“Sorry, Clover, got a lot of shit on my mind. I won’t keep you from your show much longer, but I need you to look into something for me. I need as much information on the Petrov family as you can find.”
Clover scrunched up her nose like she suddenly smelled something rancid. “What are you messing around with the fuckingbratvafor?”
“It’s a long story, but there’s this girl…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Clover rolled her eyes. “You find some mafia chick to stick your dick in, and this becomes work formesomehow? I’m gonna send you a personalized bill for this job, dillweed, this isn’t official Crow business.”
“Jesus Christ, Clover, get your mind out of the gutter.” A gutter my mind just so happened to slip into more often than I’d like to admit when it came to the sexy psycho living in my clubhouse. But that’s beside the point… “There’s a girl we came across that escaped a really bad situation. She…performed a service for the club, and we were in her debt, so we’ve been doing what we can to help her start a new life in repayment for the debt.” I’m leaving a hell of a lot out, I know, but Clover doesn’t need the nitty-gritty to pull up the information I require.
“Long story short, I need as much information on the Petrov family as you can get. Members and their rankings, personal details, financials, business dealings, real estate, everything. Give Mikhail, Cara Callahan Petrov, and Riordan extra-special attention.”
Clover rolled her eyes. “Ah, so a CIA-level dossier on the Petrov bratva as well as a detailed report on the three most influential members of the family.”
I rolled my eyes in response to her bratty tone. “Please and thank you.”
“Sure. I’ll get right on that, boss.”
“Good, bec—”
“Right after I find out what allegedly happened to Carole Baskin’s husband.” I glared daggers at Clover’s snickering face. “Oh, come on, that was blatant sarcasm. Like you’d ever be qualified enough in anything to be my boss.”
I growled under my breath in frustration. “Clover! Please, it’s important.”
“Alright, alright… calm your tits, Priest. I’ll get your intel.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it. The sooner you can get it, the better.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get it. Have I ever failed you before?”
I shook my head. She was the absolute best hacker I’d ever come across, and I knew if she said she’d do something, she did it. “You’ll get it when you get it. Now, smooches. Tigers await.” The call disconnected, and I was left staring at my reflection in the glass of my now-dark phone screen.
Clover enjoyed being a royal pain in the ass, but she had a heart of gold, and if she knew the intel needed was to help someone who’d seen the kinds of things she’d witnessed, she’d get it as soon as possible. I just hoped that whatever we found could help Indigo in some way, help her decide if she wanted to let them into her life. I’d never experienced life without family and friends surrounding me, so I could only imagine how seductive the promise of a family would be to Indi. She deserved to have it if she wanted it. I just wanted to make sure it was in her best interests.
Fuck. When did I start giving a shit about Indigo’s best interests? We had a mere few days before we left for the Alvarez job and instead of making sure everyone was prepared and ready to go, I was in my office obsessing over a girl. Granted, she wasn’t just any girl. She was Indi, and she was a unique and special kind of crazy that was charming and terrifying all at the same time.
For the first time since watching the 2020 documentary that Clover was finally getting around to binge-watching, I started to understand why people would get obsessed with the idea of living with big cats. Big cats like tigers, lions, and panthers were power incarnate. They could purrand roll onto their bellies for pets…or they could maul your fucking face off. Living in proximity to exotic and deadly animals like that gives you a seductive thrill. Every day you’re flirting with death, but in a moment, things could change and that very same predator will do something cute like play with a laser pointer or bell toy. Its adorableness didn’t ever negate its lethality.
Indigo sort of reminded me of a big cat. She held a wildness in her. It was that inherent danger that set off alarms for me when we first encountered her. Well…some of it was due to my personal baggage, but it didn’t take me long to understand how dangerous she could be. Watching my fallen angel grin while she beat the ever-loving shit out of Pyro clued me in on that one. Not to mention how she took being tied up and tortured in the confessional like it was just another boring Tuesday.
However, she also held manic charm and powerful magnetism that I was only now even beginning to understand. I wanted to get closer to her…but I also didn’t want to get my arm ripped off. Since the night of my branding, I’d been trying to come to terms with how I felt about Indigo and why. Introspection wasn’t exactly one of my strong suits, but I was fucking trying. I knew that Indigo was dangerous, but I couldn’t help wanting to get close enough to touch.
