21. Tink
TINK
So I end up riding with Fox again.
It’s less weird than it could be, the second time. Until the other day, it’d been years since I held onto someone on the back of a bike, and I still feel like I don’t really know where to put my hands, but Fox’s broad chest gives me plenty of real estate, and I’m pretty sure I’m doing just fine.
I just…try not to think about it too hard.
Or anything else about where we’re going.
The ride to the Marina’s shorter than I want it to be.
Much shorter. I swallow the feeling of creeping dread that bubbles from my stomach to my throat as Fox leans easily into the offramp and takes the turn.
Immediately, the roads are fringed with flowers—big bright orange lilies, tight pink clusters of verbena—and the air smells like salt, sunshine, and the faintest hint of diesel as it whips through my visor.
We curve downward toward the water, the scene spread out before us: boats bobbing in the slips of the actual harbor while the buildings of the Marina district gleam with white walls and tropical-colored awnings. Boutiques, cafes, restaurants.
A casino.
It’s beautiful. Elegant. Or should be.
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
“You okay?”
I can feel Fox’s voice in his chest as much as I can hear it in my mic. I loosen my grip on him, just slightly.
“Tink. You okay?”
I remember to answer. “Yeah.” I pause. “Why?”
“Nothing. You’re just…” Fox trails off. “You’re sitting all stiff, dude. Relax.”
Yeah, because if I actually hold onto you then I’ll basically be pressing my tits into your back.
“I’m fine,” is all I say out loud.
If I wasn’t hyperaware of holding onto him before, I am now. He’s solid, he feels solid in this way you don’t just get from looking at him. Warm, steady, inhales and exhales moving at what feels like half-time compared to mine.
I relax, try to relax, and pace my breathing to his. Normal, chill, alert but calm the way you have to be on a bike.
Or when you’re a Lost Boy, period.
I breathe in again and this time the smell isn’t Marina but cotton and sweat.
Better. Human. Grounded.
I don’t realize we’ve zipped around the casino until it’s already behind us.
“Aw, fuck.”
Pan’s two blocks ahead of us, zigged and zagged up a side street to a stop, the end of his words muffled as he shucks off his helmet.
Blue and Kit zip in neatly after him as Fox revs up the last incline, taking in whatever’s on the other side of the swell of the hill—and whatever it is, I can’t see it past him.
But I can hear his reaction: “Damn.”
I remember to let go. Get off the bike, take off my own helmet, survey what we’re dealing with: a long, rectangular building, almost like a warehouse, with 3D letters that read IGER LILY KICKBOXING + FITNESS above a series of giant windows that seem to roll down like garage doors.
Or would, I guess, if they weren’t smashed to smithereens all over the sidewalk.
Pan sidles off his bike, eyes wide, and rubs his jaw. “Well. Well, well, well.”
“Damn,” Fox mutters again, popping off his own helmet to stare. “Did we miss an earthquake?”
I catch Pan rolling his eyes at Fox as I leave my helmet on the seat.
“Don’t be stupid,” Pan scoffs. “This is…” He folds his arms, gestures vaguely.
“A goddamn mess.” Blue hasn’t even dismounted. The reflection of the broken glass glitters in the sheen of his visor as he turns to Pan.
Kit cocks his head at both of them, helmet off. “So, is she here, or do we—”
An angry, female cry from inside the gym cuts him off.
“Baba!”
“…never mind,” Kit mutters.
I don’t know what I was expecting for the daughter of an Albanian gangster. But Zusanna doesn’t so much exit her gym as fires out of it like a cannonball. All in black, tank top to leggings to sneakers, her dark hair in twin French braids, and furious.
Seeing us, she skids to a halt.
“Who are you?” She frowns. She’s about my age, maybe early twenties, but short, much shorter than I am, although I wouldn’t call her petite. More…strong. “What you doing here with bikes and stupid hair?”
“What am I doing here?” Pan says. “What are you doing here?”
“Me?” Zusanna cries. “This is my gym!”
“Was your gym,” Fox mutters, and I have to flatten out the smile that’s threatening on my face. Because Zusanna is pissed.
“No, I mean—” Pan shakes his fire-engine head. “You were supposed to be…kidnapped, or being held hostage, or something.”
Zusanna’s bold brows go together. “Kidnapped? Who would…oh, wait. No.” Her face falls, and she shakes her head. “No, no, no, no, no. I’m going to kill him. Baba!” She wails up at the sky, and then, from some hidden pocket in her leggings, whips out a phone and swipes it open.
“Easy.” A tattooed arm arcs over her shoulder—not Pan, but Blue—and plucks the phone out of her hands. “Catch your breath.” Quick as a flash, he tosses the phone sideways to Pan, who hot-potatoes it over to me, and I manage to catch it just in time.
“Easy?!” Zusanna looks ready to sock him. Maybe Pan, too. Her dark eyes are so narrow they’re practically twitching, her eyebrows still knit together and her lips bunched.
