“Do you like it?” the woman behind the makeshift counter asks.
“Oh, yes,” Jenna says. She looks at the price tag and tries to hide her grimace.
I glance at the price. It’s an exorbitant amount of money, but I can understand why it’s priced so high. It’s really unique.
“It’s the only one I’ve ever made,” the woman says. “There is no other ring exactly like that one anywhere in the world.”
“It’s beautiful,” Jenna says in a hushed tone. “It’s red like fire, but has a streak of blue down the center, like water. A perfect blend of two opposite elements.”
The woman nods in proud agreement. “It’s quite rare.”
I cock my head at Jenna’s examining eyes. I rarely see her so fascinated with things. She’s typically so guarded and sharp. But watching her look into the ring is like seeing a glimpse of her as a child. Lost in wonderment. Believing in unicorns. Chasing rainbows.
“I’ll take it,” I say, looking at the woman.
Jenna’s big golden eyes turn to me. “What?”
I shrug. “You like it. I can afford it. Let’s get it.”
She keeps staring at me, her mouth slightly open. “But that’s not—I can’t—”
I look right at her. “Do you want the ring?”
She blinks. “Yes.”
I look back at the woman and hand her my debit card. “We’ll take it.”
The woman charges an insane amount of money to my card before carefully untying the price tag from the ring. Then holds it out to Jenna, who stares at it with such reverence that I’m afraid she’s going to freak out.
Jenna looks back to me. “You just bought me a ring.”
Oh shit. She really is going to freak out.
“Don’t over think it, Jenn,” I say. “Just take the damn ring and let’s go.”
Carefully, Jenna takes the ring from the woman’s hands and slides it onto the second finger of her right hand. We don’t speak about it again, but as we get into the car, Jenna examines the ring on her hand and her eyes sparkle.
Worth every penny.
* * *
Because of our unexpected stop at the art festival, we don’t reach Little Vail until nearly ten p.m., and I’m exhausted. My phone rings and I glance at the screen before answering.
“Hey, Mom. I’m almost home. I’ll be there in twenty—”
“I need you to go get Samson,” she says, irritated. “He took my car to Vipers and got completely wasted, and now Jonesy won’t let him drive home and I have no way to pick him up.”
I inwardly groan. “I don’t get it. He knew I was almost home and we have serious shit to handle. Why the hell would he go get wasted?”
“I don’t know, Jack. He was fine this afternoon, but then he got a call tonight and started freaking out and then took off with my car.”
“Why didn’t he take his Harley?”
She pauses. “Because he sold it. Didn’t you know?”
“No.” I shift lanes and make a U-turn, heading toward Vipers, a bar at the edge of town. “He failed to mention that.”
Drew’s missing. Mom’s out of her mind. Samson’s selling his goddamn bike? What the fuck is going on with my family members lately?
“Can you please go pick him up so Jonesy doesn’t throw him out?” My mother’s pleading voice isn’t something I’m good at saying no to, so I answer the way I normally do.
“Of course. I’ll see you soon.” I hang up the phone and look at Jenna with a sigh. “I have a huge favor to ask.”
She nods. “You need to pick your brother up from some bar called Vipers?” I frown and she explains, “Your mom was talking kind of loud. I heard her through the phone.”
“Right.” I turn my eyes back to the road. “I know it’ll mean you won’t get to New Orleans until later, so if you say no that’s totally fine. I’ve got friends you can drop me off at who will give me a lift to Vipers.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just a few extra minutes. It won’t make that much of a difference anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I nod and let out a slow breath. “Thanks, Jenn.” From the corner of my eye, I see her glance at me, but she doesn’t say anything else as we drive through the small-town lights of Little Vail to the shadiest bar in four counties.
Vipers is known for being a hub of criminal activity, complete with police raids and the occasional murder, and it’s where I practically grew up. Not one of my proudest personal facts.
Pulling into the gravel lot, I park us in the back, more out of habit than convenience, and kill the engine. Then, as I watch the comings and goings of the who’s who of big crimes in small towns, I ponder which is safer—the dark parking lot adjacent to a run-down industrial park, or the crowd comprised of questionable individuals inside the bar.