— Chapter 44 —

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I read over Noah's note for the fourth time as I was walking down the streets of Boston the next morning.

Keep the jacket on your shoulders.

Don't open the envelope.

~ N.

The rest of the note was an address scribbled in cursive handwriting.

Noah had left it next to a few belongings on his nightstand while I'd been sleeping. It was the strangest set of instructions I'd ever seen, but I did my best to do as I was told.

By 'the jacket', I assumed Noah was talking about his Stray Dogs one. It was thick and plush on the inside, made of old leather, and marked with patches denoting his prestige on the back.

I still never understood why he felt that I was worthy enough to wear it, but I didn't voice that opinion to him.

The envelope he mentioned was a crisp white color and noticeably thick, but stuck closed so that I couldn't see what was inside. I put it in the inner pocket of Noah's jacket before leaving, careful not to make any sounds that would disturb his sleep.

Tying my hair up in a half-up-half-down style, I'd let the shorter locks of hair frame my forehead and hid it all beneath an inky black baseball cap. My earrings had gotten tangled again, but it didn't take long to get them in order. I had to get out of the habit of forgetting to take them off before bed.

By the time I'd made it to the right suburb, it was early in the afternoon and the sun was blaring up ahead. Downtown Boston. Not the safest place to be in the daytime, much less at night. My resolve to stay out of trouble had spiked tenfold.

This might have been a terrible idea, I thought to myself, realizing that I wasn't at all familiar with the area—much less the people I'd find in it.

There was an itch at the back of my mind that I couldn't scratch. I had no idea what was inside Noah's envelope, and it was making me nervous.

Oh, please don't make me regret this.

His address put me on a long street of markets in a neighborhood that seemed largely rough around the edges. By the docks to the sea, it had people lined up at small tables selling things like fish or jewelry or even spices—but I couldn't help but feel that something was off.

The area smelled like seafood and gas. There was a stall grilling all sorts of meat for sale, plumes of smoke reaching for the clear sky. The people loitering around the place seemed to be from all walks of life—elderly women with crocheted clothing, young kids playing soccer in the street, women and men in piercings and tattoos smoking out amongst the stalls. Some passersby had vests on their backs. Pit Vipers, according to the patches.

I reminded myself, just get Noah's things and go.

While I was walking through the busy market street looking for the right address, the reason for the nervous feeling in my stomach quickly became apparent.

People had been staring.

They weren't trying to hide it, either. Their shameless glares seemed to shoot daggers right into my back.

"Fucking Stray Dog," I heard someone mutter as I walked past.

The jacket was drawing all sorts of attention, and none of it appeared to be any good. I didn't have the nerve or the confidence to correct their assumptions, so I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept my head down.

A limber man with face tattoos snickered, "You lost or something, puppy?"

This was a terrible idea.

And it was just my luck that the address Noah had pointed me to lead to an old building that was crawling with less-than-welcoming individuals sporting scowls in my direction.

The place looked like it was falling apart from a lack of maintenance. Its copper-red paint had chipped and faded, leaving splotches of bare wood. The French doors at the front were brown and wide open, though guarded by burly men with cigarettes between their lips. About six of them, littered on the porch and the sidewalk, passing me inscrutable glares. They all had vests on. Pit Vipers.

I swallowed. Just what the hell did I agree to?

I don't think I'd been so scared shitless in my life, but I did my best to stand tall and portray at least some sense of confidence in the situation. The faster I got what I came for, the faster I could leave.

It was alarming just how quickly the men out front sprung to action when I approached the building.

Two of them followed behind me as I got up on the porch, signing that it was far too late for me to turn back now. The men on the porch were on guard, watching every movement I made with gazes that were nothing short of deadly. But none of them laid a hand on me.

The man that was emerging from the front door was the only one who addressed me—only he didn't do it with words. Instead, he got a good look at my face by holding a shiny knife up to my jaw.

I felt the sharp edge pressing into my skin and my breathing stopped short instantly. Shit! Shit, shit, shit!

