Savior (Savages 3)

"Don't forget who the fuck you're talking to D. Now it's late and I'd rather be in front of my TV with a beer than out here talking to you dipshits. But I am always up for handing out an ass kicking to dumb ass mother fuckers who forget who used to own them."

Own them?

How the heck did someone own someone else?

And, also, what had I gotten myself into?

"Hey hey," Trick started, waving his hands. "He's got a big mouth. Always has. You know how he is. You're gonna kill him. Put him down. We'll get back to Third Street and out of your hair."

My savior let D's throat go, but he did it all rough, somehow turning him and tossing him into the street by it.

"Don't want to see your faces around my shop again. Got it?"

"Got it. Got it," Trick, obviously the one with more brains, said, moving backward until I couldn't see them anymore.

The shop owner slash badass stood in the doorway for another couple of minutes, I assumed, watching the guys disappear, before he moved back into the store, locking the door, flicking the lights, then turning to me.

Yeah. Okay.

He was good looking. Seriously good looking. He legitimately could have been a model. He had that perfect mixed-race skin tone, light-skinned black with a chiseled face, buzzed short black hair, and the most hypnotic hazel eyes I had ever seen in my life. Those eyes were looking around the shop.

"Babygirl, come out. You don't have to hide. You coulda been standing right behind me and they wouldn't have touched you."

Yeah, well, I seriously doubted that. What an ego. But I slowly unfolded my body and stood up, staying close to the wall, away from him.

"I'm Paine," he said, head tilted slightly as he looked at me. He did the typical male inspection, but he had the decency to make it short and sweet and focused all of his attention on my face after.

"Paine?" I asked, feeling a smile pull at my lips despite the night I was having. I looked around the shop real quickly before looking at him again. "A tattoo artist... named Paine?" The smile was no longer tugging, but full.

"Yeah yeah yeah," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Heard that before, huh?"

"Only every day for years."

"Oh, gee, sorry I couldn't be more original. I was just running for my life for the past fifteen minutes."

"Yeah, about that... what the fuck did you get yourself into? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, babygirl, don't know if I have it in me to have another damsel in distress situation 'round here. Things have finally calmed down."

"I'm not a damsel in distress," I objected immediately. "I would have lost them eventually. You just happened to stop me before I could."

"Sure," he agreed in that voice that implied he didn't believe a word I said. "Why are guys from the Third Street gang chasing money like you?"

"Money like me?" I repeated, not understanding the turn of phrase.

"Babe, eighty dollar jeans, one-twenty on your feet and you're bleeding all over them, hair like that must have cost a mint. And if I'm not mistaken, those are diamonds on your ears. Real ones. Money like you."

"My hair is real," I bristled.

"Not that color."

"What are you a hairdresser on the side too? Tattooing doesn't bring in enough money?"

"Cute, but you're not throwing me. What is a girl like you doing in the ghetto?"

Ghetto. Maybe slum was the worse way to put it. "I don't see how that is any of your business."

"You looking for smack?"

"Smack?" I asked, my nose scrunching up. I knew that was a slang for a drug. I wasn't stupid. But I also had no idea what that drug was. There were too many names for all of that stuff: smack, angel dust, ice, crank, speed, rock, chalk. It was amazing that a person who did said drugs could keep all those names straight.

"Heroin. Guessing if you don't even know what it's called that you ain't shooting that stuff into your veins or sniffing it into that pretty nose of yours."

"I don't do drugs."

"Babe, it's late. Work with me here."

"Actually, if you don't mind... I am just going to make a quick phone call," I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my cell, "then I will be out of your hair as soon as a ride comes for me."

"Limo?" he asked with a smirk. "Town car?"

Okay. So maybe I did have a town car at my disposal if I wanted it. But that wasn't who I was calling. And the mocking way he said it made me feel almost guilty.

"Name."

"Excuse me?" I asked, pausing in scrolling through my contacts.

"Your name, babygirl. What is it?"

Oh.

Well. I guess it was fair enough to give him my name. My first name. No way was he getting any more than that. It wouldn't be hard to find me if he had my full name. And I didn't want to be found. I didn't want anyone to know what I was up to.