Page 1 of Devilish Ink

RY

Iwas being followed. In between the click of my boots on the rain-slick Dublin sidewalk were the same bootsteps for the last four blocks. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, my breath leaving my tight chest in gasps. I scanned the streets for a passing car, a friendly face, awitness. But we were alone. Me and my stalker.

Fuck.

I knew I shouldn’t have left Rian’s apartment. As soon as I saw the tall broad-shouldered stranger in a dark hoodie just standing there watching from across the road, I should have slammed the door, locked it. Called in sick. Booked the first flight out of Dublin. Fled like I did five years ago.

Instead, I told myself I was being paranoid. I told myself that Rian needed me. That he wouldn’t have begged me to come back to Dublin if he hadn’t.

Stupid.

After five long years of that constant gnaw of paranoia unsettling my guts, you’d think I’d have gotten used to it.

You’d think that I’d have learned to ignore it, given how manytimes I’ve thought someone was following me and it turned out they weren’t.

Better paranoid than dead.

I made a show of glancing at my watch and sped up my walk, trying to do that thing that girls do where they pretend to speed up because they’re late. Not because they’re trying to get away from someone.

To my horror, his footsteps sped up, too. Iwasbeing followed.

I should have stayed in Berlin. Or Barcelona, Amsterdam, Paris, Rome. Moving around all the time, never staying long enough to make friends, might sound like a lonely life. Better to be lonely than dead.

Which I would be if I didn’t get to the safety of Dublin Ink before he caught me. Two blocks. Just two more blocks.

I fumbled around in the side pocket of my large handbag for my keys. Keys. Where are my fucking keys?

My fingers closed around the cold metal. Thank God. I shoved the keys pointing out between my fingers and made a fist. When he tried to take me, I wasn’t going down without a fight.

His footsteps sounded like they were getting closer. Fuck. He knew that I knew he was following me. He’d have no choice but to make his move.

I broke into a run. My handbag filled with my gear clattered at my side as I strained to jam it against my torso. I didn’t even stop to think how much damage I’d be doing to my tattoo gun or whether I’d smash my ink bottles all over my sketchbooks. I justran.

One more block.

My heart thudded against my ribs as I screamed inside. Terror gripped my throat making it hard to breath. I couldn’t hear the footsteps behind me over the sound of my blood rushing around in my ears but I swear he was chasing me.

My boots skidded on the wet pavement as I rounded the last corner.

I didn’t dare look over my shoulder. But it meant I couldn’t see how close he was. Prickles stabbed all the way down my spine as I anticipated his hand closing around my shirt, my arm, my hair…my throat.

The neon pink sign of Dublin Ink and the light coming from its windows shone ahead like a beacon of safety. Please, God. I sprinted even faster, pushing my thigh muscles until they screamed with effort. So close. So fucking close to safety.

I slammed against the Dublin Ink front door, grabbing for the handle, my shaking hand missing before I finally closed my hand around it. The door wouldn’t budge. It was locked. Mason must have left already. Shit. Keys.Keys!

I fumbled with the keychain, looking for the right one.

But all these keys were new to me: there were several keys for Dublin Ink, front door, back door, storage room, supplies cupboard. Several keys for Rian’s apartment: front door, garage, mailbox.

In my panic I couldn’t remember which one was the one for Dublin Ink’s front door.

I tried one.

No, wrong key. For fuck’s sake.

It was at that moment that the clouds above broke apart, showering me with rain. My fingers slipped. The keys jangled to the ground.

Fuck!

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