Savior (Savages 3)

"Elsie," I told him then went back to scrolling, finding the only name in my contacts who would come get me at this hour in the part of town I was in.

"Alright, Elsie. You have any idea how dangerous those men out there were?"

"Really? Because I was sure they were just chasing me to tell me they hoped I made it home safely."

"Okay, smartass," he said, smiling a little as I lifted my phone to my ear, "you got secrets. I get it. But I'm trying to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into by messing with Third Street guys..."

"Elsie, it's late. Everything okay?" Roman's voice asked, sounding like he had been sleeping.

I ignored the stab of guilt I felt at waking him up. "Roman, can you give me a ride?"

"A ride?" Roman asked and I could hear him shuffling. "Sure, Else. Give me an address. I'll be there in ten tops."

I muttered off the address I could see printed on the business cards on the desk. "Thanks Rome. I really appreciate it. Sorry for dragging you out of bed so late."

"Your boyfriend's name is Roman?" Paine asked, lips twitching.

"I don't think someone by the name of Paine can judge," I said, putting my phone away. "And he's not my boyfriend." Shoot. Maybe that wasn't something I should have said. I was pretty sure it was smart for scary dudes to believe you had the protection of some man, even if said man wasn't exactly a scary dude.

My response was knee-jerk. Roman and I had been friends since infancy. I mean that literally. Our mothers were best friends. There wasn't one memory of my childhood that didn't have Roman in it. When my mom died and my father had no interest in keeping friendship with Roman's family, we still managed to spend most of our time together. It was a friendship that somehow managed to stand strong despite his four years of university on the West coast while I stayed in Jersey for college.

Everywhere we went from puberty on, everyone assumed we were a couple. It was an assumption I was so used to correcting that I hardly even noticed I did it anymore.

"Sure he knows that?" Paine asked, sitting down on one of the two rolling stools in the shop.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"He's coming to get you in the middle of the night without asking you why you're in this part of town..."

"So? He's a friend. Friends do that for each other." Why was I discussing Roman with the random tattoo shop guy? Well, I guess it was better than talking about what I was doing getting the attentions of a dangerous gang.

"Poor guy aware he's got no shot with you?"

"I don't see how that is any of your business."

Paine didn't seem riled, if anything, he just smiled a little wider, showing off some pretty perfect white teeth. "You want some coffee?" he asked, standing before I even gave him an answer and moving through the back of the shop where there was an open door.

"Ah, sure. Thank you," I said, leaning around the corner to see where he disappeared to.

"You can come through. I'm not gonna hurt you." Yeah, well, he'd have to forgive me for not being entirely trusting of that fact given that those guys that were chasing me seemed to be, at least a little bit, afraid of him. I didn't know a lot about bad guys, but I was pretty sure that if the bad guys were scared of someone, that made him an even bigger bad guy. Even if he did have really nice teeth and pretty eyes. "Your non-boyfriend is on his way right now. Even if my intention was to hurt you, think I'd do it knowing that?"

Well, he had a point.

I glanced at the desk, grabbed the pair of scissors sticking out of a pen holder and tucked them into my pocket, making sure my shirt was down to cover them. You know... just in case. Not that I believed I was actually capable of stabbing someone, but who knew what they were capable when push came to shove. Then I walked down the short hall into the open door to... an apartment.

Well, I wasn't expecting that. I thought storefronts with apartments usually had the apartments upstairs. But Paine had one behind it. I understood why his tattoo shop was on the small side, because his apartment was rather large. It was a loft, a completely open floor plan with dark blue walls and floors that had been finished in the darkest shade possible, just shy of black. The large California King bed was to the left with a plush white comforter; a living space was toward the center in the back of the room with a big sectional that looked like I could sink into and never come out and was in front of a massive television. The kitchen was u-shaped and looked pretty state-of-the-art with white subway tiles, white cabinets and white marble counter tops. I found myself wondering if he cooked. I also wondered why he lived behind his shop when he obviously had the money to afford a better place in a better part of town.