Page 33 of The Demons We Hide

“Well, I just saved it, so you should be good.” Mads hands my phone back over, and when it goes blessedly silent in my hand—no more buzzing—I sigh in relief.

“Thanks.”

With a grin, she nudges my shoulder with hers and slaps her locker shut. “See you at work later?”

“Yeah.” I shove the phone back into my bra as I adjust the strap of my backpack. The bell signaling the end of homeroom rings and doors begin to open as students spill into the hall.

Mads and I wave goodbye and go our respective ways. By the time I reach my next class, however, the phone in my bra is buzzing again. With a repressed snarl, I rip it out, earning a look from one of the jocks that sits down next to me, and find that whatever Mads had done also hadn’t taken.

LEX: Stop trying to block us.

Murderous rage swarms me. He’s definitely doing something to my damn phone.

JULIET: Stop fucking talking to me then.

LEX: Never gonna happen, baby. See you in class.

I contemplate the phone in my hand after his responding text comes through on the heels of my own. Maybe it’s time to cut my losses and get rid of this thing—I made it before without a phone, I don’t really need it anymore.

Then again, I’d had an apartment and a computer—both of which are out of reach to me now. So, instead, I switch it from vibration to silent and shove it into my backpack. All of my choices are evaporating from my life, disappearing like smoke, and there’s nothing I can do.

14

LEX

There are some people in this world that don’t deserve to live. Their presence and heartbeat are just an accident of birth—unfortunate proof that the universe really is apathetic. I know this because if God did exist, they would never approve of utter shitstains like Darrio Vargas.

“Do you think the buyer gives a fuck about that?” Darrio growls into the receiver of his cell phone as he paces back and forth across the grimy tile ofThe Bronze Needle.

The buzz of the tattoo gun fills the air as I swipe up on the screen of my phone. It’s harder to work on such a small device, but it’s been months since Allen Donovan first contacted me and I’m no closer to knowing the truth than I was before.

“Don’t fucking give me that bullshit!” Darrio’s annoyed voice turns into a shout. It grates on my fucking nerves. If only Nolan would let me put a bullet in his head, then half of our problems would be solved.

As if he hears my thoughts, Nolan glances over at me from his chair on the other side of the small tattoo parlor. He looks pointedly at the phone in my hand, and I shake my head. There’s still no new information on Allen Donovan’s supposed innocence, and I haven’t exactly had the head to dig in the last few weeks—not since Juliet moved out. Her stuff still sits in a corner of Nolan’s room, and I wish I still had something of hers too. The sheets no longer smell like her and the one night I’d had is far from enough.

The tattoo needle hits a sensitive spot and though I don’t move or flinch in reaction, a muscle beneath my skin jumps. The pain is worth it, though, because with Juliet back in my life I’ve decided that there’s no letting her go again. I glance down at the man holding the tattoo gun as he works over the scrawl of her name. It’s not too obvious, lines of her name in script hidden in the image of a bird’s feathered wings. When she’s accepted my love, then I’ll have her pick the place she wants to brand me.

The needle hits another sensitive spot and I move my attention back to my phone screen. We’ve been coming here for years, ever since we agreed to work for Darrio. This is where all of his minions get their gang tatts, and it’s a shithole.

What tattoo shop would be willing to tattoo underage that isn’t? But even if the shop and its owner are shady as fuck, the two artists Nolan and I insist on whenever we come—Rogue and Carver—are legit. Clean. Methodical. Worth the hefty price tag they come with—and dealing with Darrio’s fucking mouth.

“Get the product here by the end of the week or else!” Darrio snaps right before he hangs up and tosses the phone onto the countertop against the far wall.

Rogue, my artist, pauses in his line work and looks over his shoulder with an annoyed grunt. Darrio ignores it and strides into the back office—with its windows lined with black paper so no one can see inside, slamming the door in his wake.

Nolan and I exchange a glance. “Sorry, boys,” Nolan mutters, directing the statement to the two artists. Rogue returns to his work without another sound and Carver never even bothers to stop.

The front doorbell jingles, and I look over to see Gio stepping into the front of the shop. He sees us and makes a beeline, eyes bobbing over the rest of the shop until he hears Darrio’s voice behind the office door. He grimaces, but doesn’t stop until he’s between Nolan and me.

“What’s he mad about?” he demands.

“Product and delivery issues on a new shipment,” Nolan states. Though Rogue and Carver are solid guys and are smart enough to keep their mouths shut, Nolan is careful and doesn’t mention what the product actually is. Drugs. Cocaine, to be precise.

We’ve dealt our fair share of weed and pills, but cocaine is Darrio’s newest venture. It’s the whole reason for his absence from town as of late—he’s been back and forth with a cartel down south that’s making the supplies to get it into the hands and noses of the rich pricks on the northside of Silverwood.

Gio moves closer to Nolan and I go back to my phone, scanning through the throng of emails and encrypted messages I’ve received from the dark web. Much of it is written in code, a second language to me now, but it still takes time to decipher.

An hour goes by and I clear out the cache of information—most of it unhelpful until I get to the final message. There’s no words, only a grainy image of a woman. I squint at it as Rogue wipes blood off my new tattoo and spreads some unscented lotion on it. Ultimately, though, my phone screen is a poor replacement for what I have back at my house, so I send the image over to be blown up and de-pixelated later.

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