Henri holds Max’s eyes. “Not a single bit.”
“They’re not finished,” I say.
“No shit,” Ash says. “You can’t even tell what they’re supposed to be.”
“Drippy skulls,” Henri supplies. “With 311 written below them.”
“What’s goin’ on?” Hash’s deep voice interrupts, making us all jump.
Henri and I quickly shove our sleeves down. I grimace at the sting. “Nothin’,” Max says belligerently to Hash. “Not your business.”
Hash takes a long dark look at Max, then turns his attention to me. “Roll up your fuckin’ sleeve.” His voice is deadly, which is rare for him. He’s usually sarcastic.
I roll up my sleeve.
“You too, princess,” he says to Henri.
She glares at him. “It’s Seven to you.” But she exposes her forearm too.
“What the fuck!” Hash exclaims. “What the fuck did you two do?”
“They got tattoos!” Brielle says, not quite reading the room as she grins.
Hash gives her a soft glance, then glares at us. “That’s not ink, it’s a fuckin’ disfigurement.”
“Well, they weren’t experts,” Henri exclaims. “And they didn’t have time to finish because my mom and Oscar’s dad showed up at the 311 Boys clubhouse and interrupted them.”
Hash rubs his temple. “I don’t even know where to start.” He thinks for a moment. “Your parents don’t know about this do they?”
I pull the sleeve of the jacket down to cover the ink. “No. It was done mostly against our will, and I don’t want dad to know until I figure out a way to tell him.”
“Same,” Henri says as she tries to cover her ink. Hash grabs her arm before she’s got her sleeve down and inspects it. “It’s gonna get infected.”
“We used antiseptic,” Henri protests as she yanks her arm back and covers the tattoo.
“If I understand you correctly, you allowed a couple of gang-banger amateurs ink you at the 311 Boys clubhouse, which is dirty and full of shit?”
“We used antiseptic!” Henri repeats, her voice belligerent.
“How did you get it on? Dirty rag?”
“Lola’s T-shirt,” Henri says.
“Lola’s T-shirt,” Hash repeats snidely. “I don’t even want to know who Lola is.”
“I do,” Brielle says.
Hash ignores her. “Lola’s T-shirt, did it come straight out of the laundry?”
I groan. Hash is right. Who the hell knows what was on it. “What’re we gonna do then?”
“Call your dad,” he says decisively. He reaches inside his cut to get his phone, but Henri jumps and grabs his arm.
“Please don’t do that,” she begs with big eyes and a tremble to her lips that’s way over the top dramatic. “Mom will kill me.”
Max rolls his eyes.
“She won’t really kill you,” Brielle says.
