The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(46)
“Hello, Pixie.” Arnie’s voice washed over her and around her as he walked down the alley toward her. Her stomach tightened.
“What do you want?” she asked as she turned to face him.
“I don’t like the way things ended last night, Pixie. I can call you Pixie, right? That’s what your friends call you.”
Hearing the affectionate name Cujo had given her all those years ago from the man who’d nearly ruined her life sullied one of the few things that were important to her. “No, you can’t,” she said, with more bravery than she actually felt. “I’d rather you didn’t call me anything at all.”
Arnie laughed and rubbed his chin. “Hmm. Well, too bad, Pix,” he said, popping the p and practically hissing the x.
“Leave me alone. These head games of yours are ridiculous.” She looked back toward the rear door. Cujo would come looking for her if she didn’t reappear soon. And who else was on shift? Why couldn’t she think straight? If it was Trent, he’d come park back here. Lia and Eric would use the front door. She didn’t want anybody else to witness this.
“I want money.”
“Money?”
“Of course money. Unless you want to pay me in other ways.” His eyes coursed down her body lasciviously. Down the body he’d said wasn’t good enough to f*ck. The body that he claimed had breasts the size of walnuts. He licked his lips and looked back at her face, and the urge to vomit grew stronger.
“I don’t have any to give you,” she lied. Her children’s clothing business was her dream, and there was no way he was going to take that away from her.
“You really thought it was going to be that easy? That I’d take a fifty dollar bill, like a scrap thrown under the table to a dog, and disappear?” Arnie laughed. “Look around you, Sarah-Jane. You live in a great condo. You work for a TV star. You have a rock star boyfriend. You can do better than a miserable fifty.”
“I’m not paying you money.” There had to be a line. Maybe the time had come to face up to the consequences of what she had done. Surely she could give permission to the addiction center, and her counsellors to reveal what she had shared with them all those years ago as part of her therapy.
Arnie walked toward her. Every step he took closer, she backed away until she was slammed up against the Dumpster.
“I’ll be back next week, Sarah-Jane.” He reached for her hair, those fat fingers pawing it like he used to. “Why don’t we say five hundred this time for good measure?”
“No, Arnie, I won’t—”
He grabbed her hair, pulling her head hard to the side. “You’ll do as I f*cking say, or I’ll show your boyfriend the photos, and he’s not going to want to be anywhere near you once he sees how you used to be.”
“Pix.” Cujo’s voice called out in the shop. Arnie stepped away quickly, leaving Pix shaken. The door opened and Cujo stuck his head outside. “Everything okay, Pix?” he asked stepping up alongside her.
“Yeah,” Arnie answered with a smile. “Asking about your shop. I’m in the market for a new tattoo.”
Cujo slid an arm over her shoulders and tucked her in against him. “Anything I can help with?”
“Was enquiring how much it would set me back. Seems like more money than I can afford right now, but I’m coming into some next week, so maybe I’ll be back.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Cujo led her back into the shop. “You okay, Pix? That guy seemed a bit of an *.”
A bit of an *. Serious understatement of the year.
*
“What do you mean I can’t see her?”
Dred paced the plush blue carpet of the fancy law office situated at the corner of York and Adelaide. His bespectacled lawyer, Jean Szalavitz, came highly recommended as one of the best family lawyers in the city, but right now that wasn’t proving to be true.
“Miss Veitch, as primary caregiver, mother of the child, and still breastfeeding—”
“Allegedly,” he added.
“Agreed. Allegedly. But unfortunately, this all means it is very hard to convince the courts that the baby should be out of her care for prolonged periods of time. She is attending an out-patient drug rehabilitation program, has frequent appointments with both the child’s pediatrician and social worker.”
“But why can’t I go and see her?”
“Because she used the money you gave her to move to a new location, and has instructed her lawyer that all communication is to go through him.”
“So she’s hiding Petal from me?”
“Technically, no, but effectively, yes. She has filed for full custody. Pieces of your past are public record, and the fact you live in a house full of men may not be seen as the best place to raise a little girl. Especially while the baby is so young and dependent on the mother, it would be very hard to convince a judge that the baby would be best placed elsewhere.”
“But my child was born addicted to f*cking opiates. Hardly the calling card of a sane and capable mother.”
“Theodred, there is no doubt in my mind you will get some kind of access. The Canadian legal system tries to respect a father’s rights. And I will start the legal proceedings today to get you that access right away. But for now, we’ll have to communicate through her lawyer. As tempting as it might be to attempt to find her and confront her, I strongly suggest you do not.”