“Yeah,” Fox pipes up. “We’re here to help.”
“Help?!” Zusanna cries, so loud it echoes into the dark inside of her gym, where I can just make out the shapes of equipment: padded floors, dangling speed bags, a neon sign that screams FIGHT LIKE A GIRL.
“My gym is ruined. I am trying to fix. And now my father sends in the…the…the clown brigade”—she gestures wildly at the four of us—“and I am supposed to take it easy so you can help.”
“Um.” Fox is blank-faced, stunned. “I guess. Here’s your T, by the way.” Meekly, he hands over the fallen letter from the sign, then throws a bug-eyed, save-me-please glance at Kit, who just spreads his hands and looks at Pan.
But Pan looks at me.
I take a deep breath. Mentally crack my knuckles. Because…well, for de-escalating this kind of situation, I probably am the best man for the job here.
Whether I feel like it or not.
“Zusanna?” I take a small step forward, hands spread in an I come in peace kind of gesture. “Can you maybe just tell us what happened?”
Zusanna folds her arms, still standing at full attention, and slices her gaze to me.
“Your dad…didn’t give a lot of details,” I elaborate. “Just that we had to…how did he put it?” I glance back at Pan.
Pan clears his throat and steps primly forward like it’s his turn at the school spelling bee. “Get you and your boys down there before I pound your skinny ass into kofte,” he recites. And winks.
Zusanna groans, and I rip the spotlight back from him before he has a chance to vamp. “Right. So…we know even less than you do. Help us out.”
Zusanna blows a strand of hair out of her eyes. But she relaxes. Somewhat.
“You see what happened,” she says, jerking her head back at the windows.
“I am supposed to be opening in three days. July 1. I have whole celebration planned, influencers coming. Balloon sculpture.” She scowls.
“And now, ruined.” She gives a short laugh.
“With you here. My God, Baba is so overprotective—”
“Can’t imagine why.” Kit toes at a piece of glass with his boot as Blue steps back in view from around the corner—I hadn’t even realized he’d slipped away.
“So who’d you piss off?” He looks from the ground to the smashed letters of her sign.
“I piss no one off,” Zusanna says testily. “Keep to myself.”
Blue gives a short laugh, arms folded. “Sure. And this place just…spontaneously combusted.”
Zusanna lets out a torrent of Albanian that I can’t imagine is friendly.
“Maybe…someone’s trying to get at your dad?” I interrupt, glancing at Pan, who shrugs.
“No,” Zusanna says vehemently, swiping the air.
“No. This has nothing to do with him. I stay clean of all that business. No place for a woman.” She tosses a long braid over her shoulder.
“I take loan from him, is all. But that, I will pay back. I do not need his…protection. Not his money, not his”—she gives a loud snort—“muscle.”
Now Pan looks affronted. “I’ve got muscle,” he protests. “We’ve got muscle.”
Zusanna stares at him. “And I don’t?” She rolls her eyes. “Obobo, you’re worse than my father. Just because you’re a man, you must be stronger than me, eh?”
The corner of Pan’s mouth lifts, and he gives a humble, shuffling shrug. “Well, I mean—”
Bam. In a flash, Pan’s on the ground and Zusanna’s knee is in the air. Where Pan used to be.
Blue loses it. I mean, actually doubles over with laughter. Fox just grins, unabashed but a little nervous. And even I have to snort. I mean, it’s funny.
“Ow!” Pan pushes himself up and sits, criss-cross applesauce, rubbing his cheek. “That hurt, Zuzu.”
“Sounds like you problem. Next time, you brace.” She glances at the rest of us. “So any of you want to—”
“Nope!” Fox spreads his hands through the air, shaking his head vigorously. “Nope, no, no thank you. We’re good. We love women. I mean, strong women. Women in…business.” He smiles very broadly, does a thumbs-up for good measure.
Kit nods in agreement while Blue gives a quick shake no.
Zusanna remains unimpressed. She opens her mouth, but then her eyes flick over to me, and she pauses. Thoughtful.
“Oh you do, do you,” she says, slowly. Says to me, I realize.
“Uh, yeah.” I nod. “Totally.” I cough. “Girl power, or whatever.”
“Mhm. Okay.” She takes a step back, but her eyes stay on mine just a little too long, in a way I can’t quite read.
Under my jacket and my shirt and my binder, my heart gives a jolt of panic. And somehow, I catch Fox’s gaze as he looks around the wreckage. Immediately, he frowns. Looks at me just a touch too long, so that I have to react.
“What?” I grunt.
Fox backs off. “Nah, I just…” But his frown doesn’t go away. “You good?”
I nod quickly. “Fine.”
And I am fine.
Down on the sidewalk, Pan picks up his helmet and peers at his reflection.
“I think she gave me a damn black eye,” he mutters, disbelief in his voice.
“Maybe she likes you,” Kit stage-whispers back. Pan levies a kick at his legs, which misses.