Chapter 55
C assie
The door clicked, and I leapt up to dance over and hug Riordan hello.
His embrace swallowed me, but his gaze stuck on the man holding the tattoo gun.
I gestured between them. “Rio, meet Camden, the only one of my brothers you haven’t met yet. Cam, this is the boyfriend everyone’s been gossiping about.”
Riordan’s hostile expression dropped, and he visibly relaxed. He extended a fist to bump Camden’s. “How’s it going?”
Camden smirked, the motion twisting the deep scar he carried down one side of his face. “I’m just going to take a second to get over the fact that one, my baby sister has a boyfriend, and two, that he stuck around even after meeting Struan. Nice to finally put a face to a name. My daughter said ye were big and scary, but I can already tell Cass runs rings around ye.”
Rio hung up his leather jacket and mooched over. “Is your daughter the mini-me of Cassie?”
“Aye, Wren. They’re two peas in a pod, except Wren is a little less stabby. So far.”
My boyfriend laughed and settled next to me on the sofa, and another piece of my happiness cemented in. At my home, he’d been angry at me, with good reason because kidnapping was somewhat out there in terms of courtship rituals, yet even then he’d paid attention and mapped out parts of my life. He’d remembered them. I exhaled joy made of dangerous actions and a wonderful man.
Riordan peered at Camden’s setup. “What are you doing?”
“Cass wanted another tattoo. I refuse to let any of my kin get work done by another artist after the shitshow of Jamieson’s last solo attempt.”
Riordan’s eyebrows rose. “What happened?”
“He wanted flames on his ankle and went to some fucker in Edinburgh. It took me hours to fix the piece-of-crap design he came home whining about.”
I held out my arm so my brother could resume perfecting the stencil he’d created. “Camden runs his own studio and was booked up, hence why Burn went rogue. In a few days, I’m taking you to the Great House for dinner so you can experience the craziness that is my whole family in one place at once. Feel free to use that anecdote to shame Jamieson good.”
Camden smirked and got busy tattooing my upper arm with the design—a skull with a plain bandanna over its lower face. It was the logo for the warehouse, and informally, for the skeleton crew. A flip of the way the crew would wear skeleton print bandannas over their faces. Arran had it, and Shade probably did, too, though he had an awful lot of skulls on his skin, so I wasn’t sure.
“That is fucking fire,” Riordan admired when it was done.
I nudged him. “If ye want it, too, Arran gave permission.”
He blinked. “He did?”
“I asked because I wanted this for ye. I went first to show that it was okay.”
Slowly, he nodded, and we swapped places so Camden could do his thing. Riordan needed this. He needed to be tied to people and place. To not be an outsider looking in. In time, he’d maybe feel secure with all we had, but even then, I’d show him every day just how important he was.
When the work was done, Camden packed up. “I’ll head home. Riordan, glad to meet ye, man. Let me know if ye need any more ink. Maybe ‘I love Cassie’ across your chest.”
I snorted. “Bet.”
Riordan chuffed, and his lips curled in a smile. “Okay.”
My brother and I both stared at him.
Camden wrinkled his nose. “I was joking. Life lesson. Never tattoo a lover’s name on ye. It’s awkward as fuck if ye break up. I refuse to do it for clients.”
I pulled an incredulous expression. “Explain your wife’s name on your pecs in amongst that huge sweeping pattern that covers half your skin.”
Camden rolled his eyes. “I’m the artist and the exception that proves the rule.”
Riordan tilted his head. “What’s the pattern?”
My brother brightened. “It’s this sweeping rush of lines. Her name is Breeze, and it’s inspired by her.”
He showed him, the two of them cooing over good artwork. I sat back and watched, my chin on my hands and nothing but good feelings inside me.
“What could I have to represent Cass?”
“That’s for ye to work out. Get a concept, and I’ll turn it into a design.” Camden hugged me, slapped Riordan’s hand, then left us for the long drive home.
Riordan collected me in his arms and carried me to our bedroom. “Maybe a pile of bodies with a vicious woman standing on top with her arms up in celebration?” he mused, stripping me. “Or your face with a knife between your teeth?” On the mattress, he settled me in the middle, taking care not to touch my fresh, wrapped tattoo, the twin to his that I knew he’d wear with pride.
