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“Notthis,” I countered. “He’d turn this place into a mad house.”
“He’s a little too pretty to be around here, have the girls forgetting all their training,” Dove added, shaking her head.
“Keira will get it sorted,” I assured, after another quick side eye at Brandon. “Thank you; this means a lot to us.”
Dove nodded. “Jesse was good to me, never got handsy, gave me a chance nobody else would. Anything y’all need from me, you’ve got it,” she said, then let us know she had to get back to her inventory management.
Andweneeded to get on to our next meeting.
“What the hellare you thinking about so hard over there?” Brandon asked, a few minutes away fromReverie. “You’ve been quiet the whole ride.”
I sighed, already knowing what the response would be if I answered truthfully, but I did anyway, keeping my eyes focused on the buildings passing on either side of the street. “Tattoos.”
“Damn,” he shook his head, navigating our last turn. “You’re back on that?”
“I was neveroffit,” I admitted, staring at his profile as he peered into traffic. “And I won’t be, until I know what I want to know.”
“Dog with a damn bone.”
“And what about it?”
Brandon chuckled. “Nothing, damn. I’m just… do you even have any evidence? Any theories? Other than your gut?”
“The OGs taught us that trusting our gut was everything,” I countered.
“So your gut is telling you ol’ boy is bad news?”
“He definitely is for somebody.”
“But not us?”
I sucked my teeth. “Nigga I don’tknow,” I huffed. “I keep telling you; that’s the damn problem.”
“Okay, so like I said, do you have evidence?”
“You know I don’t have evidence,” I said, with a light mush to the side of his head that made him swat my hand away. “I might have a theory though.”
“Well let’s hear it, the two-minute version,” he added, gesturing toward theReverieentrance ahead.
Considering how ill-conceived it was… I really only neededone.
“So now you’re telling me you thinkanybodywith a rose or thorn tattoo is a fucking assassin, Tati?” he asked, incredulous, after I’d given him the rundown of what I was thinking after my conversation with Maite. “You’ve been watching too much TV. Or reading too many of those fucking books. One or the other.”
“Formerassassin,” I corrected. “And, no, not everybody. Not every rose. A specific one, in a specific spot. Or a coverup, in that spot. And I’m checking biceps for thorns too.”
“That is paranoid as fuck.” He laughed. “What, you’re gonna walk around hemming up random bitches ’cause of their ink?”
“Random ones? No. And if I’m right… the ones withthatink aren’t exactly the kind of bitches I could hem up.”
His eyes got big. “Damn, you think they tougher than you?”
“I think they’re fucking killers.”
“Former.”
I shook my head as he pulled the car up to the valet. “Former assassins, as in they don’t do it anymore. But once you’ve killed…”
“Always a killer,” he muttered, the last words of our conversation as we stepped out of the car. At most places, we wouldn’t do this valet shit; it left us too vulnerable.
