Micah unlocks the door, and we’re blasted with a wave of heat and the smell of booze. On the couch, Mako leaps up and raises his hands over his head—touchdown.
“There she is!”
He gives me a hug and kisses my cheek. Drunk. Kate appears from around the hall. She’s in dark-wash jeans and a black sweater.
Come to think of it, Mako’s in all black, too.
“Val!” Kate shrieks. “Come here right now. Shots time.”
“Wait, what?” I ask as she drags me into the kitchen, hair swishing around her shoulders in old Hollywood waves—the girl really knows how to use a curling wand. “What are we celebrating?”
“You, obviously,” she replies.
In the kitchen, Nianna perches on the countertop, nursing a glass of red wine. Next to her, Jax picks up a shot glass of what I guess is vodka. He puts it in my hand.
“Initiation. Drink. Now.”
“What is this?”
“Drink of the gods.”
“Vodka is not the drink of the gods,” Nianna says, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t listen to her,” is Jax’s reply. “We drink.” The air between us crackles with daring—Jax is a permanent truth or dare. I pick dare.
Lifting the glass to him once, I down the shot. The vodka is ice-cold and horrible, but I finish it in one go. Jax claps and even Nianna looks pleased.
“Another,” he says. “Right now.”
Two drinks later, my stomach churns. I’ve had alcohol a few times before—Lyla’s sister, Zoe, let us tag along to a few parties—but I can already tell this’ll be different. No one’s going to be looking out for me or making sure I drink enough water here.
I wonder if Matthew is drinking tonight. If he is, it’s champagne and fine wine. My chest aches at the thought of him. Where would he get his tattoo?
My own ink makes me the center of attention for the next few minutes. While I hold the loose strands of my hair up, the Stags ooh and ahh.
“Oh, my gosh, it’s perfect!” Kate gushes. “Nianna, are you seeing this?”
“I’m seeing it,” she replies. “Nice job, Micah.”
Mako and Kate move on to flirting with each other in the corner while I lean back into the cool door of the refrigerator. I inhale a deli sandwich I find in the fridge, grateful to have something in my stomach.
Micah—who disappeared for a moment, only to return dressed head to toe in black—takes a place next to Jax. The latter claps a hand on his shoulder.
“So how was our little Valentine?” he asks.
“Really good, given the placement.”
Jax loves this answer. “Perfect. Fucking perfect!” He roars like an animal then pours another drink. Then another.
“Valentine.”
I look up. “That’s me?”
“Hell yeah, that’s you. This shot’s yours.”
“Oh, no,” I say. “I’m good. I only just ate, so…”
He straightens and holds the glass out. “I thought we talked about this. One more. Then we go.”
“Where?”
“Drink first.”
Reluctantly, I do. My throat and stomach are both wildfires as I nod to Jax, who beckons me forward. As he gives me the finger, his hand lands close to my ass, which I try hard not to notice. At the door, Mako dares Kate to open what looks like a very broken umbrella.
“Don’t open that inside,” Jax snaps.
Kate mumbles an apology while Mako howls with laughter and says, “Told you he’d freak.” I hide my smile. Jax, the big tough leader—who would have thought he was superstitious?
The guy in question leads me out the door. Where Nianna—When did she get out here?—waits, a black backpack hanging off each of her shoulders. Smears of neon paint coat the sides and zippers.
“Right,” says Jax. “Standard procedure. Don’t be seen. Don’t get caught.”
“Let’s do it,” says Nianna. She tosses Mako one of the backpacks, and he catches it with ease. Whatever’s inside clinks—metal on metal. Jax and Micah follow Nianna. Mako lets out a whoop and slides his arm through mine.
“You’re with us, Valentine.”
“That’s so cute. Valentine,” Kate muses from around his other arm. Mako kisses the side of her head.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Nowhere,” says Mako. “Nowhere and everywhere and nowhere again.”
“What does that mean?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” he says. “Just follow me.”
The alcohol’s hit me, and I throw my hands up. “Okay, fuck it. Let’s just go.”
The mist settles on our clothes as we go, but I feel warm as ever. We walk for ten minutes, maybe fifteen—I have no idea—skipping at times and twirling at others. The streets are empty, but Mako keeps us out of the headlights of any cars and buses.
Kate stops and points at a wooden fence. It’s part of a church. “Babe, this,” she says. “Right here. Give.”
Mako squats and opens the backpack. Inside are cans of fluorescent spray paint. He picks up two—orange and pink—and gives them to Kate. Next, he unrolls a plastic stencil. With the glow from a nearby streetlight, I can just make out the shape of the Stag emblem. Kate takes the paint and faces the wall.
“Watch and learn,” Mako says. He touches the small of my back, and I flinch. He just laughs.
Kate’s arms fly across the boards of the fence, leaving streaks of color in their wake. She darts from her canvas to the backpack and back, grabbing at the cans and dropping others to the ground. Washes of color sweep over each other. Left to right. Right to left. The color erodes the dark wood into a sea of pastels that quivers with energy and passion.
She wipes her hands on her pants, adorning her thighs with neon jewels. She grabs the stencil and the last can of paint for three final sprays.
Kate backs away from her masterpiece and runs the back of her arm across her brow. Three Stag emblems stare at us, the navy-blue paint stark against the pastels. Smiling, she reaches up and runs her thumb against my cheek.
