“All right.” She sighs as if she can’t believe the youth of today. I can easily picture her sitting on a front porch and yelling at people to get off her lawn. Seriously, this lady is life goals.
She traces the design onto paper and we go over placement. I already know I want it on my leg, just above my ankle. Soon, she’s disinfecting my skin and the tattoo gun is merrily vibing away with its needle and ink.
An hour and a half later, I’m walking out with a printout of instructions for care. Some plastic wrap stuff covers my new ink. Once my tattoo is all healed up, I’ll surprise Granddad with it.
I’m halfway down the block to my car when my phone rings. I wonder if it’s Edmund, finally getting in touch. If he doesn’t, I’ll be disappointed. But maybe not that disappointed. What I did with him and Troy was hot, yeah, but he’s obviously a lot more experienced and adventurous than I am. Better to let it be.
Still, I pull my phone from my bag.
Patrick’s name is on the screen.
Uh, hell no. I decline the call.
He follows immediately with a text. Dani, please talk to me. I need to apologize, cousin.
I delete the message. Fuck that useless piece of trash. He’s not my cousin anymore.
Troy
Ed Senior keeps muttering the same thing, over and over. “Half a million dollars. Half a million dollars.”
Edmund keeps his mouth shut while his father sulks. He looks as exhausted as I feel. We just got in from Mirarosa so Edmund could report in person.
Even in the dim lights of their home library, Ed’s face appears flushed. I’m half-worried he’s going to give himself a heart attack with how rigidly he stands, fists clenched while he mutters under his breath.
He’s one sarcastic comeback away from turning into a teenager.
“So it’s all gone.” Ed looks up from the floor to face his son.
Edmund leans against the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. “Unless we want to send scuba divers into the bottom of the bay to retrieve it, yes.”
Ed looks for a moment as if that’s a possibility. Then his shoulders fall. “Fuck you, for the sarcasm. Every bottle would’ve been broken, wouldn’t it?”
“From the explosion, yes.”
Someone started a fire on the ship. There were forty pallets, with one hundred forty-four bottles of whiskey per pallet. I imagine the resulting explosion was huge.
“Goddamn it.” Ed turns around so he faces away from us. He seems so lost, I half wonder if he’s crying. What’s the big fucking deal? It’s half a million dollars. The Laytons earn that in a month.
Not this month, I guess.
Let me go cry into my empty wallet.
Ed takes a deep breath. “It’s those fucking Aseyevs.”
My head jerks up. We don’t know it was the Aseyevs. The cameras around the dock were covered. Our guards were incompetent. Sorry to say, but it’s true. Layton’s been slacking on his hiring procedures. A toddler could’ve gotten past the sentient tea cozies he had stationed at the docks.
I hide a smile. “Sentient tea cozies” is something Dani would say.
“We’ll get back at them.” Ed’s voice hardens. He fixes his posture, squaring his shoulders. “Blood answers with blood. Always has, always will.”
Edmund clears his throat. “No blood was spilled.”
Ignoring his son, Ed takes out his phone. “I wonder how Sergey would like to lose a grandson?—”
“Dad, stop.” Edmund strides forward. “There was no blood. We should take the loss, let it be.”
Ed doesn’t get violent when someone contradicts him. It’s not his style. Instead, he gets quiet. He pockets the phone and stares at Edmund. “Take the loss, huh? Let it be?”
