Page 65 of Chase
“Are you comfortable with all this?” I ask. She seems completely at ease with our current situation.
“All what?”
“This,” I say, raising my hands. “Your life, what just happened at the docks, the fact your husband pays men to follow you.”
She giggles sweetly and shakes her head. “My life is the one I must live if I want to be with the man I love.”
Her words are simple and honest, a perfect summary. Harrison’s career and lifestyle are interwoven with the criminal world, both on the right and wrong sides of the law. He couldn’t have one without the other, and she couldn’t have him without accepting that.
“It’s a decision you’ll need to make too,” she says, concerned eyes holding mine for a beat. “You need to ask yourself whether you can be with a man who lives his life in danger. Because, Sam, that’s exactly what our men do. They walk a fine line every day. They create enemies not only for themselves but also for their families. You need to ask yourself if that’s something you can live with.” She pauses, smirks, then adds, “Whichever of my brothers you end up with.”
I ignore the jibe, not wanting to discuss my current romantic predicament with my two boyfriends’ little sister, who’s never shy about venting her opinion on anything. My mind returns to the scene I witnessed at the warehouse parking lot. How both Russell and Connor were there to seek vengeance on my behalf. I felt love from both, not one, and my heart split in two as I moved between them, unsure how to show both I care equally. Picking a favorite seems impossible, sorting this damn mess into a viable outcome more so.
“Anyway,” Violet says, interrupting my thoughts. “We have celebrating to do. There’s an underground car park a few minutes away with six different exits onto the street. I say we dump the car and run.”
“Will you not get in trouble with Harry for ducking past your security?” I question.
She lifts a hand and fans her face dramatically. “I hope so,” she replies with a cheeky smile. “Because angry make-up sex is so much better than any other kind.”
“You’re terrible,” I mutter but laugh. “Okay, I’ll follow your lead. Let’s ditch these idiots and find a bottle of vodka.”
Violet swings into a small basement car park, the simple red and white barrier lifting to allow us entry. She floors the accelerator and aims for the furthest corner of the parking lot before coming to a screeching halt in a free space. We grab our bags, jump out of the car, and run to the nearest exit as the black car following us comes through the barrier.
There are about twenty steps to jump up before we step out onto a busy pedestrianized street filled with bars. Hundreds of people mill about in groups, talking and drinking. Violet grabs my hand and pulls me toward a tiny, dank pub that sits between two modern ones with vibrant signs and huge glass windows.
She pushes open the old wooden door, and we step into a small traditional pub decorated in dark wood and faded checked material. A handful of men sit at the bar, and in the corner near the back of the room is a square pine table with two matching chairs.
“I’ll get the drinks. You sit down,” she says, signaling to the free table. “They won’t look for us in here.”
A few minutes pass before my friend joins me, placing two tall glasses filled with clear liquid, ice cubes, and fruit before me. She collapses in the chair beside me, then lifts her drink offering in my direction. I lift mine, and we chink them together.
“Thank you,” I tell her, and she cocks her head to one side.
“For what?” she asks, a genuine look of confusion on her face.
“For walking into that clothes shop last year and falling into my life. Meeting you has changed so much for me.” She smiles, a genuine smile filled with love and admiration. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you.
“Sam,” she says, placing her glass back on the table then taking my hand. Her soft fingers squeeze mine. “You saved my life. Your friendship means the world to me. All I ask is you stay in my world and…” She giggles, as Violet does when she’s due to say something naughty. “Make one, or better, both of my brothers happy.”
“Oh, let’s not talk about that,” I mumble, and she laughs.
“So what do you want to do then?” I shrug, being quite happy sitting in her company, hiding from security guards, and sipping whatever fruity concoction is in my glass. “I have an idea.”
“What?” I ask, mildly concerned by the look in her eyes.
“How do you feel about getting pierced?”
***
Raven’s Tattoo and Piercings, London
Violet huffs dramatically as the shop owner, who is actually called Raven, explains again why she won't pierce her vaginal clit hood within three months of giving birth.
“You need to give yourself time to fully recover…” Raven’s eyes flick to Violet’s I.D. in her hand. “Mrs. Waite. I am sorry I can’t help you at this time.” My friend pouts, sticking one painted red lip beyond the other. It makes me chuckle; she can be so juvenile at times. It shows how young she truly is, and exactly how sheltered her upbringing has been.
“Well, you’ll just have to get one, Sam,” she says, turning to face me. “You get it done now, and I’ll come back in a few weeks.”
“I’m not getting pierced on my own!” I narrow my eyes, and she glares right back. “You brought me here because you wanted to be pierced down there.”