Page 30 of Dark & Deceitful

Leading the way, my friend snatches my hand. Ever the gentleman, Axel opens the door for us to pass and rejoin my family—where two more chairs have been set for our guests, and plates of steaming food fill every inch of the tabletop. We pack in like sardines, and I’ve never been more grateful for the distraction in my life. Despite the solid, three-inch pile of onions on top of Dark’s chili cheese fries, he had better cough up a big tip for Marge. This spread is fantastic.

On a plate bigger than my head, my breaded chicken salad with homemade croutons and ranch is a sight for sore eyes. Famished, I dive in as Tarek scoops his dad’s onions off his plate onto his own. Even Pixie and Axel have piping hot breakfast platters ready to devour. The food soothes me. So many nights, we ended up here, laughing and carrying on with our friends, much like this. Those were simpler times when Pixie lived here with her family. Before she and Axel moved across the country to the Sacred Sinner’s Mother Chapter, where Pixie owns an all-female tattoo shop. It’s wild to think we spent many nights here talking about her dream of doing just that.

Throughout lunch, Dark carefully shovels the messiest of fries into his mouth with a fork and fingers the obsidian rock beside his plate. Now and again, as he chats with Axel, he’ll look over, smile, and resume whatever they’re talking about.

Fog plucks a crouton from my plate and crunches down. I nudge the butthead's foot under the table, and my son genuinely smiles at me for the first time since I got here, releasing a tightness in my chest I didn’t know was there. For the first time all day, I breathe easier in the company of those I love the most, minus Sunshine and Lily.

When Dark and Axel finish their meals first, they leave to throw darts at the far side of the bar beside the red-felted pooltables with beer logo lights hanging above them. Not long after, our sons join them, but not before Fog and Tarek tidy up their empty plates and kiss my cheek. Marge sneaks in once they’ve left and steals Dark’s chair. Probably in hopes she can smell him. I can’t say I blame her. He does smell amazing, and she has always had a crush on him and Sunshine.

“You’re on a job?” Pix asks once the men are far from earshot.

I nod, and she leaves it at that, knowing I can’t divulge more, even though I’d love to.

Placing both palms on the tabletop, Marge leans in conspiratorially. “What is going on with you two?” Her gaze swaps from our table to Dark and the guys.

“With Dark?” I ask to be sure.

Her nod confirms my question.

“We’re on the same assignment.” I pluck a lonesome crouton from the corner of my half-full plate and pop it into my mouth.

“Ah. Makes sense. He called yesterday to make sure I only let our regulars in today and called again this morning to double-check.”

“He’s protective of me.”

“Because he loves you.”

“In his own way. Yes,” I agree and turn toward Pixie to change the subject. “How’s the shop?”

“It’s great. How’s the tattoo?”

Alone in our restaurant area, I get out of my seat and pull up my shirt to the edge of my bra, exposing part of my back and my stomach. I do a complete turn.

Having never seen this side of me before, Marge’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

Sliding from her seat onto mine, Pix examines her masterpiece with scrutiny only an artist would. She hums thoughtfully as I turn slowly, allowing her to see it for the first time in years.

“This is some of my best work,” she whispers, more to herself than us. “It’s aged just how I thought it would.”

She’s right. It has.

From my ribs down to my hips, wrapping around both sides and up my entire back, is the colorful story of me—entangled in an intricate garden of life.

In the center of my stomach, where I bore my sons, is my favorite scene—a skull lying in a bed of roses with two ravens standing upon its head, facing one another. Between their beaks is a real heart, like the one beating in our chests. Blood drips from the organ down the front of the skull into the flower bed below, right above my womb. To some, it may look creepy. To me, it’s symbolic—bleeding lifeblood into our children. The ravens are a representation of Dark and me. Two becoming one. Vines and flowers wrap from there, up my sides, onto my back, where a lily blooms, and at the top of my shoulder, there’s a sun, and with its brilliant light, it feeds the flowers below. Sunshine.

Everyone is here, inked into flesh. Nobody would guess I had a tattoo covering this much of my body. But that’s the point, isn’t it? With clothes on, I can look normal if I want to, whatever that means. With them off, the deepest parts of me are revealed.

Squinting, Marge points to something on my side. “Is that a crystal frog sitting on a leaf?”

Pix turns me to give Marge a better view. “It sure is.”

“He’s cute,” she says.

“Thanks.” I chuckle, enjoying Marge’s awe far too much.

Did you know, in Egyptian mythology, frogs represent fertility and new life? When I was homeschooled, Mom had an entire section on amphibians in the Mythos. Frogs and toads hold a lot of weight in many ancient cultures. As a kid, I was obsessed with them.

“How long did all that take?” Marge gestures toward all of me.

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