The tattoo artist sighed as he shifted in his chair. A big, burly guy with a body full of swirling and actually quite stunning tats. He’d admitted to drawing the tats himself. The hulking man seemed truly talented.
They were in his shop. Apparently, a must-stop visit in the middle of their current madness. The wall to the right was filled with tattoo sketches. Lots and lots of snakes. Some dragons. A medusa with a gorgeous, heaving snake body.
Someone is really into snakes.
Cass came up behind her. A Cass who had stripped off his shirt and slapped a bandage over the wound on his right shoulder. She was sitting in the black lounge chair for customers, and he leaned over her, locking a powerful hand on the armrest to her right.
“You’re looking a little green sunshine,” he purred.
They’d driven for three hours to get to this place. Her whole body ached, she was hungry, she wanted more answers, and she did not relish getting jabbed with a needle again and again.
“I think the tattoo should go…” His left hand feathered over her body. Darted down between her breasts.
She hissed out a breath. Her hand flew up to grab his.
But he…he caught her hand. Brought it to his lips. And pressed a kiss right along her racing pulse, on her inner wrist. “Right here,” he said, as his gaze met hers above the hand he held.
The tattoo artist grunted. “And what am I inking her with? The Striker emblem?”
They had an emblem? And what did that look like?
“She doesn’t belong to the Strikers.” Cass’s mild response. “She belongs to me.”
A little shiver went down her spine.
Cass’s head turned toward the tattoo artist. “You gave me the newest tat I carry—you marked me with it not too long ago. You did a good job on it.”
Again, the guy grunted. Clearly, he was not a conversational kind of fellow.
“It was the two-headed cobra,” Cass added.
And another shiver had her shifting in the chair even as her gaze sharpened on the artist. As if she hadn’t already figured out—based on all the snake tats on the wall—that this man had given Cass that very specific tattoo. Her attention shifted from the artist to the wall of sketches. So many sketches.
Her gaze lingered on one of the dragons. Goosebumps rose on her skin. The man is talented. Definitely talented. His art is unique. Her attention tracked back to him.
The tattoo artist licked his lips. Eight gold hoops climbed up his right ear lobe. “I ain’t putting a two-headed cobra on her.”
“Of course, not,” Cass murmured. “Because she’s not a member of that select group. But…you know who the members are, don’t you? Because I was referred to you. To you, specifically. You’re the one who does the best snake work.”
“It’s all in the scales.” His forehead began to sweat. His gaze darted to the doorway.
Javion had just entered the tattoo parlor.
“Scales. Yeah. Right. You also tatted one of my crew, Levi Addams.”
A curt nod from the artist. “Levi’s cool,” he muttered. “Had some drinks with him and?—”
“He’s dead. I fucking carved a T into the traitor’s body and left him to bleed out.”
He’d carved a what? She snapped her mouth closed to hide her shock. Agnes had not been aware of the carving portion of the event.
The tattoo artist leapt to his feet. “I thought you were tatting her.”
“Um. Change of plans.” Cass smiled. “I’ve decided I like her just the way she is. I’ll put a ring on her finger if the others need to see proof of my claim, but no one is touching her. Not with hands. Damn well not with needles.”
This would be why he’d asked her to trust him. The whole scene was a setup. She’d rather suspected it might be.
Cass inclined his head toward the artist. “I need information from you, Raz.”
