Page 68 of Just Between Us

“Morning, Mr. King.” Sketch was next to Luna behind the front desk.

I lifted my chin. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”

“Great!” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Luna was showing me the appointment system and scheduler.”

Hearts from his eyes were floating above his head and popping as he looked back at her. Luna’s gaze flicked up from the computer screen, and her cheeks reddened.

I grinned. “Sounds good. Sketch, I want you to sit in on my next appointment. It’s a full-back piece, and I can show you how to work in sections without it looking like garbage.”

He stood tall. “Awesome! Thanks.”

I nodded. The kid was young, but he was eager and had raw talent. In a few years he’d be good.

Really good.

I had an odd sense of affection for the gangly teen. There was something fulfilling about giving a young kid the same chance I had been given and having the confidence he had a real shot at making it.

I rolled my shoulders. I still needed a veteran tattooer to help alleviate the shop’s hectic schedule, and so far no one had beenup to the task. I’d just add it to my ever-growing list of shit to get done.

My phone buzzed, and I dug it out of my pocket. “Hey, Bug. What’s up?”

She wasn’t on the line. Instead, I heard only rustling and muffled voices.

“Bug? Bug!” I looked at the phone and shook my head. “Bug, I think you pocket dialed me!” I tried raising my voice in hopes she might hear me.

My brows cinched down when the rustling stopped and voices became clearer.Angryvoices. I plugged my other ear with a finger and strained to listen. I couldn’t make out what anyone was saying, but the voices were overlapping.

Suddenly a voice I recognized sent chills down my back. My father’s deep voice cut through the line:“—in my house!”

The line went dead.

My heart rate spiked. Awareness prickled in my skull.

Bug was in trouble.

I hobbled toward the front door of King Tattoo. “I’ll be back in a half hour,” I called over my shoulder. It took forever, but I finally climbed into the cab of my truck. I wasn’t supposed to drive, but since it was my left ankle in a cast, I risked it. My truck peeled out of the parking space, and I barreled toward the King estate. With a free hand, I redialed Bug in hopes she’d answer, but it rang and rang.

The short drive to my childhood home felt like an eternity. My father’s Porsche was parked in front, and my gut churned. I hated that house and how it haunted me. Anytime I spent too long within its walls, some new, unwelcomed memory rose to the surface.

I leaned heavily on the banister as I climbed up the front steps of the house. Despite the thick oak door, muffled shoutsfiltered through to the outside. I didn’t bother knocking and pushed the front door open.

From his office, my father’s angry voice carried down the long corridor. He was screaming at Bug, berating her for something I couldn’t parse out. Anger flooded my system as my blood pumped. I reached the door to his office, and when I saw it was cracked, I paused. Through the small opening in the doorway, I watched as my father’s red face loomed over his sister. My aunt stood tall but had to arch backward as he crowded her space.

Spittle clung to the edge of his mouth as he screamed. The air around me shifted, and a sharp ring sounded in my ears. My mind raced.

I recognized the fear in her eyes—the knowing that something bad was going to happen and there was no one to help her.

I stumbled backward as the memory hit me—my father, red faced and furious, standing over my mother in that very same office. She had fallen to the ground and scrambled backward. When her back met the large desk, she was trapped. I recalled the terror in her eyes, and the fear of a much younger me was overwhelming.

My father had leaned down and continued his verbal assault when his hand clamped around my mother’s throat. Her hands scratched at his as he hauled her up from the ground. She looked toward the doorway and saw me, her eyes widening. With her hand behind his back, out of view of my father, she waved me away. A single tear slipped from beneath her lashes as she spoke a single word to me ...Please.

Another shout jolted me back to reality. The repressed memory gutted me, but I slammed my hand on the office door to shove it open. My father was a bully and a menace, and I wasn’t nine years old this time.

“Get the fuck out of her face!” I barely recognized the snarl in my own voice.

Startled, my father reared back to see me taking up the entire entryway. My fists were clenched and my chest heaved.

Aunt Bug took a step backward, steadying herself on the oak desk in the office. Her hand planted against her chest as she stared at us.

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