“Oh, that’s nice. I didn’t know Sly had a sister.”
“Yeah,” I say into the darkness. “She moved away a while back, and now she’s back home.”
“Is she like her brother?”
“What do you mean?”
“Living hard and fast, always above the rules, larger than life,” she lists teasingly.
Something in my chest constricts, like I’m being disloyal if I talk about my Prez and his family that way, even to my ol’ lady.
“They had an unusual upbringing,” I offer in way of a compromise.
Their mother was an alcoholic, and their father fucked everything that moved, even girls from his kids’ high school, is the part I don’t say.
“I can imagine. The clubhouse must’ve been an interesting place to grow up in. Well, I’m looking forward to meeting her,” Marissa says on a yawn and reaches over DJ to squeeze my hand good night.
I’m looking forward to something too.
For the first time in years, I feel alive.
Prologue 2
Marissa
February 2009
Isuspect it was the loneliness of being new in town that made me enter a tattoo shop for the first time in my life. It sure as hell wasn’t the name, because Inkspiration sounds cheesy. Fortunately, the framed designs behind the receptionist look professional, and the tattoos adorning almost all of her visible skin are beautiful and vibrant.
I take a deep breath. I can do this.
I’ve never gotten a tattoo before. Not because I’m against them or anything. There simply was no time or money to waste on non-essential things like skin decorations.
Mom had several from her younger (wilder) days, but by the time I came around, she’d already become the person I’d grow up with instead of the Deadhead who ran away from home at 15.
I bounce my leg nervously as I continue talking myself into staying and seeing this impulsive decision through. I don’t even see the two men until one of them addresses me.
He’s about my height. His bald, tattooed head prevents me from noticing anything else about him. Did getting tattooed there hurt? Or is it perhaps easier when it’s just skin and bone?
“You’re the walk-in?”
“Hi,” I stand up and extend my hand. “Marissa Johnson.”
He almost laughs at the gesture but returns the handshake.
“Hi, Marissa Johnson. I’m Buzz. Our boss here will take care of you today,” he gestures with his head, and I look at the other guy.
He’s a bit taller than I am, with thick, light brown hair that’s styled very artfully, and his face could best be described as… pretty? Clear skin, full lips, long lashes; he’s gorgeous.
Not now, Marissa, for heaven’s sake. I guiltily look away.
“How can I help you today?” The pretty guy asks, and I look at him again.
In his right ear, he has one of those earrings that stretch your earlobe.
“I’d like to get a tattoo,” I say, rather stupidly, and Buzz’s amused huff lets me know he thinks so too.
“Alright,” the boss tells me as his eyes scan every inch of my face with unsettling focus. “What were you thinking, smaller piece, bigger, lines, colors?”
