Chapter 16
16
NIKKO
T he house stood in the same sorry state I’d left it years ago: peeling paint, overgrown weeds clawing their way up the chain-link fence, and a front porch littered with crushed beer cans and cigarette butts. Just standing there made my skin crawl. The memories of growing up in this hellhole pressed down like a weight I hadn’t felt in years.
It would take five minutes to pick up but apparently that was too much to ask. I couldn’t imagine living in this squalor. It was fucking gross. Why didn’t the city condemn the place? Then again, looking around the neighborhood, I was guessing no one was going to call and complain.
Don’t throw stones when you live in glass houses.
I pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the broken blinds visible through the cracked window.
I could hear voices, but no one was coming to answer. I pounded again and took a step back from the door, my jaw clenched tight. If they didn’t open up in the next ten seconds, I was busting the damn thing down.
Just as I dropped my shoulder to ram it, the handle turned. The door creaked open an inch. One bloodshot eye peered out. Ralph, one of Zip’s longtime degenerate friends, squinted at me.
“Shit,” he muttered, barely able to string the curse together through his slurring. “Nikko. Man, you don’t wanna?—”
I didn’t let him finish. I shoved the door open, barreling past him into the reek of stale beer and regret.
“Zip!” I yelled, stepping over a pile of clothes—or possibly a passed-out human—on the floor. “Get your ass out here!”
“Brace yourself, Zip! The kid’s on a tear!” a hoarse voice hollered.
They had no idea just how pissed I was. The living room was a nightmare. The walls were yellowed with years of smoke, the furniture sagged like it was ready to give up entirely, and the carpet was… let’s just say it had seen some things no carpet should.
This was the kind of place cockroaches didn’t even want to fuck with. It was a toxic dump. How any human could live like this was beyond me.
I stepped into the living room just as Ralph slammed the door closed. Did I need to worry about my dad murdering me?
Yes. Actually, I did.
I looked around and spotted my old man, half drunk and horizontal in a rotting armchair that looked like it had been dragged out of a dumpster on its best day.
“Get up,” I growled.
“You don’t tell me what to do in my own house,” he said.
His stringy hair hung in greasy clumps. He was wearing a stained wife-beater doing nothing to hide the sag of his gut. He eyed me warily, already knowing why I was there.
“Get up,” I said again.
“How many times we gotta go through this, son?” He wheezed out a laugh that turned into a nasty cough. “It’s getting real old.”
“Don’t call me son,” I spat. “And you’re damn right this is old, Zip.” I grabbed the front of his grimy shirt and hauled him upright. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing breaking into my work and stealing from us? ”
His bleary eyes struggled to focus on me. “Nikko, what the hell are you?—”
“You’re a piece of shit stealing from my people!” I shook him hard enough that his head lolled. “You need something? You come to me. You don’t go behind my back. You hear me?”
He blinked at me, his mouth working soundlessly like a fish gasping for air. Then, with all the grace of a drunken toddler, he tried to clock me.
I leaned back just in time, dropping his shirt. Without him holding me up, he lost his balance and landed flat on his ass.
“Pathetic,” I spat.
He groaned on the floor, rolling over with a grunt.
“I didn’t steal shit,” he grumbled, dragging himself up to lean against the armchair. “You gave me the money I needed, dumb shit. Don’t go accusing me of being a thief.”
The anger surged in me again, hot and blinding, but I forced it down. This was the same song and dance it had always been with Zip. I shouldn’t have expected anything different.
I stared down at the pathetic excuse for a father sprawled on the stained carpet. I’d known this was how it would go, but part of me—the part that was still a lost little kid desperate for any scrap of approval—had held out hope he might surprise me.
“You came into my place and demanded I give you money,” I reminded him. “It wasn’t like I gave it willingly.”
Around us, the other freeloaders—guys I’d known since I was a kid, who hadn’t changed a bit in all those years—started circling like vultures.
“Yo, Nikko, you got a twenty?” one of them slurred.
“More like a fifty,” another chimed in. “C’mon, man, help a brother out.”
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head as I turned for the door. “You guys are unbelievable.”
“Get off your high horse, Nikko!” Zip called out. “You might dress up like you’re fancy but you still stink of the gutter you crawled out of. ”
“Fuck you,” I said.
He started cackling. “You’re no better than any of us. Give it another ten years and you’ll be just like us.”
I scoffed. “The fuck I will.”
“Ten years!” he shouted.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Deep down, I knew he was right—I wasn’t better than them. Not really. I’d just made different choices.
I slammed the door behind me and didn’t look back. I was shaking with anger, but more than that, I was disappointed. Why did I think this time would be any different? Why did I keep putting myself through this?
By the time I got back in my car, my hands were still shaking. The fury, the frustration, the goddamn sadness of it all—it was too much. I didn’t hate my father, but it was pretty damn close.
