Page 18 of Inked & Bloodbound
Then I open my location and send it to Kate with a message:
Lily:With a guy. Come find me if I go missing.
Her response is almost instant:
Kate:Are you on a date???? Be careful!!! So many psychos out there!
I discreetly glance over at Cassini, taking in his profile as he concentrates on the road. When he shifts gears, the muscles in his forearms flex under his black shirt.
Lily:Kinda. It’s complicated.
I slip my phone into my purse and settle back into the leather seat. “Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?”
He reclines and stretches with one hand on the wheel, and another running over his stubbled jaw. “We’re going to see an old friend of mine called Paloma. She’s a kind of alternative medicine practitioner. Known her for a few years. She’s good at dealing with unusual cases like yours.”
He glances towards me, so fast I barely catch. It’s about the millionth time I’ve caught him doing it
“Is what I’m wearing okay? You keep looking over, and it’s makingme nervous. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wear something…special. Did I misunderstand?”
Something in his jaw twitches. It could be anger, but I’m not sure.
“You look great,” he says tightly, before adding under his breath, “really great.”
After that, we drive the rest of the way in silence. His eyes never leave the road, and I spend the journey staring out of the window and watching the streets blur past.
About twenty minutes later, we pull into a strip mall that’s seen better days. Between a taqueria and a check-cashing place sits a small laundromat with flickering neon signs advertising “Wash & Fold” and “Se Habla Español.”
I frown at the building, then back at Cassini. “You’re taking me to do laundry? I know I was giving you shit about the dirty clothes, but I think this is a little extreme.”
He smiles—the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him. “Trust me.”
Inside, we’re met with the comforting smell of fabric softener and the rhythmic tumbling of clothes in dryers. It’s soothing, like the sound and smell of easy domesticity, and I get an overwhelming urge to curl up on top of a pile of clean clothes and take a nap like an old cat.
A Latina woman in her fifties is folding towels at a central table, her graying hair pulled back in a neat bun. When she sees Cassini, she clucks her tongue.
“Dios mío. You again?” the woman says without looking up from her folding. “She’s out back. Go on. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
Cassini flashes her a smile and makes his way over to a vending machine that seems like it hasn’t worked since the 90s. He punches in a number, but nothing happens—no candy falls. He runs his hand along the side and finds a concealed handle and pulls. There’s a satisfying click followed by a creak as the entire machine swings inward like a door.
“What the hell is this place?” I whisper.
“Come on,” he says, gesturing for me to follow. “You’ll see.”
Despite every red flag on the planet, I follow him through the concealed entrance as the distant sound of a buzzing intercom fades behind us.
I hold my breath as we squeeze through the passageway, and it takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A fluorescent light buzzes and flickers above us, and there’s a steady dripping sound echoing through the hall. Gradually it opens up into something more accommodating. There’s no natural light, but an abundance of lush plants envelopes us—hanging from the ceiling, sitting on side tables, climbing up the walls in elaborate macramé holders.
When we reach the end, we’re met with a row of three folding theater chairs outside a mahogany door.
“What’s in there?” I ask nervously gesturing towards it.
Cassini’s smile is enigmatic. “Answers, Take a seat and wait. She’ll be out soon.”
Despite my better judgment, I perch on one, and it wobbles so much I have to stay perfectly still to get it to stop.
“What do we do now?” I ask, trying to stay calm, but my pulse is already spiking.
This place is shady as hell. No legitimate person works out of a laundromat dungeon. For one, it’s definitely not sanitary.