Page 37 of Ink

I felt like I made some progress in the right direction last night with her. She has a fortress built up and I’m fully prepared to wear her down until she has no choice but to let me in. She’s never met a stubborn bastard like me.

Gage gives me a knowing smirk as I walk past his room. I flip him off as he busts out laughing.

“You’re so fucked, dude. I knew somethin’ was up with you and her, but I didn’t think you would turn into a baby back bitch and stalk her.”

“I’m not fucked,” I grumble. “And I’m not stalking her. I just want to know what’s going on with my employees. If there’s a possibility of the baggage following her to work and causin’ issues, I have a right to know what’s in the suitcases.”

“So when you pop those suitcases open and see how full they are, that’s going to be enough to satisfy your nosey ass? Because you know there’s more than one and you know the zipper is holding on by a thread. Anyone with two eyes can fuckin’ see that.”

“I just need enough to get the big picture,” I argue.

Gage snorts at the lie.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Noticing that she isn’t in yet, I head to my room to work on a drawing for a client I have in a few days. I know some artists will put it together for their clients the day of, but I’ve never liked doing that. I hate my time being wasted and I’m not going to waste someone else’s when I can send updates through email. It’s also annoying as fuck to have them awkwardly sitting there, watching your every move as you draw up their piece.

Turning on a 2000s rock music station on shuffle, I settle in. Before I know it, I’ve zoned out long enough to finish the drawing. After sending it off to the client for approval, I look at the time.

1:00 p.m.

Did I really zone out so hard that I didn’t hear Sutton come in?

Setting my iPad down on the bed, I head to the front. All of the lights are still off. The open sign hasn’t been turned on and the front door is still locked.

What the fuck?

“Yo!” I yell back to Gage. A sense of dread is settling in the pit of my stomach. Something isn’t right.

“What?”

“Why the fuck is everything still locked up? Did Sutton not show?”

I hear Gage throw down whatever he was working on and come up front. He looks just as confused as I feel as he takes in the dark front.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles, looking dumbfounded. “Did she not show?”

“Apparently not. You didn’t have a client, did you?” The last thing I need is word getting around that we aren’t open when we claim, especially if we have something on the books.

Gage shakes his head. “No. And Tommy’s off today.” He runs a hand through his messy hair as he looks around. “Sorry, man. I didn’t even realize she hadn’t come in yet. I know we haven’t known her that long, but she doesn’t seem like the type to no call no show.”

No, she definitely fucking doesn’t.

Sutton is the type of girl that will apologize if you bump into her.

“I got her number from the first night she told me she was walking home. Let me try calling her and see what’s up. Fuck,” Gage says, his hands resting on his hips as he tries to wrap his head around this.

I’m going to hell for being pissed in a time like this that Sutton gave Gage her number. Those two seemed to have gotten pretty tight in the short time she’s been here, and I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t irritate the fuck out of me. I’d hate to have to murder half of my friends.

“I’ll call.” Gage slides me a look as I level his stare. What can I say? I’m a territorial motherfucker. “She seemed tired when I dropped her off last night. She probably just overslept,” I say, trying to convince myself more than anything.

The sense of dread that has settled in the pit of my stomach is growing the more I try to tell myself nothing is wrong and she just lost track of time.

Gage nods along, but he doesn’t look like he believes it either.

Instead of asking Gage for her number, I pull out her application and quickly type her number in my phone and hit call, silently praying that her phone isn’t turned off. If I was in the spot she’s in right now, the phone would probably be my first bill to go because at that point the only other option is to be homeless.

On the fifth ring, the sense of dread is practically climbing out of my throat, making it hard to think rationally about what I should do instead of running up to that shit hole with guns blazing.