiting to light us up?”

  “That’s not how this is going to go down,” I reply, but anything is possible. Still, I’m ready for this to be over.

  My head perks up at the sound of a motorcycle, Sloan on her bike, leading a convoy of the Roses. A second later, Sylas’s black Cadillac pulls in. We lock eyes, but he doesn’t stop the car, choosing to park on the far side of the parking lot with other members of the Daggers who stare our way tensely.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this fuck a favor,” Fabian murmurs, still uncomfortable with the entirety of the situation.

  “Shut up,” Ace mutters. He wants this all over, has been ready to fly since before I even came in to run the gang.

  Now I understand why.

  All the shit that goes down between us, the gangs of Diablo Beach. None of it is pretty. And all of it could lead to our deaths at any given moment. Living for today will only get you so far. Eventually, you want to start planning for the future.

  I watch as members of the Roses and the Daggers convene. Paired up like this, the Snake Eyes are outnumbered, but if they want what I have, they already know to tread carefully.

  Sloan and Samaire from the Roses are the first to step forward. Jax gazes over at us like he could kill us, will kill us if we try and pull any funny business while his girl is around.

  “You the lawyer’s daughter?” I ask Samaire.

  She cocks her head to the side. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  I pull out my phone and hand it to her. “Put your number in. I’ve got something your dad should see. Something that’ll change things for Benita Andreas.”

  She raises her eyebrows and takes the phone from me, putting her number in as I watch for signs of life from Sylas’s Cadillac. He gets out of the driver’s side a second later, shock of pink-tinged hair coming into view first before dark eyes narrow in my direction. Flanked by Carina and followed by Jax, they begin to make their way over to us.

  Samaire hands me the phone back, and I find her newly adde
d contact, messaging her copies of the documents I received from my mother. Her phone buzzes a second later, and she lifts it to her eyes with a skeptical gaze. I know there’s no way she’s been able to read through what I’ve sent this quick, so it can’t be my message that raises alarm bells.

  “It’s Windy,” she murmurs, her eyes raising to my face. “But this message doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, don’t leave us in suspense,” Sloan says, her head tilting towards Sylas as he joins the group. “Take your time, why don’t you?”

  Sylas eyes me with a gaze made entirely of pointed tips. If a stare were material, I’d be diced into a thousand pieces by now. But the fact that he hates me is the least of my problems right now.

  “What’s Windy saying?” I ask.

  “She says, ‘serf az me’?” Samaire murmurs, staring down at her phone. “What’s ‘serf’?”

  “Maybe she jumped in the ocean,” Sylas says with a deadpan expression. It’s a comment meant to cut me, but he stops there, because if everything goes to plan, I’m about to get his mother out of jail.

  “‘Serf’,” I murmur, my head searching frantically for the meaning behind her words. Samaire turns the phone towards me, the single message spelled out on the screen in a way I know Windy wouldn’t type if she could help it. It’s the equivalent of a butt dial, only in text form, a text she rushed, or more accurately, made in secret. “Fuck.”

  “What?” Samaire asks with a confused shake of her head.

  “It means ‘Sheriff’,” I say between gritted teeth. “‘Sheriff has me’.”

  “Well, I guess this meeting is over, isn’t it?” Sylas says jovially, obviously rejoicing in the turn of events. It’s as though he can read the devastation on my face. “I’ll leave you boys to go rock the Casbah or whatever it is you’re about to do. Shame about your girlfriend, though. Sounds like she’s in hot water.”