Indigo
When I first escaped the basement, my entire focus was on survival and remaining hidden. Eventually, I was able to leave the constant “fight or flight” phase of my escape, and I found myself extremely traumatized with nowhere to go. I’d tried women’s shelters but found them to be overwhelming, and I didn’t know how to answer the questions they asked me. Surviving in crowded spaces was a difficulty I didn’t considerbefore my escape. I woke up screaming from nightmares more often than not, which upset the other women and children sleeping on the cots and bunk beds near me. I mean, to be fair, I was grumpy about waking up screaming too. It wasn’t like I wastryingto be the world’s most hysterical alarm clock. I wished I could just live in a private trash can like Oscar the Grouch, then no one would care if I screamed at night or talked to myself or had a worm as a best friend.
It wasn’t until I found my way to Chicago that things started looking up for me. I thought it was funny that I loved living in Chicago so much when I had spent the least amount of time out and about in the city than I had in any other place I’d visited. Before I found Los Cuervos, I typically lived on the streets and dodged in and out of shelters when I needed to. In Chicago, I only spent a few hours a day outside, at most. This was due to the Harold Washington Public Library: the largest public library in the world, and the best place to squat in the city. I went full-on Belle minus the Stockholm syndrome and bestiality up in that library.
One day shortly after I got to town, when I was in the library to warm up, I noticed a loose duct cover on a wall near a women’s restroom. It was one of those big, square air return ducts that sneak thieves like to crawl into in movies. I had barely tugged on it at all for about twenty minutes when the duct coverjust so happenedto fall off, revealing a space perfectly suited for hiding. And the amenities! Not only would I be warm with a private sleeping area, but I’d also be near a bathroom! After having to hunt for privacy to relieve myself for weeks on end, I’d never take a toilet for granted again, that’s for damn sure. Briefly, I wondered if Oscar’s trash can had a toilet in it?
Hmm… anyway. I lived, hidden within the library for weeks having the best time of my life. I read as many books as I could and used the library computers during the day to learn about PTSD and living with trauma. I wasn’t a real shrink, but I had figured out a few things to help myself cope with the snarly dark thoughts in my head. I’d learned to compartmentalize like a pro all by myself, after all.
A nice assistant librarian helped me learn how to use a computer while I was there. I thanked her by leaving little origami surprises on her desk that I made in the Maker Lab on the third floor after they had a free class on paper folding. Also, when Craig the Digital Librarian calledMaura (the nice assistant librarian) a pathetic fat ass after she declined his offer for a date, I took it upon myself to defend Maura’s honor. After hours I wroteCraig the DICKital Librarianon his office door in big, bold letters with different colored Sharpies. I felt like the pop of color really highlighted Craig’s dickishness. Watching Craig turn beet red and scramble to get the custodian to scrub his Technicolored shame off his door was absolutely sublime. 10/10, definitely recommend.
Once Maura taught me how to use the internet, the world was my oyster. I absorbed as much information as possible after living in the knowledge desert of Uncle Roark’s basement. If it wasn’t about death, destruction, or suffering, Uncle Roark wasn’t interested in teaching it. One of the things I’d had to force myself to learn about wass-e-x. I still didn’t understand why sex was such an important part of most people’s lives, but I did know the mechanics of how it was supposed to work.
However, the nuance of the act eluded me. Honestly, after all the pain and fear I’d experienced surrounding sex, I assumed I was just broken, and sex would never be a significant part of my life. That didn’t mean I didn’t want to understand it, though. Why it was something that people would die for, kill for, write poems about, and sing songs about how great it is at a particular time of day, even? Questions like these prompted me to go to my friends for answers.
“Who was that girl all over you tonight, Cricket?” I asked nonchalantly as I steered Sheila onto the highway. Cricket, Lennon, and I left Crow’s Landing after our shift ended. Lennon caught a ride with us, having indulged in one too many tequila sunrises after her cosmetology classes today, leaving her car safely in the lot.
