She rewards me with a smile and a soft, sweet laugh to match it.
I close the door once she’s secured the seat belt.
“My shop isn’t far. Maybe something will look familiar on the way.”
She nods, but this time her smile is forced. I have to wonder if she doesn’t want to remember or if she’s pretending.
I don’t want to push her too hard. Who knows what she’s gone through.
Turning up the radio, I leave her to watching the scenery of the strip as I drive us to the heart of Deadman’s Beach. My shop is located in the center of town, where all the action is. All the touristy hangouts. Rent is crazy high, but the location makes it worth the price.
London is standing out front, waiting for me to unlock the door.
Avery should have been here to open this morning. I pull out my cell as I park and give her a call that gets sent straight to voicemail. My little sister is normally more dependable, but since she started dating this shithead that thinks he’s a rock star, she’s been dropping the ball.
The dark brick of my shop sticks out in contrast to the bright blue painted novelty store next door. Fishing my shop keys out, I remember I have Lacey with me.
“You coming in or do you want to wait out here?”
“I’ll come.”
I bite my tongue to keep from making a smartassed remark that I can definitely make her come.
I unlock the glass door, and London stalks in ahead of me, her boots squeaking on the tile floor. She’s a feisty one. Purple and black hair full of attitude, with a set of inked wings with a halo over them on her right shoulder and a matching set with devil horns on the left, she’s more devil than angel.
She’s my head artist, and with good reason. She has a talent for doing realistic portraits and has won awards and a season on a reality TV show. She’s famous, but you’d never know it with how down to earth she is.
“Avery still not answering?” She grumbles as she tosses her bag onto her workstation and starts setting up. Her eyes flick to Lacey, and she raises a pierced brow. “Who’s your shadow?”
“Found her on the beach. Has amnesia or some shit,” I explain as I head towards my workstation, removing the cover from my chair.
“A real-life Sleeping Beauty, huh? You going to be Prince Charming and bring her back to life?” London smirks, her green eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Fuck off, London,” I retort, but I can’t stop the heat spreading up my neck. Avery’s absence means we’re short-staffed and I can’t afford to be dicking around trying to make Lacey comfortable. But damn, she’s already gotten under my skin.
Lacey is quiet as she takes in my business. Her pretty baby-blue eyes roam over the black-and-white checkered floor, the glossy wooden counter, and the rows of tattoo parlors marked by thin black privacy curtains.
“Make yourself comfortable over there.” I point toward the black leather benches up front by the tinted windows. “The remote to the TV should be on one of the tables.”
I check the appointment book while London flips the rest of the lights on and turns up the stereo. Alternative rock blares through the speakers. Avery has three appointments scheduled for later in the day, but we get a lot of walk-ins.
I pull my cell back out and dial my other sister, Candyce. “What’s up?” She answers on the fourth ring.
“Where’s Avery?”
“Did you try Jagger?”
“No,” I grouse. “She’s probably at his place. He had a show last night.”
“Right. I’m going to stick my boot in her ass.”
“Go easy on her.”
“Yeah, yeah. Later.” I end the call. I should fire her ass, but she’s my baby sister.
Lacey is pretending not to listen as she flips through one of the albums that contains some of the work we’ve done.
It’s a little surreal watching her. She isn’t tracing the pictures or obsessively staring at pin-up girls like most walk-ins do. She’s studying the photos as if they might tell her who she is—like maybe one of the faces will leap out and jog her memory. Her finger hovers over an old portrait I inked five years ago, a black and gray memorial with roses and a pair of dates beneath. Lacey’s mouth tugs down, and there’s a faraway look on her face. Something pains her, but I can’t tell if it’s the photo or just the overall strangeness of being lost in your own skin.
