Page 85 of Call It What You Want
Chase stumbles, then straightens. “I was told I could leave once I’d done my part.”
“Change of plans.”
Before I can even wonder what’s going on, another shadow fills the doorway. He’s older, handsome, with dark, greying hair and wild green eyes that eat into me from across the room. His tailored navy suit probably costs more than my car, and he has a gold watch on his wrist that completes the fit.
I’ve never met this man in my life.
But I’d know that face anywhere.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jackson
“Yo, Jackson.” Someone snaps, a hand entering my line of vision. “Are you awake, man?”
I blink, torn from my thoughts about Ava. I look up to see Lucas standing above me.
“Don’t move,” Ricky, the tattoo artist says, head down, the tattoo gun buzzing steadily against my shoulder blade. “You’ve been zoning out for like twenty minutes. I was starting to think you’d passed out with your eyes open.”
“I’m good,” I mumble.
“You don’t look good.” This from Roman, who’s sprawled in the leather chair next to me, scrolling on his phone. “Looks like you’re having an existential crisis.”
I throw Roman a look, but don’t respond.
Ricky pauses and wipes the excess ink away. “For real though, you sure about this design? We could work it into something else. A skull or snake, maybe.”
I glance at the mirror beside me and catch a glimpse of the tattoo taking shape on my skin. It’s not what most would call conventional. But that’s the point. Ink doesn’t fade the way abruise does. This is a reminder of what Ava and I had, something that won’t fade or wash away.
“I’m sure,” I answer.
“Alright. We’re almost done, anyway.”
The buzzing resumes, and pull out my phone to check my surveillance app. The feed from Ava’s living room fills the screen—grainy black-and-white, shadows flickering across the frame. At first, I tell myself it’s just a glitch. But then my stomach twists, and my pulse spikes.
There she is.
Sitting in a chair. Wrists bound.
I growl a curse, the sound so raw that Ricky jerks back. “Dude?—”
I’m already on my feet, skin burning where the needle just tore through. My phone is crushed in my hand as I stare at the screen. Ava is talking to someone, but there’s no sound, and whoever she’s talking to isn’t in frame.
“Dude, you’re bleeding,” Lucas says.
“Not as bad as they will be.”
I grab my shirt off the couch but don’t bother putting it on. The hum of the tattoo gun fades behind me as I shove through the door, adrenaline roaring in my ears. Lucas and Roman are right behind me.
“What’s going on?” Roman asks, matching my pace.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Rage is a live wire under my skin, buzzing too loud for words. I throw myself into the driver’s seat of my car, and the engine roars awake. Roman and Lucas climb in without hesitation. No questions.
They don’t need to ask.
They’re in it now, my brothers in violence and chaos.
The drive blurs—red lights, traffic, horns. I don’t remember any of it. All I can see is that grainy image of Ava tied up. It’s burned into the inside of my skull.
