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He shrugged and I had to silently acknowledge he spoke the truth. “Anyway... your next customer will be here in thirty.”
“You work all your people like this?” I asked with a grin.
“Nope. Just the ones I love,” he said before turning and walking away.
I rolled through two more clients, both with simple tats that were easier than anything I’d done on the pig thigh, so I was feeling pretty confident by the time we were closing up for the night. As I cleaned up my workstation, my chest twisted with longing. I wished this could be my life. Simple. Good work. A great woman to go home to. Making a living, making love, loving life.
But it wasn’t that simple, not being tied up in this lie, no matter how noble my intentions. With each passing day, I hated lying to Faith more and more, and now that our feelings were out there on the table... the lie was eating me up inside.
Suddenly feeling heavier, I headed out with a quick wave to my brother, Andromeda, and CJ, then I bypassed the stairs to the apartment and headed for my bike. I glanced upstairs to my bedroom. All the lights were off, so Faith was probably already in bed. I hoped so.
Quietly, I kicked back the kickstand and rolled the bike near the road before starting the engine and heading toward Pittman’s house. I’d make a quick pickup, then get back before anyone knew I was gone, and hold Faith the rest of the night to soak up some more of her light while I could.
The same maid let me in, making me wonder if the poor woman ever slept, and showed me to an office this time. It surprised me to find Cyrus at a desk in a fairly plain cotton robe, glasses on, hair not immaculately in place for once, as he typed away on a computer, a half-eaten bowl of melting ice cream beside him.
My gaze slid around the room in a quick sweep, taking in the dark furniture, the ornate rug, the simple but expensive artwork on the walls... the glass-encased gun collection. I slowed to take that in. They all appeared to be antiques, save the one displayed in the middle.
“Adam,” he said, drawing my attention back. He’d stopped typing and sat back, removing his glasses. “Thank you for stopping by.” He waved toward a chair in front of him. “Something to drink?”
I walked over and sat. “No, thanks.”
He handed the maid his bowl with a smile before turning back to me. “You know... in some circles, it’s rude to refuse hospitality when it’s offered.”
I lifted a brow. “Hospitality? I thought this was business.”
“It’s both. You don’t think I have all my business associates over to my home, do you?”
“So why me?”
He laced his fingers over his stomach. “Because you’re intelligent. Loyal. And you’ve proven yourself a useful ally. I appreciate all of those things, and I’d like to make you a bigger part of the organization.”
“Bigger how?”
His jaw ticked, but nothing else in his posture gave away he felt a thing. “It has recently come to my attention that Bastien Guidry may not be performing his duties up to my particular standards.”
I waited a beat for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “So... you want me to take over for him?”
“Would you be interested?”
“What about Jethro? Or one of Bastien’s other men?”
“Is that a no?”
“No. It’s me wondering why you wouldn’t ask someone who’s been with you longer.”
He flicked his hand, waving that off. “I’m not interested in hierarchy. I’m interested in qualifications. And quite honestly, I don’t trust Bastien’s men any more than I trust him. It’s time for fresh blood, so to speak.”
I nodded.
“You’ll be handsomely compensated, of course.” His gaze tracked down to my ankle monitor. “I assume you must continue working at the tattoo studio for your parole purposes?”
“Yeah.”
“I understand.” He tapped his desk. “If you agree, we can work out the details. In the meantime...” He rose and moved toward a wall safe, turning to punch in a code. It opened and he produced a small canvas bag. “This is for your delivery tomorrow. An Agent Goforth will be meeting you this time and there’s nothing for you to return to me.” He handed me the bag, which clearly held cash and not drugs. “He’ll be waiting for you at seven a.m. sharp. I’ll text you the address.”
“Sure thing.” I tipped my head and rose, moving to casually inspect that gun collection a little closer. “These are great,” I said.
“Thank you. Most are from the second world war. There’s one from the Civil War.”