I started the car and looked back at the house. Weirdly enough, I did believe him when he said it wasn’t him that broke into the shop. Why would he put forth any effort when he could just ask me?
But if it wasn’t Zip who’d broken into the shop, then who the hell had?
I pulled out my phone and called Marcus. I had hoped to get the money back and fix things before calling him, but if my dad wasn’t involved, Marcus needed to know what was going on immediately.
“We’ve got a situation,” I said.
“What time is it?” His voice was rough like I’d woken him up.
“One. Someone broke into the shop. Shattered the front door.”
“What the fuck?” I could tell he was awake now. “What happened?”
“I happened to be driving by and saw the door smashed in. The register was cleaned out.”
“Shit. Did you call the cops?”
“No.”
“What the hell do you mean, no?”
“I thought it was my dad.”
“Fuck,” he said with a sigh .
“It wasn’t him. I just went to his place.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. He’s wasted. Too drunk to even stand up, so too drunk to lie.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “He’s still garbage but he’s not behind this.”
“Shit,” Marcus muttered. “What now?”
I exhaled hard. “I’ll call the cops. I just wanted to give you the heads-up. You’ll need to meet me at the shop. I’ll have to give a statement. We need to figure out who the fuck’s messing with us. Nothing else was fucked with.”
“That’s good, I suppose. There couldn’t have been much in the till, right?”
“I didn’t close the register. Jess did.”
“Shit. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“See you there.”
The cops were surprisingly alert despite it being one in the morning. They asked their questions, took notes, and promised to follow up. I doubted that would happen but I appreciated their positivity. Once they took off, Marcus and I walked through the wreckage together, our usual banter replaced by a grim silence.
“Think it’s someone in the neighborhood?” Marcus asked, kicking at a shard of broken glass.
“Maybe,” I said, though I didn’t really believe it. The shop wasn’t just a business—it was a community. People around here didn’t mess with each other.
“We need to step up security,” Marcus finally said.
“Yeah,” I replied, my gaze drifting to a small CCTV camera nestled in the corner, its lens staring blankly at the chaos below. “And maybe upgrade these cameras.” I gestured toward the outdated model. “This thing probably didn’t catch anything useful.”
Marcus nodded, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “I’ll call some security companies first thing tomorrow. See what options we have within our budget. I’m sure there’s going to be a whole slew of bullshit waivers we’ll have to add. We do some sensitive tattoo areas. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to record a woman getting her clit pierced without consent.”
The image made me chuckle. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to having my ass recorded all day.”
Marcus shrugged. “Yeah, well, with the way things are going, a little discomfort might be worth it if it keeps the place safe.”
“Fuck, this sucks.”
“I’ll have to call for a new door in the morning,” Marcus said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it wasn’t you. I’m glad you saw it. We might have lost all our equipment if it had been left all night.”
“Yeah, just one of those things.”
“What were you doing out?” he asked.
I flashed a smile. “Just out.”
“Shit, with that woman?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Something tells me that woman is going to take you down.”
“Fat chance of that,” I said. “It’s just a bit of fun.”
We finished securing the shop as best we could, boarding up the shattered door with plywood we kept on hand for hurricane warnings. We swept up the glass and locked up, knowing the team had a big job ahead of them tomorrow to get the shop back in order for business. Poor Jessie would probably be on the hook for calling customers with scheduled appointments and letting them know we would have to reschedule. I didn’t envy her for that. People booked months in advance and took their ink seriously. But our shop was a war zone.
The street on the other hand was eerily quiet.
Both of us looked around. It was strange to think someone might be targeting us. None of the other storefronts were broken into, even though they must have had more cash on hand than we did.
Whoever had done this was screwing with us. We were the target.
“Watch your back,” I said to Marcus.
“You, too. ”
By the time I got home, it was nearly two in the morning. I flopped onto the couch, too wired to sleep but too exhausted to do anything else. My mind raced with possibilities. It was eerie to think someone was pissed enough to break in. It could have been a disgruntled client with a bad tattoo. Or drunk Spring Breakers.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I grabbed it and checked the screen. It wasn’t Marcus.
Hannah.
We had exchanged numbers earlier. She told me she didn’t want mine, but the second she gave me hers, I called her. Mostly, I was just checking to make sure it wasn’t a bogus number. And then she had my number. I never expected her to actually use it.
Hannah: Can’t sleep. Are you okay?
I stared at the message for a moment, the knot in my chest loosening just a bit.
Everything’s fine , I typed back. Go to bed, princess.
Her reply came almost immediately. Only if you promise to get some sleep too.
I chuckled despite myself, the weight of the night lifting just enough for a smile.
Deal.
As I set my phone down, a thought crept in. It was impossible to ignore.
This girl had a heart of gold. And me?
Well, I was in trouble.