One of the Pit Vipers spoke up from off to the side, nodding to my back. "Stray Dog."

The first man—who still had the sharp edge of his blade beneath my face—tilted his head to get a better view of Noah's jacket.

"No," he said, licking his dry lips. "Just a messenger."

How on earth can he tell that?

"You may be wearing the jacket, but it doesn't belong on an outsider like you," he uttered as if he could read my mind. "It's meaning is wasted on your shoulders."

While I was busy processing his words, the stranger retracted his knife from my throat and stepped to the side.

"Come," he ordered.

I let out a shaky breath and followed behind him, grateful that they'd at least been expecting me. I couldn't have imagined my stammering if I had to explain to them why I was here.

Walking into the place, it donned on me that it was just an old high-set home. Granted, it wasn't in the best shape, but what appeared to be a once-abandoned house was now crawling with people; The kind that weren't upstanding citizens by any means. And it was dark—incredibly dark. I couldn't tell if it was because of all the smoke or the drawn curtains, but I could hardly see down to the end of the hall.

The wallpaper was a deep purple, chipping and pale. Some of the lightbulbs in the ceiling were smashed, but those that were working fought to illuminate the place in hues of orange and yellow. Vintage furniture and worn-out Persian carpets provided some decor to the place, but the charm was quickly diminished by the stench of marijuana, cigarette smoke, and pungent beer.

Guiding me to the largest space in the house, which was an expansive living area not far from the front doors, the man gestured for me to stay back momentarily. There were large sofas in the middle of the room, positioned around a glass table that was covered in stacks of paper, empty bowls, bottles of alcohol, and faint lines of cocaine residue. Seated on the sofas appeared to be the people with the most authority, having a conversation with blunts between their fingers.

I wasn't meant to be here.

The man uttered something that I couldn't catch to a man sitting in the middle of the room. He was a broad-shouldered guy with honey-colored skin and tattoos crawling up the length of his arms and chest. Dressed in a plain, sleeveless shirt and black pants, he had his arm on the couch behind a stunning young woman.

Was he who Noah had sent me to look for? Sage?

Behind them, a younger man stood tall with his arms behind his back, almost like some kind of protective guard. I couldn't help but notice how young he looked. It didn't seem to match with the cold glare on his face or the tattoos on his body, and I found myself doing a double-take at the scar running down his eye. The tattoo on his neck made me anxious... though I couldn't remember why.

The woman on the sofa certainly carried the iciest demeanor between them all. Her green-brown eyes, like that of a predatory hunter, followed me and every movement I made. Dressed in an emerald top and black cargo pants, her gold jewelry matched beautifully with her deep-brown skin. The short hair on her head was pulled back neatly into two curly buns, and her full lips were stained a scarlet shade of red. Piercings rested in her nose, eyebrows, and along the lobes of her ears.

She was... so familiar.

The man in the black top glared at me. "Well?"

I looked at the two of them and swallowed down my nervousness.

"Edge sent me to collect from you," I said, somehow keeping my voice steady. "He said you had something waiting for him."

The man scoffed, "And who are you?"

I bit my cheek.

"I'm just a friend," I said, formulating a lie on the spot. "Edge wasn't able to make it personally, but he sends his regards."

He gave me an amused look. "Of course. We heard he was shot... that must be quite tasking for him. Though perhaps he deserved it."

I blurted out a response before I could think it through.

"Why would anyone deserve to be shot?"

The question made the group ahead of me chuckle in some kind of sick amusement. Their smirks made it look like I'd asked a stupid question, and I couldn't help but curse myself for opening my mouth.

The woman on the couch didn't seem to share in the humor. Nodding silently to one of the men behind her, I couldn't help but notice as he departed the room under some kind of orders.

The man on the couch ignored my question. "Well, what can I do for you, outsider?"

I grazed my tongue along the back of my teeth and looked from him to the young woman. Hoping that my hunch was right, I picked my next words carefully.

"Thank you, but... I'm here to talk to her."

