The song above is for the end of the chapter.
Danny's POV
"I think I'm ready for my next tattoo."
"What do you want?"
Cal to look at me with something other than rage.
"I want one of those peacock feathers that you sketched. I want the stem to be on the back of my ankle on the Achilles' tendon and then have it run across the side of my foot and end with the eye on the top of my foot. But instead of a regular eye, I want it to look like a feathery yin yang."
"That... sounds really neat, sweetheart," Zeke says, perking up at the thought of sketching something new. "I can start on it tomorrow."
"Groovy!"
It's Thursday and I'm sitting at Zeke's shop, killing time while I wait for Jack to come get me. I'm starting to despise my little apartment. I've never been the type to actually seek out company from other people. Having become accustomed to being more or less ignored or abused most of my childhood, I've naturally sought out solitude most of the time.
But after getting comfortable here, especially with Cal, I now find myself becoming lonely when I'm alone. The silence in my apartment is deafening, even when I play guitar (which reminds me of the country dance with Cal) or listen to my music loudly (which reminds me of the library and sharing Spotify with Cal).
I just spend the large majority of my time doing everything I can to keep my mind off of Cal. Including thinking about Jack and his over the top proposal the other day.
Drugs are a comfortable world for me. It's what I know, it's what I was raised in, it's what I've always worked in. I know the product, I know the people, I know the ins and outs and how to stay in the shadows. I know the consequences if I fail to stay in the shadows.
But weapons? That sounds like some gang shit. That sounds like something I could get seriously hurt with. I don't even know what kind of fucking weapons or how many or who I'd be dealing with or fucking anything. I don't know prices, personalities, measurements, anything. I know nothing. And that terrifies me.
On the other hand, Creed is slightly unhinged. I knew he was going to be pissed about what I did at the party, but my arm was still fucking bruised from that shit. And something told me it could have been worse if Jack hadn't stepped in. Explosive was the word he used for him.
It's not like I had never dealt with people like that. Hell, my own father was one of many. But the idea of willingly putting myself under the authority of someone who might very well fly off the handle at any given moment just didn't set right with me.
Just because I can take a hit, doesn't mean I like it.
Jack was unsettling, but he seemed to be in full control of his emotions. At least on the surface. Like I've said before, we all have our masks. I'm no exception and I doubt that Jack is either.
These are the thoughts that I've been wrestling with since Monday. Anything to distract me from the intense hatred I saw in Cal's eyes in that ring. Anything to distract me from the beast that I saw unleashed on the man who was easily three times my size as he helplessly flailed about trying to defend himself from Cal's powerful blows until he landed on the ground and the referees had to pull a raging Cal off of him. Anything to distract me from the cold look that Cal sent me as he ambled off of the ring breathing heavily and dripping with sweat.
Tuesday had brought more painful memories of tacos with Cal so I was actually relieved to get a phone call from Jack informing me that he'd be picking me up for a "meet and greet" on Thursday. No product necessary.
YOU ARE READING
Free Bird
Romance"I feel eyes all over me from every angle, but I know that at least one pair of them belongs to the tatted giant in the kitchen. Why not give him a show? He can look all he wants but he can never touch. This is one cookie that won't ever give him th...
