Page 124 of Princes of Carnage

He nods again. “I know. Do you need anything else before I head out for the night?”

“No.” I clear my throat, then add, “Thanks, Emmett.”

He gives me a little salute in response and then leaves, and I watch him go, my stomach twisting. I was already itching with frustration and a burning feeling of restlessness, and that conversation didn’t help at all.

After making sure everything is taken care of at the shop, I hop on my bike, which I rode over to Blood and Ink earlier, and head home.

The house is quiet when I get in, and I drop onto the couch in the living room, snagging a notepad and a pen. It’s in my head to write down some ideas that can help keep the gang afloat if this drags on for too much longer, but my heart isn’t in it.

Instead, I pull my sketchbook out of my bag and start doodling idly. It’s something I’ve always done, just randomly drawing things out when they’re in my head. Ideas for new tattoo designs, mostly. Anything to take my mind off what’s been stressing me out.

My brow furrows as I sketch out a floral branch, and I don’t look up when I hear someone walk into the room.

“What are you doing?” Atlas asks, leaning over the couch to peer at my sketchbook.

“Just drawing,” I tell him. “I needed something to do with my hands.”

“You just drew that?”

I glance up at him. “Yeah? Why?”

“Nothing, it’s just… that’s really good.” There’s a warmth to his voice as he watches me shade in a flower petal.

“You’ve seen me tattoo before,” I point out.

He shrugs one muscled shoulder, making the sleeve of his t-shirt shift over the ink on his arm. “Yeah, but it’s not always the same, is it? Don’t some tattoo artists just use other people’s art?”

“Mm, yeah, fair point. Some just look for free images or pay artists to use their work in their shops instead of designing their own shit. Nothing wrong with that, it’s just not how I like to do things.”

“Do you only tattoo your own designs?”

“Not only, but it’s my preference. If someone comes in with art they want, and it’s simple, I’ll do it. But unless they’re really strict about it being an exact copy, I usually add some of my own flair to it. I always feel like… I don’t know. If you’re coming to me for a tattoo, it’s because you like my work. You like what I can bring to the piece. If you just want something generic, you could go to any tattoo artist and have them do that for you.”

Atlas nods, considering that. “Makes sense. I could see how doing custom work would be more fun for you.”

“It is. It’s always the best when someone has an idea that’s just specific enough to give me somewhere to start, but not so specific that I feel constrained.”

He cocks his head, looking intrigued. “Do you have anything like that in your book?”

I flip to another page, showing him an elaborate drawing of a massive dragon clutching a sword. “So this was for someone who literally just said she wanted a dragon that looked badass. And at first, I told her I needed more to go on, because there are a hundred different ways to make a dragon look badass, right? So we talked, and she ended up saying she really likes swords because her older brother got her into them. And that’s all I really needed.”

“Wow. Where did she get this?”

“On her back,” I tell him. “The tail curled around her hip a little. It was a huge project, but a lot of fun.”

“I bet. This is impressive as hell.” He smirks. “You’ve really come a long way from your days of drawing fanfic of graphic novels.”

I close the book and whack him on the shoulder with it, laughing in spite of myself. “Shut the fuck up.”

He chuckles, that deep rumbling sound that I’m growing more familiar with every day. “Sorry, vicious. Your secret is out. You can’t put that cat back in the bag.”

I roll my eyes, and Atlas plucks the sketchbook from my fingers and opens it again before handing it back to me.

“Show me more,” he says, gesturing toward the pages with his chin.

“Really?” I make a face. “You want to see all my sketches?”

“Yeah.” He leans over the back of the couch, resting his forearms on the backs of the cushions right next to my head. There’s no hint of teasing in his voice as he adds, “I really fucking do.”

---