Page 17 of He Falls First
Do we call the police? Do we want that kind of attention? I’m worried that will cause a problem for Briar. And who wants to be responsible for charging an heiress with a crime, especially when she seems a bit…off her rocker?
This is not how I would like my little town of Fate to end up in the national news.
Briar walks straight into the path that I’m wearing into the ground, fists both suspenders in one hand, and pulls me down to meet her eyes straight on. Her fierce gaze charges through me like an electrical current.
“This cannot get out, do you understand me? If anyone finds out who she is—I mean if anyone finds out that she is missing, that she stole a car, I will lose my job, and that will be the least of your worries.”
Briar’s face is an inch from mine. Her feminine scent washes over me and sends my mind into territory that’s far, far away from locating her friend. The things that I would do to get that scent on me and wear it all day like a shameless man whore would make her blush.
Her closeness has a magic in it, because I have an idea.
“The tattoo stand.”
She nods. “Let’s go.”
When we arrive at Faded Ink’s festival booth, the assistant manager tells me she didn’t see anything. “Sagan stopped hereto get some supplies and said he’d be back. Said something about some lady asking for a special design.”
I take Briar’s hand in mine, and we run to my truck. I open the door for her, help her in, and get her buckled in despite her swatting my hands away, telling me I’m wasting time. I can’t help myself.
The three-minute ride across town brings us to an older neighborhood with old brick apartment buildings interspersed with tattoo parlors, a vape shop, and a convenience store.
When we arrive at Fated Ink, we find Sagan scratching something on the inside of Esme’s wrist.
“Sagan, can I talk to you?”
He pauses and glances up at me. “In a minute, brother. I’m with a customer.”
“Your customer there is a missing person. Briar here has been worried sick,” I tell him.
Technically, Esme has committed grand theft auto—I think—so I would be justified in pulling her from the chair in the middle of this procedure. I could call the sheriff—just to drive home to Esme the seriousness of what she’s done—and pray that the sheriff would be discreet.
Briar scrubs a hand over her face. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe on my first day, we missed dinner, she stole my car, and she ended up with a permanent tattoo on her wrist. I am so fired.”
I try to put the tattoo in perspective. “She’s a grown adult. If she wants a tattoo, she can get a tattoo.”
“I can hear you!” Esme calls over, her eyes trained on Sagan.
We wait, fidgeting in silence.
“All done, baby girl,” Sagan says in his growly tone.
Briar sits up straight and mutters, “Excuse me? Baby girl?”
Sagan wipes away the excess ink. We walk over to Esme, and there on her wrist is a small, perfect, red cardinal perched on abare branch. The inside of her wrist is red from the needle, but the work is masterful.
“And why did you need to steal my car and get a tattoo?” Briar says.
Esme blinks up at her and says with dead seriousness, “For protection. Because you’re right. You’ll probably be fired.” She’s completely ignoring the part where she stole the car, but that can be sorted out.
The heiress turns to Sagan. “What do I owe you?”
Sagan looks at her with such deep longing that I feel it myself. It could not be more spelled out on his face if this were a movie.
“Free of charge,” he says.
He still hasn’t let go of her hand.
“Esme, I hate to break up this little moment, but we are leaving,” Briar says firmly. I do not think she’s sorry to break up their moment at all, actually.