Page 71 of Sins and Secrets

Duncan pushes his hair back and snaps, “Shut up. Her music makes me feel things.”

Giovanni nods. “Damn, those songs about Kiki feels like my soul has been ripped out of my chest and put into a blender.” He takes another bite of his rice and some falls on his tie. “And her latest album is a fucking masterpiece.”

We eat in silence until Carlos decides to go through my swag bag. “I like to see what people give away. Maybe there a toy in there for my granddaughter.”

He tosses a bunch of promo postcards on my bed and I start going through them. One shop’s name is too big and the print quality sucks. Most of them are pretty awful—the font is too small, or the main image is too complex. One shop in Boston has really fucking stupid hours… My heart stops. I know this art style. I spent hours trying to cover it up.

“Holy shit! I know who gave Waverly her shitty tattoo!”

Andrey has an egg roll halfway to his mouth, “Waverly has a tattoo?”

Ten minutes later we’re in a dive bar a few blocks away from the convention where that artist and his fans are hanging out. Jerry, or The Sloth, is sitting with his back to the bar. He’s a mid-level artist at best; his line work is too thick and his shading lacks depth.

I slap him on his shoulder. “Hey, you got a minute?”

He takes one look at me and turns away. “Go to hell, man,” he says, and lifts his glass to his lips.

Mr. Mcleod grabs the glass and pours it on The Sloth’s lap. The Sloth jumps up and yells, “Fuck…” but stops the second he sees Mr. Mcleod.

Everything about these four men changes. Goofy and harmless minutes ago, now their faces are hardened, knuckles white, and the lines around their eyes yell to the room, “We’ve seen and done some shit.”

The head of the Russian mob grabs The Sloth by the neck and drags him out the side door. Nobody in the bar stops to help The Sloth. Whatever is about to happen, no one wants any part of it.

In the back alley, The Sloth is pinned to the brick wall. I scroll through my phone until I find Waverly’s abomination, smash it against the tip of his nose, and say, “This is your work.” No question, just a statement.

He squints his eyes and then backs up. “Shit. Yeah, I remember that one. Two guys brought this girl in. She was fucking wasted, could barely talk.”

She wasn’t wasted. She was drugged.

“Why did you give her the tattoo if she couldn’t consent or sign the paperwork?”

This is gross and negligible.

“The squirrely piece of shit she was with said she was fine.”

Adam forced her to get that tattoo.

“It was the other guy who freaked me out,” he continues. “Had that creepy-ass I’ve got bodies in my basement vibe. He insisted on branding her.”

My fist makes impact faster than I can think. Branding her?! I’m about to throw another one, when a heavy hand slams down on my shoulder, stopping me.

“That’s enough,” Mr. Mcleod says with an eerie, quiet calmness.

Giovanni says, “Anything else you can recall?”

“He had a birthmark on his hand. I remember because I figured with a dick birthmark, middle school must’ve been his villain origin story.” The Sloth spits out some blood and coughs. “Yeah, he wanted a hidden message inside the picture. Letters V and D and a bug.”

What a fucking jackass. “It was an ant, not a bug.”

Mr. Mcleod squeezes my shoulder. “You’re done here. Walk away and don’t look back.”

I’m sick leaving the alley, more sick when I hear The Sloth’s cries. I’m not a part of this criminal world, but I’ve lived adjacent to it long enough to know when it’s time to leave. The shame Waverly felt over that tattoo, now it’s done. It’s all be rectified.

ChapterTwenty-Nine

Waverly

Two days later,I’m back in the inn restaurant with Izzy, Sheila, Nonna—the last remaining Grandma—and Alana, who only came to eat lunch. I backtrack and tell them about the horrible bridal brunch.

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