The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(63)

“And . . . cut,” shouted a young man with a clapperboard.

Trent stood and pulled Harper against him, burying his face in her dark brown hair. Harper rubbed his back gently, whispering sweet words with a smile. Pixie coughed and looked away. It was a deeply intimate moment. She turned in Dred’s arms and he pulled her closer.

“Yo, *. Can we get on with this shit?” Cujo slapped Trent on the back of the head, making everybody laugh. His status of guest judge had him on his A-game. Drea rolled her eyes at his behavior, but everyone knew that as best friends, only Cujo could get Trent to wrap up his emotions.

Pixie lifted her face to Dred. There was something different between them today. A good thing. Likely caused by their conversation the previous evening, but there was an undeniable frisson.

“Want to go to the New Music Press Awards with me in two weeks?” Dred asked.

“The . . . what. The NMPs?”

“Yeah. It can be a date. I’ll meet you in L.A. from wherever I am. It’s kinda boring, but I think it would be fun with you.”

“You want me. To go to the awards. With you?”

He’d said it like he was asking her to meet him at Denny’s for breakfast.

“Yes, Snowflake. Come with me, in all the possible connotations of the word, to the New Music Press Awards.”

Pixie nodded. She was going to the freaking NMPs. “Yes.”

He kissed her slowly.

“Oh my God, Drea!” Cujo yelled. “Everybody is kissing. I think I just barfed in my mouth. Pass me some water.”

Dred couldn’t contain the laugh. “You’re an *,” he shouted to Cujo.

Cujo tutted. “You got your hands on my goddamn sister’s ass, and I’m the *.”

“That’s a wrap for today, let’s clear out,” clapperboard-guy shouted over the ribbing.

Pixie noticed the garbage can was overflowing and needed emptying. “I got some work to do,” she said, slipping out of Dred’s arms. She laughed when he pouted at her. “Go take all that crap off your face.”

She tied up the garbage bag and took it out back, flinging it into the giant Dumpster.

“Have you got my money?”

Her stepfather slinked out from a small gap between the tattoo studio and the place next door. Pixie’s heart raced as she looked back toward the rear exit of the studio. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered to him. “I told you, I’m not giving you money.” It was a risk, calling his bluff, testing him to see exactly how far he’d really go. But her suspicion was that he didn’t want to end up in trouble anymore than she did.

He stepped closer. “And I told you, you can’t keep me from going anywhere. If you don’t have the money, I’ll step inside and tell them what you did.”

Pixie’s head spun as she wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. “Please . . . don’t . . . I have no way . . .”

“Yes, you do. Ask him for the money.”

It wasn’t about the money. She could afford to pay him, but if she did, she’d be paying him for the rest of her life, so she played along. “And tell him what? How do I even begin to explain what you did to me, *?”

“What I did to you? There was nothing I did that you didn’t want, you ungrateful bitch. The drugs, all of it. I saw you get off on it, remember. Why I should—”

Pixie gasped at the sickening sound of Dred’s fist hitting Arnie’s jaw. Where Dred had suddenly appeared from she had no clue, but she watched in horror as Arnie stumbled backward and fell to the ground. It took her a moment to process what happened, and by the time she had, Dred was already standing over Arnie, lifting him up by the collar, ready to hit him again.

“Dred, no. Don’t!” she shouted.

Dred turned and looked toward her, a blazing look of fury aimed straight at her. Oh my God. How much had he overheard?

With a hard shove, Dred let go of Arnie and dropped him to the ground.

“Fuck you, *,” Arnie shouted. “If you won’t give me my money, Sarah-Jane, I’ll sue his f*cking ass.” Arnie stood, a little wobbly on his feet. He didn’t attempt to retaliate, clearly knowing when he was physically beaten.

“Go ahead and sue, motherf*cker. I can afford to out-lawyer the shit out of you. Leave. Pixie. Alone.’

“She was mine long before she was yours,” Arnie yelled.

Pixie felt sick as she witnessed Trent and Cujo rush outside. Arnie was going to tell them, and she was going to be ruined. Trent and Cujo would no longer look at her as they did right now, with concern for her and absolute fury at Arnie. She reached out her hand to Dred, who took a step further away. The rejection cut through her. Witnessing it, Cujo stepped in and pulled her close under his shoulder.

“Yeah, well, she’s ours now,” Trent said calmly, coming to stand by her other side, although she could see from his fighter’s stance and clenched fists that he was anything but.

“Yours?” Arnie spat. “Used f*cking goods is what she is. You want a f*cking washed-up druggie for a pet, take her . . . for a price.”

Dred looked from Arnie to her, and she couldn’t bear to see the look on his face at the mention of drugs.

“Arnie, please.” Begging was the last thing she wanted to do, but she was all out of options. She would never ask the men in her life for the kind of money Arnie wanted to go away and leave them alone. And involving the police would likely see her charged with Brewster’s murder, but she would rather do that than allow these wonderful men to pay for Arnie’s silence.