Killer (Savages 2)

"What's her name? Is she pretty? I mean I know she's pretty," Lo went on, a hopeless romantic despite all the hardass vibes she gave off. "But what does she look like? Is she a redhead? I kinda picture you with a redhead."

"Brunette," I said without thinking. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I looked up at the ceiling and chuckled at myself.

"I knew it!" she gushed. "Nothing else puts that fucking look on a man's face."

"What look?" I asked.

"It's hard to describe. It's a sort of wistfulness mixed with confusion and anger."

"Anger? Don't sound like me."

"Not usually, no," she agreed. "But it's there. So what happened?"

"She thought I was fucking Alex. Wouldn't let me explain. Besides, I was leaving."

"Chickenshit," Cash said into his glass.

"What?"

"You're a chickenshit," he clarified more loudly.

"Hey not all of us get as lucky as you."

"Oh yeah lucky. Like our story didn't involve beatings, torture, and a contract kill that you, my friend, carried out," he said with a grin.

They really did have a mess of a time getting together. That being said, their story paled in comparison to the shit that his brother, Reign, and his girl, Summer, got themselves into. "How's your brother?" I asked, happy for any other direction to steer the conversation into.

"Miserable," Cash said with a laugh. "If he thought Summer was a handful before, he had no idea what a post-baby, sleepless Summer was capable of."

"Hope he locked up all the guns," I smiled, throwing back my round. Summer had a history of loving the guns her husband ran. She once shot up the side of their compound with an AK. Fucking priceless. "And banned her from the compound."

"You know Summer. She finds her ways around. Especially when she has help," Cash said, jerking his head at Lo.

"Hey, we are all surrounded by men. We girls gotta stick together."

Cash wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hauling her up into his side and kissing the side of her head. "So you looking for a palate cleanser?" Cash asked, gesturing out to the bar where several women were hanging around, taking in their options.

"Been through reunions, a wake, a funeral, and two plane rides... I'm fuckin' wiped," I made excuses that Cash was nowhere near buying. We used to tomcat around way too much back in the day for him to not see right through that lie. "Besides, I need to go buy some cat food."

Lo's head jerked up. "Cat food?"

"Yeah. I got a cat now."

Lo's face scrunched up a little at that. "Dogs are at least useful pets."

Cash just smiled. "Oh you know Shooter, gotta be surrounded by pussies."

I snorted, looking at Lo. "Seriously, what are you doing with this chump?" I asked and she laughed.

It was good to be home. Mostly. These were my people. We shared years of jokes and nights out and adventures. We knew one another's quirks. We knew which buttons we could press and which ones to stay away from. This was where I belonged.

But even as I stayed for a few more rounds, my mind drifted back until I finally threw some money on the bar, said my goodbyes and headed out. It would do me no good to stay, drowning whatever I was feeling in booze. I knew better than that. That was how you turned into someone like my Pops. And I was damn sure not going to inherit that family tradition. So I went around the corner and I got all the cat stuff I would need, and went back to my apartment to get some fucking sleep, hoping that it would settle all the unfinished, uncomfortable feelings inside.

The next day, I got up and went to see Paine, let him stab a needle into a bare few inches of skin on my leg for a while, a tattoo session always being like a therapy session to me.

"Alright fuck man," he said, wiping the blood and ink away with some water and a towel. "Wanna talk about it?"

"'Bout what?" I asked, half turning in my seat to look at my calf where a giant red X was tattooed, the symbol on the Alabama state flag.

"Shoot, you've been here for an hour and a half and haven't had one smart-assed thing to say," Paine said, turning away from me to clean up his supplies.

Paine was tall and built like a brick shithouse. He was mixed, light-skinned black with light eyes and covered in black ink up to his jaw. So far he and Repo were the only guys in my circle who were still single, still out there chasing skirts with me. Paine was popular with the women. Part of that was because he was a good lookin' dude, part of it was because he was charming as all fuck with them, and lastly, he had way too much damn respect for them to yank their chains. He never said he was gonna call if he wasn't. And, well, he usually wasn't. But he still managed to get as much tail as he wanted.

"Just dealing with some shit," I shrugged. It was true enough.

"Looks like you're here avoiding dealing with some shit," he countered, turning back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, Master Obi-Wan teach me to see the errors of my way and point me in the direction of a true Jedi."

Paine snorted. "That's better. Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Wanna drink about it?"

"Fuck no."

"Fight about it?" he went on and I felt my lips quirk up. "Only one option left to ease a man's mood and, love ya, Shoot, but I ain't offering to fuck ya."

I chuckled at that, standing up and snatching a tube of the cream for my tattoo. "I'm fine, man. Just adjusting to the change of pace being back here. Give me another day or two and we will go out and give the ladies some attention. Sure they're missing us."

Even I could hear the half-heartedness of my tone.

Then, nothing the fuck to do with my day, I went back to my apartment and hung out with my cat. Like some old spinster.