Threat (27 page)

“We just wanted to make sure you weren't
dead.”

Oh really? Because Alicia is scowling at me,
again, now that this schmuck is paying me unwanted attention again.

“I'm, uh, sorry for staring.”

He glances down at his own arm, which is where
I was unfortunately staring. “You like my ink?”

I shrug, taking another sip of my drink—why
does it taste stronger than I remember? “Not much of an ink fan
myself.” Now that's a damn lie. These days, I have a new
appreciation for ink. For whatever reason.

I thought that would be enough to shake this
guy but he's persistent. “Well I was going to tell you about a
really great place to get tattoos done cheap but now I won't.”

Alicia butts in again. “Ooh, tell me!
Just whisper in my ear!” She would like that, wouldn't she?

“It's just a guy I know from school. He
bar tends here and does them on the side. “

“Wow. A bartender and a tattoo artist, he
sounds like a real renaissance man,” Alicia jokes, batting her
lashes as she coyly wraps her lips around her straw.

“Oh, hes damn good, and a sick artist
too. Just look.” He turns and lifts up the back of his shirt,
revealing a freshly inked serpent wrapped around a sword. A tiny
smile forms upon my lips, but quickly fades—that looks like
exactly the kind of thing Threat would love to design. “Go
ahead and touch it,” he says to me.

Uh, no thanks. I keep my hands wrapped around
my drink, shaking m head. “Hands are cold.”

Alicia, on the other hand, treats him like he's
a buffet, running her fingers all over his skin. “I love it—
it's amazing.”

And then, those wandering hands of his are back
around us again. “What do you girls say I take you down there
and we get three matching tattoos tonight. I hear they're having a
special for students.”

How about not.

Alicia moves in closer to to him. “Oh, I
don't think Leah wants a tattoo, but I’d love to get a tattoo
with you.”

Well, she's right about that. But is she really
going to leave me here? I'm starting to feel lightheaded, and it's
not because of Alicia's foolishness.

“It's gotta be the both of you.”

Alicia's lips purse, her cheeks hallowed as she
glares at me. “Fine. I guess Leah can come,” she says.
Did it suddenly get chilly in here, or is it just me?

You know what? I think I'll be okay taking the
subway home alone after all. “Nah, no thanks. You two have
fun.”

“Come on,” he says. “You
don't even have to get one, just come with us.”

“Pass.” I hope off of the bar
stool, only to discover it's suddenly a struggle to regain my
footing. The room is starting to spin and I cant focus my eyes on any
one thing in particular. What the hell is happening to me?

“I don't feel so well,” I say as I
stumble back into someone.

Mr. Dreads catches me and pulls me close
against his body. “Stick with me and you'll be alright.”

His face is a bit of a blur but I bet he has an
obnoxious grin on his face right now. I hike up my knee, smashing it
right in his groin. All I see is him doubling over as I pull away
from him, his pained screams easily drowned out by the music.

Did I really just do that? Because that is so
not the type of thing I would ever do.

I've never been in an earthquake before, but I
figure this is exactly what one looks like as I push my way through
the crowd. All of the jerky movements, people zipping back and forth
in front of me just makes me feel even sicker. I've had too much wine
before, but I've never felt like this.

The minute I find the bathroom I shove inside
and shut the door behind me. Now
I'm
the one who's doubled over, unloading the contents of my stomach into
a dirty toilet under a flickering fluorescent light. What better way
than to spend a Saturday night.

And just when I think I'm done, more comes out.
Remind me not to drink ever again.

“Leah? Leah, where the fuck are you?!”
It's Alicia. Hell, I’m surprised she even bothered to come and
find me. She starts banging on the stall door. “I can see your
feet!”

I'm pretty sure the retching is over. I throw
the bathroom door open to find her standing there with her hands on
her hips.

“You have to be fucking kidding me. You
had one drink.”

I wipe my mouth with toilet paper. “One
drink, one shot, and the 'pre-game' drink you made me before we
left.”

She cocks her head, arms folded across her
chest, weight shifted to one hip. “Why didn't you tell me you
were a fucking light weight I would've left you at home”

I groan—she's really testing my last
nerve. And the last thing I feel like doing right now is putting up
with her shit. “I'm not a lightweight, that asshole drugged me!
And he probably drugged you too, you just haven't felt it yet!”

“Oh God, you weren't roofied, you're just
fucking drunk. Oh, and thanks a lot for scaring him away.”

Something tells me he wasn't particularly
interested in her, but whatever.

“I swear the drink tasted different after
the first sip.”

“Yeah, that's because I switched it with
mine. I had the bartender added more vodka to it. You're welcome.”

I’m not quite sure if my ears are playing
tricks on me. So let me get this straight, I was, technically,
drugged...by my roommate?! What kind of a psychopath does something
like that? “You
what
?!”

“You were being a pain in the ass and you
needed to loosen up,” she says with a shrug of her shoulder,
like it's nothing. I swear I can see red right now. “You can
thank me later, now let's go.”

“Wait, I told you I didn't even want that
second drink, so you went and spiked it.”

“You can't spike a drink that already has
alcohol in it, dumbass.”

Did she, of all people, really just call
me
a dumbass? My fists clench. I'm still not entirely myself yet and if
I don't walk away I just might do something we'll both regret. “You
know, maybe you'd have better luck attracting douche bags if you
weren't such a raging cunt.”

Watching her jaw drop, and her eyes
subsequently narrow is too fucking satisfying. I brush right past
her, ignoring all of the insults and expletives she yells at my back.