From a drawer, he produced a packet and tore it open, revealing new handcuffs. I gawked at them.
“Padded ones so they won’t hurt.” He clicked them around my wrists, giving me no chance to pull away as he extended my hands above my head and fastened me to a pillar on the headboard. Then he moved to my ankles, spreading my legs to tie me off to the bottom corners of the bed.
Not that long ago, this would’ve shown me he was angry, but not now. All I anticipated was pleasure. And my sweet, romantic boy delivered. He licked and sucked every part of me, leaving me squirming and cursing him because I couldn’t grab him and take my turn.
It worked for us, though. Taking a position between my spread legs, he made me come again and again before he fucked me, then he started over, cleaning me with his tongue and showing me exactly how he cared.
Love was exhausting. Love was exhilarating. When he finally released me to fall asleep on his chest, I did so imagining all the ways I could show him how he made me feel.
Morning, well, afternoon, as we never got up before four p.m., I had a couple of text messages waiting on my phone.
The first was from Genevieve, finally giving me the news that Dixie was allowing visitors, and that we could go together in a couple of hours’ time. The second was far less anticipated.
At long last, my uncle had messaged back.
Patrick: How do I know you’re for real?
I showed Riordan then hit the number to dial the man.
It rang for a while, but at last, he answered. “Yeah?”
“Ye asked how ye could be sure I’m real. I don’t give a fuck about that. I’m not interested in ye or your life. What I do want to know is what happened to Cassandra. That’s it.”
It probably wasn’t the best way to impress the man, but to my surprise, begrudgingly, Patrick started talking.
He told me a little of their childhood, and how Cassandra had been a rebel at every stage, making their father despair.
“There’s a place for lassies in our world, and it isn’t trying to wheedle their way into decision-making. She had one job, and that was to get married and breed the next generation of boys.” Patrick gave a mocking laugh. “She didn’t even get that right in her bid for freedom if all she produced was another girl.”
I ignored the jibe. “Did your father kill her?”
Patrick huffed. “No idea what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”
It meant he had. Poor woman.
I hung up on the relative I had no more interest in and hugged the boyfriend I wanted it all with. “If my grandfather ever gets out of jail, I’ll kill him for her. She deserved better.”
“I’ll be right by your side as you do.”
We left the apartment, meeting up with Arran and Genevieve on the way out of the warehouse.
I wrinkled my nose at Arran. “I’ve forgiven ye for not telling me about Bronson. Just.”
He pursed his lips. “I promise never to keep something like that from you again.”
“Good. Does that mean I’m inner circle now, too?”
The skeleton crew’s boss sighed. “Like I ever had any choice when it came to you. But yes, you’re on the team.”
Amused, I skipped along. “Sweet. So why do we think Bronson confessed?”
“He wanted the end to come. He knew he’d never run the Four Milers, both from what we told him and the rumbles he’d picked up from his own people. In retrospect, we should’ve dug deeper.”
“I get it. He was the obvious culprit. Next time, we’ll all be more savvy.”
“Next time?” Genevieve enquired.
“Think I’m disbanding the Skeleton Girls Detective Agency? No chance. In a city like this, some other crime will need solving, and I want us there with the string and detective wall, ready to solve it.”
She bumped my shoulder and grinned.
We drove out, and the closer we got to the Deadwater’s hospital, the more my stomach tightened. I’d waited here for hours when Dixie had been in surgery but not been back since. She hadn’t allowed it.
At last, I’d get to see the friend I’d almost lost.
Inside the huge, fifties-style building, Genevieve linked her arm through mine, and we followed brightly lit corridors to the ward Dixie was in, nerves affecting us both. In a private room, organised by the skeleton crew, a tiny figure curled up under white and blue blankets. My fingers shook as I approached.
Dixie peeked up at us, her neck thick with white bandages. Her blonde hair was ratty against the pillow and her skin almost as pale as the sheets. “You came.”
Her voice was rough. To my horror, tears formed in her eyes.
I settled beside her bed and carefully picked up her hand. “We’ve been waiting to visit for days and days.”
