Chapter Thirteen
Sawyer
It wasn’t her real driver’s license.
In fact, it wasn’t a real one at all.
While I generally preferred to operate just shy of breaking the law, I knew enough about the world to know that sometimes you had to take shortcuts.
That was what had me heading into the shittiest apartment building in the area, owned by a friend of mine who kept it purposely run down to help his tenants remain under the radar, looking like a bunch of unemployed people living in a crap building that likely needed to be condemned.
But the truth was that the building was full of drug dealers, illegal exotic owners, and, the reason I was heading over, a forger.
Barney was an old-timer, being in the forging business back before it got complicated but, even so, he was the best in the business.
At least in the area. I didn’t need an ID that would scan accurately at a DMV or for a cop.
I needed an ID that looked real enough to pass a visual inspection at the bank.
Once she got her birth certificate, she could get the rest of her shit handled through the state and get herself a real driver’s license again.
It was the first step in a long process.
But, judging by the way her mood still went from seemingly okay to genuinely depressed or anxiety-ridden in a blink, she really needed some of her normalcy back.
Having a driver’s license and having all her documentation back would make her feel like she had some power over her life again.
I understood that feeling, never being one to like to give up any of my power either.
She was doing alright with Barrett. Actually, when I talked to him about her, he had gone from annoyance and frustration on the first day, to a seeming genuine affection whenever I talked to him any time after that.
Barrett didn’t get along with a lot of people.
He was too lost in his own head, too smart, and therefore tended to have the social skills of a feral cat.
It said a lot about Riya that she got on his good side.
It showed she was firm, unbending, patient, and able to see some humor in his erratic or irrational habits.
Even when she had all her documents back, I could see Barrett talking to her about a more full-time job for him.
It would help his business. He was God-awful at answering his messages and emails and, when he did, tended to come off as condescending or distracted.
His business might not have been the same size or success level as mine, but he was doing alright.
If he got his act together, he could be doing a lot better.
She could help with that.
If it came down to it, I would have a talk with the somewhat clueless Barrett about making the offer to her.
I tried to convince myself that it had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to keep Riya close.
I wasn’t stupid.
She had money coming in from Barrett, and soon she would have a way to get access to her money and, chances were, get herself a car. Then it was only a matter of time before she left my place.
And, quite frankly, I was getting used to having her around.
I didn’t spend much time analyzing why that was because I knew the answers weren’t going to be comforting to someone as used to independence and non-commitment as me.
All I knew was that after a shitty day taking shitty pictures or sitting outside her ex’s apartment, waiting to catch a look at him (with no success), it felt good to pick her up from work and smell her perfume or to walk into my apartment, and see her standing in my kitchen making food or coffee, or sitting on my couch with Slim whom I expressly told her was not allowed on the couch because he liked chewing the arm while he did so.
It was an order she disregarded and actually had the balls to raise her brow at me when I gave her a look about it in a very “say something, I dare you” kind of way.
I liked that shit.
And, weird as fuck as it was, I liked seeing her chick shampoo and conditioner, and conditioning masks, and body wash in my shower.
I even liked finding that she stole the second drawer in my sink cabinet to store her makeup and hair products in.
Hell, I fucking smiled every time I saw her goddamn black elastic bands on the sink, coffee table, or counter.
She apparently let her hair down every damn where.
I walked into the living room that very morning to find an off-white knitted blanket on the back of my couch. I ran my hand over it, finding the softest yarn I had ever felt before.
She was settling in.
And I liked it.
But I couldn’t keep her in a cage with her wings clipped just because I liked having her there.
So I was giving her the keys to her freedom and seeing what she did with it.
I wasn’t crazy about it. I didn’t know how safe she actually was if she went off on her own.
If her ex was the one to somehow knock her out for a year of her life, he was obviously fucking whacked.
And dangerous. The problem was, neither Brock, Tig, nor I had caught him leaving his apartment building when we each took turns staking out the place.