“For you,” she says. “Lovely.”
I motion for her to hand me one of the cans. “What is this?” I turn the thing over. The words chalk based stand out. “It doesn’t look like real spray paint.”
“It’s not,” Mako replies. “It’s discontinued because of how it runs. But Jax doesn’t like messing shit up for real. Says it makes us lazy. This way, we have to constantly refresh.”
My brain muddles through his words. The tags aren’t permanent, and that’s why I see fewer of them around. I teeter on my feet, the alcohol now swirling freely through my bloodstream.
We fly through the neighborhood, down Holloway and beyond. Mako keeps us clear of Ocean Avenue—“Too many people.” Instead, we steer up the hill and into the mist.
We color fences, telephone poles, MUNI stops. It feels wrong. It feels amazing, like we’re running the city, claiming it with each tag. We’re the Stags, and we are here, and this is our city. They let me do my own work, but I can’t get it right. Each one is just a sloppy imitation of what they create.
If Kate is the sea, Mako is the sky. Auroras explode from his hands. His strokes are jerkier but bold. Artistic. He lets me do the final stencil, and I pick the very edge to cover the least of it as possible. The paint smells, but not badly.
All our phones buzz at once. Kate doesn’t even check it before she stops short and turns around.
“Time to go home,” she says. “Holy shit, I have to pee.”
The rush disappears like the fog. What I really want to do is vomit. I can feel the alcohol in my eyes. I’ve only been drunk—what, like, twice before? I had the sandwich for dinner, but I’ve had a lot of liquids …
“Damn it, Kate,” I shout. “Now I have to pee, too.”
Mako—who relieved himself on a fence two streets over—doubles over in laughter. When he recovers, he slaps Kate’s ass and spins around the empty intersection, whooping.
“This a’way,” Mako says. “Back to Holloway House.”
“I like how you guys say that like it’s a real place,” I say as we stumble-walk down the hill. “Holloway House.”
“Well, there are other houses,” Kate says. “Like where you got your tattoo. There’s another one downtown on Beale Street. But we stay here more often than not. It’s the biggest.” She hustles ahead of Mako and me, cursing under her breath. “Fuck, I gotta pee.”
Neither Kate nor I make it to the house. Breathless with giggles, we each find a dark corner and squat. Mom would flip if she saw me doing this, I think. The guilt of leaving her swings back, and I have to force her from my mind.
Zipping up my jeans, I check my phone. Its weight is still unfamiliar in my hand—it’s a smaller model than my old one. Kate was right—the text message was from Jax. All it says is “H.” Whether that’s Holloway or home, I don’t know, but I don’t question.
We reach the house. Standing to the right of the door is the giant from the BART station: Jaws.
“Oh. Hullo,” I say. “I’m Valerie. It’s nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand. When he shakes it, I nearly laugh—his hand is twice the size of mine. He lets go, and I teeter backward, waiting for his reply.
“Oh, Jaws doesn’t talk much,” Kate says. She pats his cheek and he doesn’t so much as blink. “He keeps all of us extra safe.”
“Oh,” I say as she holds the door open for me. “Well, thanks. Jaws.”
He nods.
Inside, the air is stifling. The TV blasts bass-heavy rap, and the smell of weed winds its way through the halls.
“Valentine?” Jax is spread out on the couch again, a beer held idly in his hand. “Come ’ere.”
I plop down next to him, all twirly and out of breath. Whoa—who am I? I’ve never been this familiar with guys I’ve just met. Oh wow, this vodka is hitting me. What was I thinking? Oh. Yeah. I’ve never been that girl, whose legs guys run their hands up and down like Jax may or may not be doing now.
“Did you have fun?” Jax asks.
“Yeah.” I pull my leg away from him.
“Good. Hang on. Stand up for a second.”
He shifts his position, half-lifting me until I’m perched with my legs on either side of his hips. Jax says something.
“What?” I’m spinning. I’m ten thousand miles up.
“You shouldn’t crunch your neck,” he says. “Not with that tattoo. Micah will kill me.”
“Where is he?”
“He went to bed. Tattooing tires him out.” He slides a thumb under my shirt. I pull back again and this time Jax curls his fingers so he’s holding on to the end of the fabric. Keeping me there. My skin is hot, and so is his.
“We’ll get them,” he says quietly.
“Who?”
“The Boars.” Jax shifts again, still holding me as I try very hard to focus on his words and not the heat currently between my thighs. “I know you’re mad that I won’t tell you. But I promise, we’ll get the guy that shot your brother.”
Around us, the room’s quiet—and whether that’s because everyone else has gone to bed or the music has stopped or I’m going deaf, I don’t know. All I see and feel and hear is Jax.
“Sorry,” he says, noticing my look. “I just wanted you to know that I know it wasn’t right. There was no honor there, and for that we’ll get them back.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. That’s all we’re here for, V. Live fast, fight for what we want, then die and be remembered for all we did.”
“I’ll start by fighting,” I reply, the words an oath to myself and to him.
Here I am, in a strange house in a part of town I’m not familiar with, no family or friends around, and yet for the first time in two years, I’m actually feeling hope.
This is not how you planned it, Valerie, I think. But you’re where you wanted to be. In the Wars. Closer to finding the Boar.
Closer to being free.