The people in the room faltered. Passing each other sideways glances, I couldn't help but notice how they shuffled at my words.

The woman on the sofa narrowed her gaze on me, but it wasn't cold anymore. Something shimmered in her enchanting eyes. She looked... almost pleased.

I asked her, "You're Sage, aren't you?"

"Hm," she finally spoke, her tone as smooth as honey. "Edge has finally found himself some intelligent company, I suppose."

I'll... take that as a compliment? I thought to myself. Sage took a drink from a stray beer bottle on the table and waved her gloved forearm at me. Cringing from the taste, her eyes watched me expectantly.

"I hope he didn't send you here empty-handed," she said. "The cash?"

I paused. What ca—?

The envelope. Right.

Pulling the envelope out from my jacket pocket, I reached out to pass it to her, only one of the men in dark clothes took it from me instead. Handing it to Sage so that I didn't get any closer, she opened the envelope with her sharp acrylic nails and allowed the room to see the contents inside.

Money.

So. Much. Money.

I watched with parted lips as she ran her thumb along the notes, letting them flick through her fingers in an instant. Maybe I was crazy, but I could've sworn she'd counted it all in one go.

She looked up from the envelope and scoffed.

"There's extra in here. Two thousand," she said. "Hah... that bastard."

Extra?

The tone of her voice made it seem like there was more to it that I didn't understand.

I could hardly register the number she'd announced. Noah had me walking around this side of town with two grand sitting casually in my pocket. Had he lost his mind?

Sage nodded flatly to the young man behind her—the one with the neck tattoo and the scar over his eye. "Take him to wait outside, Han."

Han didn't look pleased to be taking orders. With a clenched jaw, he eventually moved for me and nodded to the door. The uneasy feeling I got in his presence was still there.

"Move," he snapped, pushing my shoulder.

In an effort to avoid making trouble, I conceded and walked back outside of the old house with Han at my tail. His piercing glare was one that I didn't have the nerve to meet, but while I stood out on the porch, I couldn't help but analyze his features.

There weren't many tattoos on his skin. Aside from a yin and yang symbol on the tip of his right shoulder, the tattoo that stuck out most was the one of a black widow spider across the front of his neck. A few noticeable scars marred his shoulder and upper arm, but none of them were as prominent as the one running down his eye. He was much taller than me in height, with warm-toned skin and a subtle Chinese accent to his speech. He looked to be in his early twenties. The wavy hair he had reached down the sides of his face and was pitch black, though a few greys seemed present towards the front.

"Are you going to keep staring at me?" He snapped, garnering my attention.

I moved my gaze from him and stammered out an apology, cheeks growing red with embarrassment. "Sorry."

Sage's voice cut through the air as she emerged in the doorway from behind Han. My eyes locked onto the small package in her hands while she spoke.

"Oh, stop intimidating him, will you?" She said, flicking her wrist for him to return into the house. "Thank you, Han."

He passed her a flat look but said nothing, returning into the house after throwing me a glare from over his shoulder. I figured I must have left a bad impression on him.

When we were the last two out on the porch, Sage gave the brown package she was holding to me. It had weight to it.

"I must say, I was quite surprised when I heard that Elliot Taylor was the one standing at my doorstep," she spoke. "Much less in a Stray Dogs jacket."

I furrowed my brows. "You know who I am?"

"I make it my responsibility to know the name of everyone I do business with. Especially when the person has strong connections to Edge... and a member of the Kato family."

James? What did he—

Then it hit me. Why Sage was so familiar.

"We've met before," I realized, watching her nod her head in response. "A house party in James's place a few years ago. That was you?"

"It was," she said. "We never had a conversation with each other personally, but James spoke of you so often that it felt like I knew everything that was to know."

I bit my lip at the newfound knowledge. James had spoken about me to people? And people like Sage... just how connected was James to the groups in Boston?

