Pixie hated having large sums of money on her ever since she’d been mugged upon arrival in Miami, but if she’d waited until after they’d shopped, Lia would come in with her, and there was every chance that she’d hear how much money she was withdrawing. Which would lead to questions. And that was bad. Bad that she still hadn’t figured out a way to resolve things.
Of course she had options, the problem was they all sucked. Call Arnie’s bluff and say no, which could lead to him going to the police. Find a lawyer, go to the police herself, and confess. Tell Cujo and Trent, and ask them to help her, talk to him even. Continue to give him money. A headache developed in her temples. Perhaps she’d start with telling Trent and Cujo that her stepdad was coming around again.
She entered the bank and joined the line of a teller she didn’t know very well—less questions that way. As she took her place at the front of the line, Cedro, her favorite teller arrived and switched places with the cashier.
“Hello, Miss. Pixie. You are looking delicious today. How may I be of assistance?” He fiddled with the brooch attached to his work shirt, revealing bright yellow nail polish.
“I need to withdraw . . .” She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t withdraw the money from Cedro. She’d come back. “I need fifty dollars, please.”
“You could have got that from the machine,” he said with a bright smile, taking her card.
Pixie thought quickly. “I know, but then I wouldn’t have seen your cheery face. When is that delicious boyfriend of yours coming back into the studio for some more ink?”
Cedro laughed. “I think he has enough already.”
They walked through the transaction and Cedro withdrew the cash from his tray. “How is the business planning coming along?” he asked.
The question hurt worse than a spear through her heart. “Starting to pull things together,” she answered vaguely.
Cedro counted the cash onto the counter. “I’m so excited for you, Pixie. Good luck.”
Pixie tucked the cash in her purse, and left the bank. Once outside she unzipped her coat and sat down on the bench on the sidewalk. She no longer felt like going shopping. She felt like crying. What was the end game of all this? Arnie wasn’t going to stop until he had everything he wanted, and hellishly, that seemed to include her. She’d rather go to prison than allow that to happen. She’d given him five hundred and fifty, and he came back for a thousand. If she gave him the thousand, he’d come back for more.
Even if she told Trent and Cujo, there was nothing they could do to resolve the situation. It would crush them to know they harbored someone capable of killing a person, even if it was self-defense, and it would kill her to see that look on their face. She knew they’d stand by her, but their relationship would be changed forever, and she couldn’t forgive herself if the news became public and ruined the reputation of Second Circle. They’d ploughed everything they had into growing the business. Would Trent lose his host job on Inked as part of the fallout?
Perhaps she should resign . . . put some distance between herself and the studio. Her stomach turned and she was grateful she’d not eaten breakfast.
And then there was Dred, the first man she’d ever had deep feelings for. What would he think of her when all was revealed?
*
With the help of a great checking agent at Gale?o International Airport who also happened to be a hard-core metal fan pissed to be missing Rio’s biggest open-air concert of the year, Dred had secured himself a business-class seat on the last flight out of Brazil.
He’d walked off the stage, straight into a waiting limo, and rushed through the crazy nighttime traffic. The rest of the guys had been totally supportive of his detour on the way home. Thankfully, with the agent’s help, he’d managed to grab a quick shower in a VIP lounge and was able to change out of his concert gear into something way more comfortable for a thirteen-hour trip that included a quick stopover in Atlanta.
Dred stepped off the plane in Miami and looked at his watch. Ten a.m. He made his way to the exit and grabbed a taxi, telling the driver to go straight to Second Circle.
It was a week since he’d seen Pixie, and he was beginning to realize that a long-distance relationship was going to take a bit more planning than he’d done so far. They needed rules, like the maximum time they’d spend apart or that he’d always be responsible for buying tickets. He’d gone from having no family of his own, to having Petal and Pixie in less than a month, and he was determined to not let them down.
“You can pull up here,” he instructed the driver, indicating a spot a few feet away from the studio, hoping to prolong the surprise until the last possible second. Trent was in the window of the store, head down, focused on a tattoo. Cujo was standing near the desk. When he moved to the left, Dred could see he was talking to Pixie who was laughing at something. God, she had the best smile.