Page 30 of Refrain

There’s no time to warm her up. “Have a seat.”

She does reluctantly, squeezing in beside Domi. As for the brunette beside her… With a sigh, I strip my hoodie, wishing I’d had the foresight to bring one for her.

“Domi, remember that new hairstyle you wanted to try?” I tell her out loud. “The pixie cut? And you wanted to get it bleached too. Red. That’ll look cute. We can do it today before you go on your trip.”

I keep the tone light and casual for the benefit of anyone listening in. Including staff, there are only about ten people in the place, but Domi’s bloodshot, kohl-caked eyes draw their attention. The bad kind. An old woman a few tables over keeps sneaking glances at our corner and palming her cell phone.

“My trip?” Domi does her best to play along. She shimmies into the hoodie but isn’t stupid enough to draw the hood with all eyes watching. Good. She tries running her fingers through herratted hair and gives up halfway. “A haircut. Good. Good. I’d like that.”

“Good. Your grandparents will be happy to see you again.”

The lady across from us returns to sipping her coffee and reading the paper—but one skeptic isn’t fooled.

“Her…grandparents?” Yellow’s gone back to laying on the thick accent. Her gaze darts from me to Domi as if to say,Don’t ask. She doesn’t want to remove all of her masks just yet. “Where do they live?”

“Upstate,” I say. As far north as she can fucking get on a one-way bus. I’ll give her enough money to buy a plane ticket after. Somewhere far from here.

“That close?” Yellow raises an eyebrow. “You think her…friendswon’t be able to find her there?”

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter if she’s fast enough.”

Yellow laughs, but amusement never reaches her eyes. “Fast enough. You think that matters? You think she’s the first girl to run away to hergrandparents?” The flat of her hand strikes the table. Hard. “They know the likely routes we take. They tip off the bus drivers for intel. They have plants on the airlines. They know the clues to look for. By the time you realize that they have her, she’ll already be gone. To another club. Another city.”

Her voice is too loud. The little old lady at the next table over is staring again.

“Fine, then.” I fold my hands on the table. “What do you suggest?”

“I…” She trails off, her gaze on Domi.

The girl’s been watching us the entire time, her head bouncing between us like a ping-pong ball in a match of table tennis. Smart little Domi. She’s keeping her mouth shut.

“She should stay here,” Yellow says finally. “They wouldn’t expect it.”

Here,as in the city, right under the bastards’ noses. It’s a good enough plan in theory, but there’s an obvious hole.

“Where?” I ask.

There is one place I could stash her though… Somewhere where she’d be safer than anywhere else. But I’d have to get a certain someone’s permission for that—and that might require a truckload of goddamn alcohol and more of my savings down the drain.

But it’s not like I have any better ideas.

“I know a place,” I grit out finally.

Yellow settles back in her seat. Not the way a normal person might. Just enough so that she no longer looks like she’s about to lunge across the table and punch me in my mouth. I can live with that.

“So, change of plans,” Domi says.

I look at her for the first time in what feels like ages. Her black eye still looks like shit. Her clothes are no better. The cops must have given her the oversized orange flip-flops on her feet, but she’ll need to change soon if we want to shake the Russians from her trail.

Even so, she musters up a smile. “Do I still get my hair cut?”

A corner of my mouth quirks up. “Damn right, you do. Whatever floats your boat. Hell, I might even join you and get one myself.” I unlace my fingers and run them through my hair, knocking the worst of it back from my face. “Ouch.” I hiss at the burning sting that flares in response.

“You’re hurt.” Yellow leans forward and swipes the pad of her thumb against my forehead.

“I must have banged it on something.”

“Like a fist,” Yellow says, her jaw tight.

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