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“Yeah?” I ask, my brain already disconnecting from the conversation because I don’t have time for this, nor do I want to make time for it. “If this is about a car, a warranty, or those two words combined–”
“I was wondering what you can tell me about Cyril Chancellor, actually,” the woman says, her voice just as chipper as if sheisasking me about something spam-related instead of the leader of the Lost Boys.
It gives me pause, and I blink, my eyes going to the cash register, then to the window so I can look out at the clouds above the shop.
“Who?” I ask finally, wondering if this is some kind oftestfrom Cyril so he can figure out how much I know about him and the Lost Boys. Or to figure out if it was actually me who called the other night wanting to know about him.
I hope it’s not the latter because I have a strong feeling that if it is, Cyril’s going to be on the warpath soon. And I’m pretty sure he won’t stop at a little feral sex or claiming or…
My mind drifts of its own accord, and it’s Ezra’s voice in my brain that repeats all of the things he said to me last night in the woods, making me lose track of where I am and what I’m doing.
Until the doorbell of the shop rings, and I look up just in time to seeArlocoming inside, a friendly smile on his open, handsome face. He gives me a little wave before going to the shelves on the other side of the store, perusing as if he truly is looking for something.
I can’t help but stare at him.
“Cyril Chancellor,” the woman reminds me, her tone never leaving ‘too friendly’ even though I’m sure she’s irritated at my lack of cooperation. “You were calling about him the other day, remember?”
I’m too busy staring at Arlo to take in what she’s saying. Especially since I don’t want him catching wind of who I’m on the phone with or what they want. So I sigh and tap my fingers on the counter.
“I don’t think we know anyone by that name,” I say, shrugging even though she can’t see me. “And we’re not actually holding any books at all right now.” It’s a random thing to say, and she won’t get it, but this way, Arlo might think that I’m on the phone with a customer who’s interested in books, not someone more suspicious. “But if you call back when my boss is here–”
“One of them is in the shop, right?” I have to blink and run the words through my mind a few times because it’s hard to reconcile that those words have come out of her mouth in the same tone I thought she’d use to talk about my car’s extended warranty.
“I…” I trail off, my fingers no longer tapping on the counter. “I’m not sure…”
“I get it.”She chuckles as if we’re having a friendly conversation. “It’s better not to act suspicious in front of any of them. I’ll call you back later, Arista Verlice.” With that drop of my full name, the woman hangs up, causing my phone to go dead against my ear.
I stare at it as if the phone itself is the thing that’s confused me in this situation and not the woman who’d been on the other end of it. As I do, Arlo wanders up to the counter, nothing in his hands, and leans on the wood to stare at me with a soft, slow smile.
I almost ask him. Iwantto ask him about the woman to find out if she’s on Cyril’s payroll or maybe justChancellor’s.
But I don’t, because that would be admitting that there’s a problem.
There’s no fucking problem here. At least not one that I want him taking back to Cyril.
“How’s your neck healing?” Arlo asks, rocking forward on the balls of his feet to stare at me sweetly.
“Fine?” I offer, hating that the word comes out as a question more than an answer. So I sigh and try it again after putting my phone face down on the counter. “It’s fine,” I promise. “The tattoo youforced on methat Ididn’t wantis healing great, actually. It’s like you have a lot of experience or something?”
His smile deepens at the ‘compliment.’ “I’ve been tattooing since I was a teenager,” he admits. “Not that any of my work was good back then. Or umm. Very sanitary.” He bites his lip sweetly, and I almost feel bad for my next words.
Almost.
“I meant that you probably have a lot of experience tattooing girlsagainst their wills,” I say, sounding as pointed as I can with the words.
But he doesn’t look offended or put out. Instead, Arlo shakes his head and, without asking, comes around the counter to stand beside me and pull my hair up from the back of my neck so he can look at the healing tattoo. “Just you, Ari,” he sighs, his other hand framing the marks on my skin. “It’ll forever just be you.”
“You sound so sure,” I say, unable to muster much venom when he’s not the villain in my eyes, even if he is the one who did the tattoo.
No, I reserve my judgment and shitty side-eyes for where they belong, which would be on Cyril Chancellor. Anywhere else, and they’re wasted since the Lost Boys haven’t done anything terrible to me that he didn’t tell them to do.
In reality, except for the tattoo that I begrudgingly have to admit looks pretty damn rad, they haven’t done much to meat allthat I would consider bad. And barely even that, though I’m not about to tell any of them that.
Especially since I still haven’t gotten it through their heads that I’m notproperty. That I’m not actuallyownedby them, and they can’t treat me like I am. Admittedly, letting Ezra and Ashe fuck me, claim me, and mark me up last night…probably didn’t help. But I’m moving past my bad decisions so that I can make new, worse decisions.
“I am sure.” Arlo rearranges my hair and turns to cup my face in his hands. “By the way,” he asks, his eyes turning shrewd. “I heard all about last night. Ezra is telling any of us that’ll listen that youdeserveto be a Lost Boy and not just our pet. Did you know that?”
“No?” I say because how in the world would I know that. Especially since Ilost,and I don’t take Ezra as someone to do a nice thing for someone for nothing in return. “Why does he say that?”