Sage passed a glance at the jacket I was wearing. "It's interesting, the fact that this jacket is on your shoulders. The very same jacket worn by Cillian Black, the man who purged this city of some of its gravest sins. And now the same jacket owned by his son, Edge. Wearing it so openly like this sends a very strong message... though I'm not sure it's a message that will please many people in this city."

Her words left me perplexed.

"What does that mean?"

A clever smile played on her smooth lips.

"You've been claimed," she told me, as if that was something normal to be said. "It's Edge's public announcement to all the groups in this city that you belong to him. That you're under his protection... untouchable. Like it or not, you're one of the Stray Dogs now."

He's made me a Stray Dog? I thought, letting my eyes widen. Oh, God.

I couldn't believe what I'd heard. Noah knew what letting me wear this jacket meant, and he let me walk around with it on my shoulders without telling me anything about it. I never would have put it on if I'd known.

This jacket belonged to his father.

Why on earth would he let me wear something of so much importance?

"Before you leave," Sage said, drawing me out of my thoughts. Pulling something out of the back pocket of her thick cargo pants, my focus landed on a small pill bottle in her hands.

She stuck it out to me with a frustrated glare and mentioned, "Here. But tell that idiot that if he wants to kill himself, there are better ways of doing it."

I took the pills, feeling tense at the sight of them.

"Relax. It's not the kind of stuff that'll get you mauled by sniffer dogs."

"What is it?"

She sucked in a breath. "You don't need to know. But let's just say there's a reason why you can't get it over the counter."

I stared at the pills and frowned, because if anything was obvious about them, it was that they weren't medication. Not the safe kind, at least.

"What do they do?"

Sage shook her head. "They'll do what he wants them to—and cost him his health in the process. If you really care, get him to stop using it."

"His health? How?"

"What is this, an interrogation?" She scoffed. "That's enough. Just take it and go. I'm getting some nasty deja vu and it's giving me a headache."

I swallowed hard and put Noah's pills in the pocket of my jacket, holding his package closely to my chest. Whatever it was that I was holding, it had set him back two grand.

Sage spoke up again just as I'd turned to leave. "And Elliot?"

I paused in my place.

"Don't ever let me see a Taylor come around here again."

A Taylor?

The frown was undoubtedly showing on my face. Her words had only left me more confused.

I began, "What do you mean by—"

But she didn't give me the chance to finish. Turning to one of the men standing off to the side, Sage nodded in my direction before I could get any more answers.

"Get him out of here."

I headed straight for Noah's room when I got back to the apartment, slightly frustrated and a little ticked-off.

His door was shut and his lights were off, so when I walked into his room I almost tripped on the mess still lying on the floor. Turning the lights on so that I could at least see further than my nose, I heard as Noah grumbled in frustration from his bed.

"I swear we had this conversation yesterday," he muttered, burying his face in his pillow. "The light... it burns..."

I tossed his package on the bed.

"Why didn't you tell me I was going to a drug-house?"

Noah exhaled slowly at the question, and didn't bother to answer it. Slowly shuffling between the sheets, he picked up the package and nodded in my direction.

"Good," he said. "You got it."

"They had a knife up to my throat, Noah."

His jaw clenched. Then, he sighed, "Yeah, that was Dagger... he does that to people. I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd run into him. Are you okay?"

I pursed my lips. Just don't mention the guy who casually sticks knives to people's faces... no biggie.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, scratching the back of my neck. "They scared me shitless, but I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

Noah gave me a soft glance. "Thank you for doing this for me. I really appreciate it."

His words were genuine, and that made the stress from today seem less heavy on my shoulders. I still didn't like that Noah had me go, but for that look on his face, it almost felt worth it.

"You're welcome," I said, "but I would've appreciated knowing that I was walking around with that much money in my pocket."

"I didn't want to freak you out."

I scoffed at the comment, amused. "Sending me to a drug house kind of defeated that purpose."

"Nobody tried anything on you, did they?"

I shook my head. "Aside from the knife, no."

"And you wore the jacket the whole time?" He asked, to which I nodded quietly. "Good. At least nobody gave you any trouble. The jacket did it's job."