Marco snorted from his station. “Bold strategy.”
“She must be real special,” Vinnie offered from the couch. “For you to go this crazy after two weeks.”
“She is.” I watched the outline of the letters taking shape on my thigh, the R, the I, the careful curve of the L. “She’s everything.”
“That’s sweet,” Vinnie said. “Stupid, but sweet.”
“You got any other tattoos?” Dom asked, and I could tell he was genuinely curious. “These look professional.”
“Several. Got them back home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Far away.”
“Helpful.” Dom’s tone was dry. “What are they of?”
“Family history. Achievements. Things that matter.”
“And a woman’s name you’ve known two weeks fits in with family history?”
“Yes.”
Dom shook his head but kept working. The needle buzzed, pain lancing through my thigh with each stroke. It was nothing compared to some injuries I’d received in Duskmere. This mattered more than any mark I’d ever received.
“We know a Riley, actually,” Marco said eventually, tone casual. “Lives right upstairs.”
I kept my face carefully neutral. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Sweet girl. Writer. Bit of a disaster, but in a charming way.” Marco was watching me now, eyes keen despite the casual tone. “Bad luck with men, though.”
“Bad luck how?”
“Her ex.” Dom’s voice darkened. “Damien Cross. Real piece of shit. Literary agent or some shit. Shows up here sometimes, banging on her door, sometimes drunk. We have to go up and convince him to leave, if you know what I mean.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
The needle paused, Dom looked up. “You okay there? You just went tense as hell.”
“Fine.” The word came out clipped. Cold. “Tell me about this ex.”
Marco and Dom exchanged another look. Vinnie sat up on the couch, suddenly alert.
“Not much to tell,” Marco said slowly. “Typical controlling asshole. Took her money, messed with her head. Had her convinced she couldn’t do anything without him. We thought she was finally rid of him, but he still shows up sometimes. Less often now. Last time was maybe a month ago.”
“And you handle it.” It wasn’t a question. “Has he ever hurt her?”
Silence.
“She has bruises sometimes,” Vinnie said quietly. “On her arms. Her wrists. She says she’s clumsy.”
“She’s not clumsy,” Marco added. “We’ve watched her navigate a crowded room carrying six wine glasses without spilling a drop. She’s graceful as hell.”
The room had gone very still. I realized my claws had extended slightly, pressing against my fingertips. I forced them back, breathing through the rage that wanted to consume me.
Dom was watching me carefully now. Really watching. His eyes narrowed, tracking the shift in my expression.
“Hold up,” he said slowly. He set down the tattoo gun. “Wait a goddamn minute.”
