Page 15 of Refrain (Beautiful Monsters #2)

CHAPTER TEN

ESPI

Yellow follows us into a diner. She stands guard as I shove Domi into a booth but doesn’t take a seat for herself. Too many heads swivel in our direction, so I shift farther down, opening a space beside me.

There’s no time to warm her up. “Have a seat.”

She does reluctantly, squeezing in beside Domi. As for the brunette beside her… With a sigh, I strip my hoodie, wishing I’d had the foresight to bring one for her.

“Domi, remember that new hairstyle you wanted to try?” I tell her out loud. “The pixie cut? And you wanted to get it bleached too. Red. That’ll look cute. We can do it today before you go on your trip.”

I keep the tone light and casual for the benefit of anyone listening in.

Including staff, there are only about ten people in the place, but Domi’s bloodshot, kohl-caked eyes draw their attention.

The bad kind. An old woman a few tables over keeps sneaking glances at our corner and palming her cell phone.

“My trip?” Domi does her best to play along. She shimmies into the hoodie but isn’t stupid enough to draw the hood with all eyes watching. Good. She tries running her fingers through her ratted hair and gives up halfway. “A haircut. Good. Good. I’d like that.”

“Good. Your grandparents will be happy to see you again.”

The lady across from us returns to sipping her coffee and reading the paper—but one skeptic isn’t fooled.

“Her…grandparents?” Yellow’s gone back to laying on the thick accent. Her gaze darts from me to Domi as if to say, Don’t ask . She doesn’t want to remove all of her masks just yet. “Where do they live?”

“Upstate,” I say. As far north as she can fucking get on a one-way bus. I’ll give her enough money to buy a plane ticket after. Somewhere far from here.

“That close?” Yellow raises an eyebrow. “You think her… friends won’t be able to find her there?”

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter if she’s fast enough.”

Yellow laughs, but amusement never reaches her eyes.

“Fast enough. You think that matters? You think she’s the first girl to run away to her grandparents ?

” The flat of her hand strikes the table.

Hard. “They know the likely routes we take. They tip off the bus drivers for intel. They have plants on the airlines. They know the clues to look for. By the time you realize that they have her, she’ll already be gone. To another club. Another city.”

Her voice is too loud. The little old lady at the next table over is staring again.

“Fine, then.” I fold my hands on the table. “What do you suggest?”

“I…” She trails off, her gaze on Domi.

The girl’s been watching us the entire time, her head bouncing between us like a ping-pong ball in a match of table tennis. Smart little Domi. She’s keeping her mouth shut.

“She should stay here,” Yellow says finally. “They wouldn’t expect it.”

Here, as in the city, right under the bastards’ noses. It’s a good enough plan in theory, but there’s an obvious hole .

“Where?” I ask.

There is one place I could stash her though… Somewhere where she’d be safer than anywhere else. But I’d have to get a certain someone’s permission for that—and that might require a truckload of goddamn alcohol and more of my savings down the drain.

But it’s not like I have any better ideas.

“I know a place,” I grit out finally.

Yellow settles back in her seat. Not the way a normal person might. Just enough so that she no longer looks like she’s about to lunge across the table and punch me in my mouth. I can live with that.

“So, change of plans,” Domi says.

I look at her for the first time in what feels like ages. Her black eye still looks like shit. Her clothes are no better. The cops must have given her the oversized orange flip-flops on her feet, but she’ll need to change soon if we want to shake the Russians from her trail.

Even so, she musters up a smile. “Do I still get my hair cut?”

A corner of my mouth quirks up. “Damn right, you do. Whatever floats your boat. Hell, I might even join you and get one myself.” I unlace my fingers and run them through my hair, knocking the worst of it back from my face. “Ouch.” I hiss at the burning sting that flares in response.

“You’re hurt.” Yellow leans forward and swipes the pad of her thumb against my forehead.

“I must have banged it on something.”

“Like a fist,” Yellow says, her jaw tight.

“It’s fine—”

“Here.” She snatches up a wad of napkins without taking her hand from my face.

Her fingers are warm. Too warm. They shake as if it’s taking all of her energy to extend the limb. She seems determined to wipe the blood away though, so I let her .

It’s been a long time since someone else has tried to wipe away my boo-boos. Maybe not since Dante.

And he was never this gentle.

“I’m sure you have your tetanus shot up to date?”

So Yellow has jokes. She wads the used napkins into her fist, and when the waitress comes to our table, she quietly requests a glass of water, still eyeing my forehead.