It was time to blur the lines of legality again.
See, there was a time and a place to sit on your hands and wait for shit to fall into your lap.
That was the only way to catch a cheater, for example.
But when someone you were learning to care for was trying to put their life together and there was a person who might be a threat to that life, yeah, it was time to take those hands and break some bones with them if need be.
And, given that this bastard was a bastard long before he possibly kidnapped his ex, I was a bit thrilled at the idea of giving him a little pain. He had it coming.
So that was on the schedule for the next day.
First order of business was picking up Riya and giving her the ID.
And when she opened that box, the look of pure relief on her face was all the proof I needed that I was doing the right thing.
“That’s not real,” I told her as we got into the car, making her head snap to me and her lips part.
“Not a miracle worker, babe. But I know a guy who makes IDs that have been fooling the bouncers at the bars around here for decades. It will get you into your safety deposit box, and then you will have the shit you need to start going about getting things the legal way.”
“You… forged a government document for me?”
“Sounds a fuckuva lot more sinister and dangerous than it was. What it was sitting and drinking fucking herbal tea out of a teacup with an actual gold handle with a woman named Gerty while her husband laminated that thing and gave it to me.”
Her lips curved up into a smile, likely at the idea of me holding a fucking teacup at all. “Whatever this was, I will pay you back for it.”
It was about a grand.
And no, she wouldn’t.
“Do I want to know how it is you know what bank is mine?” she asked as we pulled up out front.
“Same way I know you had a seven-hundred credit score until you disappeared and your car got repo’d. Barrett,” I said, climbing out and shutting the door.
“Barrett knows about my credit score?” she hissed, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes wide. “He’s my boss!”
I resisted the urge to tell her that a lot of positions in a lot of companies required a credit check nowadays and shrugged.
“Riya, that shit is filed in the back of his mind along with his middle school locker codes and how to conjugate verbs in Korean. Besides,” I said, holding the door open for her, “his credit score is practically nonexistent. The weird fuck pays everything with cash. He doesn’t give a shit if yours is seven-hundred or one-seventy-five. ”
We walked in, and I moved toward the waiting area. Without turning to look at me, she reached out and grabbed my wrist in her long-boned hand in a tight grip and pulled me with her.
And, like just about everything I had been learning about her over the past several days, I learned I liked that too.
The ID got her in, and she got her documents as well as a new bank card.
When we got back in the car, she sat there looking out the dash, everything about her tense. “What’s the matter?”
“Everything changes now, doesn’t it?” she asked, turning her head to look at me.
If I wasn’t mistaken, and I fucking wasn’t, there was sadness and fear in her eyes. “Listen,” I started, ducking my head a little, “all that has to change is what you want to change. And even those things can be done at whatever pace is comfortable for you.”
“I can’t keep crashing in your guest room like some…”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I said, shaking my head.
I put my hand on her thigh and gave it a squeeze.
“I get that you were very independent and handled all your own shit before this all happened to you. But no one, not even you, can expect that you can get every piece of your life together in under a week, Riya. You’re strong, but you’re not Superwoman.
There’s no rush for you to move. You can stay in the guest room as long as it takes for you to be comfortable moving on.
Besides, it’s probably safer for the time being. ”
She let out a long breath, her tense shoulders relaxing. “I really appreciate this, Sawyer.”
I winced at that. “I get that you feel really alone in the world since your parents died and the guys you dated turned out unreliable. But you’re not alone anymore, Riya.
You have me. And you have Barrett. And while you don’t see them because they’re working behind the scenes, you have Brock and Tig as well.
It doesn’t mean you’re weak that you have to lean on us for a while. ”
“I’ll start, I don’t know, paying some rent or helping…”
“You’re not paying any fucking rent. First, because I own the building outright, and that would be stupid. And second, because you’re just… fucking not.”
“You know, you and your brother share this interesting trait…”