The bar is even rowdier the second I step out
of the bathroom and into the narrow hall leading back to it. I walk
smack dab into a group of people crowded around two drunk idiots
brawling. Shit, this isn't what I need. “Excuse me,” I
shout as I attempt to push around them. The sound of breaking glass
mingles with the loud chanting and arguing from the other patrons, as
they push me back towards the exit.

One man is shoved directly into me, sending me
plummeting to the hard wood floor below. “Fuck!” I
holler, white hot pain searing through my knee and hand. The broken
glass covering the floor crunches beneath me and grimace at the
feeling. But even worse, I can't even fucking move. Not with this
crowd of people bumping me and pushing me back down. I start to panic
when it dawns on me—I'm going to get trampled.

“Break it up, break it the fuck up!”
says a voice loud enough to cut through all the commotion.

Thank God the bouncer is coming. Just a few
seconds later someone grips me by the arms and hoists me up off of
the ground.

“Are you alright?” he asks as he
directs me out of the crowd and towards the back exit.

That voice sounds so familiar.
No,
it can't be...

We both spill out into the back alley. I spin
around, my hair a mess in front of my face, ready to rage about the
situation inside. But when I turn I find myself face to face with the
very last person I expect to see here.

It's Threat. And I'm quite sure my heart just
stopped.

I stare at him like a moron for way too long.
He's just as speechless as I am, but he doesn't look surprise to see
me, just...sad?

“Leah,” he whispers.

I stutter, but nothing intelligible comes out.
I'm still waiting for him to turn back into someone else—but
how else would he know my name?

His eyes fall to my hand, and his brows form a
V. “Shit,” he says angrily, taking my hand into his. I
flinch on contact, not because of the searing pain caused by the
large shard lodged in my palm, or the blood dripping from it. The
pain is no match for the spark that surges through me when we touch.
It's been such a long time since I’ve felt anything remotely
like it. And I've never felt it with anyone other than him.

I reach to pull out the shard but he stays my
other hand, our eyes connecting when I look up. “Don't. Not
yet. It could get infected.”

I nod, trusting him for some inexplicable
reason.

“Can you walk?” he asks.

I cringe “Is it that bad?” I glance
down at my knee and see the trickle of blood running down my leg.

“You tell me,” he says with a
shrug. He protectively wraps an arm around my waist and leads me down
the alley.

“Mmm,” I mumble when I take a step.
There's definitely glass in my knee too and I can feel it when I
move.

“I guess that's a no.”

“I can walk, it just...stings.”

“My place is only a minute from here.”

He leads me towards a blue corolla, unlocks it
and helps me in before climbing into the drivers seat.

“Is this your car?” I ask him.

“What, worried I'm stealing it?”

“No, I'm wondering where your bike went.”

He pauses as he starts the engine and peels
away from the curb. “I sold it.”

That's the last thing I expected—he loved
that bike. “What? Why?”

He shakes his head. “Doesn't matter.”

So many questions cloud my mind as we drive
through the dark bay area streets, but Threat's curt words tell me
he's not in much of a mood to answer any of them. The silent car ride
is short but feels like forever. Being near him again is strange,
especially considering how everything between us ended. He keeps his
eyes locked on the road ahead; even at stop signs, he doesn't budge.

Finally he pulls into a tucked away corner of
the city. It looks rather industrial from here, but it's hard to tell
under the sparse and dim street lights. I've never seen this area
before, and it's in the opposite direction from my dorm.

“See? Not too far at all,” he says
to me with just a subtle smirk.

“I never doubted you,” I reply
softly.

He ducks out of the car and moves around to the
side to help me.

“I'm okay, I can walk on my own.”

He sniffs, nodding slowly and keeps in step
with my slow pace.

“It's this one right here,” he
points to the door built into what, from the outside, looks like a
brick warehouse.

I snicker. “Inklings?”

He rolls his eyes. “It's a stupid ass
name, I know. I didn't come up with it,” he explains, unlocking
the door and leading us in.

When he flips the lights on I'm surprised by
the look and size of the shop. It's bigger than Tatter'd Ink, with a
half dozen or more stations and a front desk, yet there's something
oddly mundane about it. It definitely doesn’t have the same
authentic charm that his old shop had—I feel like I'm in a
dentist office instead of a tattoo parlor.

“Come, sit.” He leads me towards
what I presume is his station and I take a seat in his chair. He
moves towards the back of the room to grab something and I scan the
space. His station is a bit of a mess, but the first thing I notice
is the sketch pad and stack of books piled on top—Art History
III, Color Theory 101, Advanced Sketching, The Business of Art.

My brow furrows with confusion—was Threat
the one Dreads spoke about after all? Is that why he was at the bar
tonight?

With my one good hand I reach for the large,
black leather binder stacked beneath his books. It has his name,
David Banducci, embossed right across the front so I know it's his.
The pages are filled with glossy photos of tattoos, tears from
magazines, sketches and ink drawings. Each piece is incredibly
detailed—I've never been a fan of tattoos, but the work is
breathtaking.

He returns with a first aid kit in hand,
pulling up a stool beneath him. “Hand or knee first?” he
asks.

I look up at him in awe, ignoring his question.
“Did you do all of these?”

“Every last one,” he says,
dismissing it like it's nothing. “Something wrong?”

I realize I'm staring, and shake my head
instead. “No. I just...I never knew...” I flip to the
last page, which is the cover of some magazine called Inked. It
features a woman's bare back, her skin covered with the scales of a
snake. The detailing is incredible. In small letters, I see the name
David Banducci printed on it.