One of those tears spilled. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. But I also wanted to give you the chance to quietly slide out of my DMs.”
From beside me, Genevieve cooed. “Why would we ever want to do that? You’re our friend.”
Dixie used her free hand to wipe her cheek. “Oh, hun, you don’t have to pretend. It’s nice of you to come and all, but we aren’t in the same world anymore. I don’t have any expectations.”
I tilted my head. “What are ye talking about? We’re just waiting for ye to be released, but we have so many plans to help your recovery.”
Genevieve nodded urgently. “The nurse said you’ll be able to leave soon. If you want to go home, we’ve organised a nursing service to be there as much as you need them. If you want to stay at the warehouse, we’ll set up a bedroom for you and have the nurses come there. Whatever you need, we’ll make it happen.”
Her gaze darted between us. “Am I high, or are you two just delulu? Ain’t no way I can work there anymore.” Her fingers ghosted over the bandage at her throat, not quite touching the white strips. “There’s no way I can heal enough to come back to work. I know I’m out of a job. You’re kind to offer, but I’m done.”
My eyebrows merged, and Genevieve wore an equally confused expression.
Genevieve spoke first. “Of course you’re coming back. We want you there. You will always have a job.”
“Oh, hun, that isn’t up to us. Who’s going to buy a girl with a torn-up throat? I’ll move on. I have to.” Her gaze locked on to mine. “I heard talk that the killer was caught. Please. I need to know because my memory is shaky as hell.”
I swapped a glance with Genevieve, wishing I had any kind of bedside manner so I knew how to make her feel better. Slowly, I nodded. “I’ll tell ye everything, but let Genevieve brush out your hair and maybe plait it. Does that sound good?”
Dixie agreed, and in low tones, I told her about the suspicions after the capture of Bronson, the public’s celebration that the killings were over and the murderer caught, then my discovery of her after her attack. I glossed over the worst of the details. If she asked, I’d fill her in, but she seemed content not to hear it. She smiled at my sworn need for vengeance. At my explanation over Moniqua being the real killer, a small frown marred her pretty brow, but she nodded all the same.
“Moniqua’s dead now?”
I exhaled. “I killed her myself, and I made sure to name every woman she’d hurt as I did it. She went to her grave regretting the fact she’d ever touched a hair on your head.”
Dixie cupped my hand. “Badass.” She coughed, the sound wheezing. “Shit, that still hurts. I’m real sorry but I think I need more meds and they’ll send me to sleep. Do you think…could you come back another day?”
My heart hurt. “I’ll be back tomorrow as early as they’ll let me in. I’ll bring ye a nice dressing gown and some pretty pyjamas. Is there anything else you’d like?”
Dixie’s eyes watered again. For over a week, our friend had lived in pain and despair. I hated how she’d assumed we’d drop her.
“Maybe something to read? I probably look like shit, so a touch of blush?”
She coughed again and moaned at the pain. I hit the button to summon the nurse, and we left her with promises to return.
At the end of the corridor, Arran waited. Behind, Riordan stalked along, both having watched over us on our visit. Dixie wanted love and had only found misery. She’d been let down by the world and had expected that everyone who cared about her would leave because she now carried a scar. I wouldn’t. I’d do everything to bring my friend back.
“I’m going to offer her a job working for me,” I told Genevieve. “If she doesn’t want to go back to her old career, I’ll give her a new one.”
If Dixie accepted, my predator elimination program had its first employee, and I suspected she might enjoy the work as much as I intended to.
Back at the warehouse, Shade flagged me down. “Busy?”
“Nope. What have we got on?”
“A wee jaunt out to the boathouse.”
I rubbed my hands together, needing the emotional release. “I’m happy to assist.”
The enforcer grinned. “This one is all yours.”
“Who?”
“Roache.”
Shock stopped me in my tracks. “Piers Roache is still alive?”
“Just about. Do the man a favour and read him his rights then send him on his way, aye?”
I cackled. “Thank ye for saving him for me. This is going to be fun.”
Revenge for Riordan, for Everly, and for every other person hurt by bad men was going to be served, and I was just the girl for the job.