Killer (Savages 2)

Though I was more than halfway there so turning back was an equally unpalatable option. If things went bad with him, well then I would just point the car in another direction and land up wherever I landed up.

That plan made me feel marginally better as I finally crossed the border into Jersey. Navasink Bank was a seemingly never ending town where mansions butted up against a slum which butted up against an industrial-looking area which gave way to a suburb. Deciding Johnnie didn't seem like a McMansion kind of person or a white-picket fence kinda guy, I parked on the main drag in the industrial part of town, getting out and stretching the muscles that screamed in objection to the movement after being cramped up for so long. I turned in a small circle, taking in my options for starting my search. There was a locksmith, a coffee shop, a closed bar. No one was on the street. I grabbed a coffee, asking the barista if she knew anyone by the name of Shooter and she shook her head. Same luck at the locksmith. The bar was obviously closed. I walked further down the street, losing more and more faith in my plan as I went.

How stupid was I to think I could show up in a town as populated as this one obviously was and just... ask if anyone had seen a guy named Shooter? I knew better than that. I didn't grow up in small towns. I grew up where no one knew anyone. Hearing voices, my body tightened and my head jerked to the side, seeing that I was walking past some kind of gated building that had at one time been a mechanic shop. Several men in jeans and leather cuts were standing out front, talking. Bikers. Great. If there was one group a woman alone didn't want to cross paths with, it was bikers.

"You lost, cupcake?" one of them called and, despite my better judgment, I turned to look. He was younger than the others but tall with dark hair and light eyes and a nasty looking scar that ran down the side of his face, cutting off at the sharp jut of his jaw.

He moved a foot away from the others, head cocked to the side as he waited for me to answer. I clutched my phone in my hand and swallowed hard as I turned, lifting my chin to not look so freaked out at the prospect of talking to some random hot-guy biker. "I'm looking for someone," I said with a shrug.

"Who you looking for, honey?" one of the others, a tall guy covered in tattoos, his blond hair long on one side and buzzed up the other, asked as he moved to stand next to the younger guy.

"Oh um..." I heard the shakiness in my voice and the blond gave me a soft smile.

"Relax, we won't bite."

"Right," I said, swallowing hard. "I was wondering if any of you knew someone by the name of Shooter. Or even Breaker. Or Paine..." I trailed off as the two shared a look. "Weird names, I know," I went on, nervousness making me chatty. "I think Paine is a tattoo artist. If you could just point me to a tattoo shop or..."

"I'll do you better than that," the blond said, moving forward. "I will walk you to Paine. He's right down the street."

"Oh. That's not necessary. I'm sure I can find it myself."

"Sure you can, sweetie," he said, moving to stand next to me and there was nothing in his green eyes that suggested he meant me any harm. "But I am going to walk you anyway." With that, he turned and started walking, leaving me to follow behind. After a brief hesitation, I did. "My name is Cash," he supplied, hands tucked innocently in his front pockets, giving him an almost boyish aura.

"Amelia," I supplied.

"How do you know Paine, Break and Shoot?"

"I don't. I mean... I know Shooter. I, ah, met him recently."

At that, Cash stopped dead and turned fully to look at me. He did a slow inspection, a smile spreading across his handsome face. "Of course you did," he said, oddly, then started walking again. "I'll take you to Paine. He will bring you to Shoot."

"Thanks," I mumbled and we fell into a companionable silence until we walked up to a glass front building and he pulled the door open, gesturing me to walk through first.

The inside was what you would expect from a tattoo shop: flash art in black frames on the white walls, large mirrors to view finished work, tattoo tables and chairs, and drawers where, I imagined, all the ink and antiseptic and razors were stored. It was rather sparse, but perfectly clean and I had an image of Johnnie flash into my mind, lying on one of those tables, getting some of his colorful work done. I licked my lips unconsciously as a voice called toward us from the back room.

"Better not be another god damn tramp stamp," he said, but the words sounded more amused than anything. Then he walked into the doorway from the back and, well, I started to wonder if all hot guys decided to set up shop in Navasink Bank. Because, well, Johnnie was hot; his friend Breaker was not hard to look at either; both the biker guys were good looking; and then there was Paine. His already in-place smile spread across his handsome face, making me take a deep breath in genuine female appreciation. "Aw babygirl, tell me you want to get stabbed somewhere naughty," he said, his voice a low, deep sound that I was sure could melt panties of any woman in a two mile radius.

Beside me, Cash laughed, unexpectedly wrapping an arm around my shoulders like we were old friends and not complete and utter strangers. "Amelia here is a friend of Shoot's. She was looking for him."

Paine made a tisk-tisk sound. "He break your heart, babygirl? 'Cause lemme tell ya, I'm real good at fixin' things."