Page 1 of Chasing Sparks

Prologue: Ink & Old Scars

Ash

This prologue was originally exclusive to newsletter subscribers as a bonus scene but it’s got some great Easter eggs, so here you go …

“D

oes somebody need more coffee?” Braden asks, a smirk coloring his mouth as I stumble into a folding chair next to our booth at the convention center.

“I need another gallon.” Yes, I’m fucking exhausted, but last night was worth every second, even though I can safely say that woman wore me out.

Ori and I spent the entire night together, leaving me with just enough time to race home, toss my shit in a bag, shower, and make it to the airport on time.

I planned to sleep on the plane, but a screaming infant in the next row made that an impossible feat. Of course, the baby was smiling and laughing by the time we landed. I, however, was not in as happy a mood.

To add to the fun, our flight was delayed, so we had even less time to get everything set up for the convention, meaning I’m walking around like a zombie.

Or, in this case, sprawling across an uncomfortable-as-hell folding chair.

“Where were you last night?” my brother asks, waving a cup of joe under my nose. “You never came home.”

“Do I have to run my personal life by you now?” I grasp the coffee and take a big swig. Pitch black, much like my humor today.

Braden shrugs and opens his tattoo gear case. “You’re in a good mood, despite listening to a screaming baby for three hours, so I’m guessing you hung out with a certain bookstore owner. Am I close?”

I can continue evading Braden’s questions, but what’s the point? Judging by the smug expression on his face, he already knows the answer.

“Had to make sure Ori didn’t forget me while I was gone.”

Braden smiles, saluting me with his coffee cup. “Somehow, I don’t see that happening to either of you.”

The man speaks the truth, at least where I’m concerned. I never planned on Oriana Thorne, especially not now—not when my life had some semblance of routine and normalcy to it. Then she struts into my world and knocks everything, including me, on its head.

“You should have brought her along,” Braden adds as he fiddles with the power cords strewn about the booth.

“No way,” Zane pipes up, shooting Braden a dubious glance. “If he did that, he’d have to pass on all the ink bunnies, and you know Vegas is their prime hunting ground.”

I snort into my coffee. Ink bunnies—a phrase I coined years ago for the women who hang around conventions, desperate for an after-hours piece of the action. These women are wild, too,and have a no-holds-barred attitude toward a good time. Let’s just say that last year, my personal bunnies, a gorgeous blonde duo, brought along a suitcase filled with toys.

Did we use every one of them?

You better fucking believe it.

Like I said, no-holds-barred.

Most of these ink bunnies are normal, down-to-earth women for the other 51 weeks of the year, but in Vegas, the business suits come off and the sex kittens come out.

They pack an entire year of debauchery into one week, and the guys and I get to reap the rewards. It’s a beautiful thing.

Plus, what happens in Vegas stays here. Once the convention ends, we go our separate ways.

It’s beautiful, dirty fun.

But this year is different. I spent hours making love to Ori last night, coaxing several orgasms from her luscious body until she passed out on top of me.

No ink bunny can hold a candle to Oriana Thorne. Fuck, but that woman’s pussy is magical. She’s a siren, and I’ll drown for her every time.

“The women this year are off the hook, and I know there’s no way you’re missing out on a week of fun. Right?” Zane asks, cocking a brow at me as he points to a few early arrivals.

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