I order stuff off the menu at random. Both Yellow and Domi look like they haven’t had a good meal in a while. When the waitress scurries away to the kitchen, promising to bring a pot of coffee, we wait.

The two women take turns eyeing each other while I tally up all the many ways this little stunt will cost me.

I’ll need to refresh my kit sooner than I planned on, thanks to Yellow.

That’s at least a hundred. The drugs are easily another two or three.

Taking care of Domi will cost me only god knows how much.

“Are you a gymnast?” Yellow doesn’t like silence too much. She’s itching to fill it. “Are you?”

I shake my head. “Unless studying at the school of ‘badassery on the jungle gym’ counts as proper training.”

That cracks a smile out of her. I copy the expression, but her mouth falls flat.

“Doctor. Artist. Acrobat.” She tiredly rattles off the list. “You’re quite the one-man show.”

“More like a shitshow.” God, I need a cigarette. My fingers flex against the table, desperate to light one up.

“Here.” Domi reaches down the front of her dress without giving a damn for whoever might be watching.

The moment I see what she has in her hand, I don’t care if she brought the attention of the whole police department.

“I scored these from a cop on my way out,” she tells me as she lets two limp cigarettes fall onto the table. “Told him that he had a cute face. ”

“You beautiful, beautiful girl.” I snatch up one, ignoring the slight dampness, and reach into my pocket for a lighter.

This café’s old school, thank fuck. They even have a complimentary ashtray beside the ketchup bottle. I light up quickly and take a hit.

Yellow’s still watching me, her brow furrowed.

With her beside Domi, the similarities between them add up.

They both sit hunched over and sneak glances at the door as if waiting for the moment a Russian will come barging through.

Strip away the different hair colors, and you’d have the same battered woman.

“How long are we going to stay here?” Domi’s getting anxious, but the moment the question leaves her mouth, the first plate of food arrives. The next second, she’s too busy stuffing eggs and pancakes down to care about leaving.

I let her have the lion’s share. Even Yellow caves and samples a piece of toast. At least one of us can loosen up.

Two hard pulls on my cig don’t ease the ache in the pit of my stomach. Half a cup of coffee doesn’t chase it away, either. I’ll need whiskey tonight. Maybe the rest of the damn bottle. It’s like I’m turning into Arno.

I’m nearly finished with the cig when Domi sets her fork down, having cleared four plates.

Yellow copies her, and I fish a fifty from my pocket to cover the meal.

When we leave the diner, good old reality comes back with a vengeance.

Somehow, I’ve got to get back to Arno’s territory without arousing suspicion or being tailed. That’s hard enough on a good day.

“You think you can keep her safe?” Yellow speaks against my ear. Her breath smells like blood.

I take another hit of the cig to drown out the stench. “Maybe,” I say, eliciting a skeptical sigh from her. “Look.” I turn around, yanking the rest of the cash from my pocket. I slap most of it into her hand without bothering to count the bills. “I’ll take it from here. Here’s your cut.”

“And then what?” She withstands the contact of my palm against hers with the money in between, but she doesn’t try to take it. She eyes me instead before turning to watch Domi over my shoulder. “Let’s say you get her to wherever you plan to. Then what?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“You think it’s really that easy?”

“I’ve gotten this far.”

She frowns and tries to pull her hand away, but I don’t let go until her fingers finally curl, snagging the bills.

“My place. You remember how to get there?”

She nods. “Why?”

“Stick around here for an hour at least. There’s a convenience store on Fifth. Get some hair dye. Some scissors. Whatever else you think our friend needs. Meet me back at the house. Don’t come in through the front—only the back. Got it?”

She’s still holding the money. The wind tears at it, threatening to snatch the whole lot from her hands. “And if I don’t?”

“Get those stitches out in ten days.” I turn back to Domi and grab for her arm.

She’s already swaying on her feet, and I feel something that might be pity—she’s in for a rough trip. I’ll have to take the long way back through the city. We’re only a few steps away when Yellow’s voice reaches me.

“You would really trust me?”

I stop walking. Trust? “This is the part where I threaten you to keep your mouth shut, I guess.”

Arno would.

I sense rather than see her nod.

“Typically,” she says.

My cigarette’s almost out. I’ll need another. “Buy me a pack of smokes while you’re at it. If not…see ya around.”

She should be able to find her way out of the Russians’ reach on her own. If there’s one thing Yellow seems to be an expert at, it’s running.