Page 1 of Perfect Harmony

Prologue

Seven years ago

“You about to pussy out on me?”

Gideon shifted on the chair he was straddlingbefore laying his arms across the back of the seat and resting his forehead onthem. “Keep going.”

He could almost feel Preacher’s gazeburrowing into his throbbing back. A few seconds later, the buzz of the tattoogun started again, and Gideon forced himself not to flinch.

Why the hell had he let the tattoo artisttalk him into such a detailed tattoo?

The owner of the tattoo shop, a maninexplicably named Greaser, ambled over, bringing the scent of stale cigarettesand body odour with him. “That lion’s looking pretty good.”

Preacher grunted out a thanks, barely heardabove the sound of the tattoo gun.

“You gonna add some shading to that side?”

The tattoo gun clicked off, and Gideonflinched when Preacher swiped across his abraded skin with a cloth. “You gonnalet me do my fucking job?”

“All right, all right.” Greaser held hishands up. “What the fuck crawled up your ass and died this morning?”

“Fuck off, Greaser,” Preacher snarled.

“Watch your mouth,” Greaser said, but therewas no heat in his words.

Gideon didn’t blame him. Preacher was theonly guy Gideon knew who was bigger than him. Considering Gideon was just shyof 6’4” and Preacher had at least an inch on him, it officially put Preacher inthe ‘do not fuck with me’ category for most people who met him. The tattooartist was built lean like Gideon was, but Gideon figured he was still at leasttwo thirty-five, maybe two forty.

The gun buzzed to life again and this timewhen he couldn’t help but flinch, Preacher snorted behind him. “You need me tohold your hand for a bit, maybe call your mommy for you?”

Gideon grimaced as the needle danced overhis skin. “Tell me why I give you my money for this kind of pain again?”

“Because I’m the best artist in this wholefucking city,” Preacher said. “And chicks dig tattoos.”

“I thought it was scars they dug,” Greasersaid.

Gideon couldn’t see it, but from the wayGreaser walked away, he figured Preacher was giving him the look. He’d been onthe receiving end of it himself, but after four years of friendship with thetattoo artist, he was mostly immune to it. Mostly.

“God, I hate that fucking asshole,”Preacher said under his breath. “He fucking sucks as a boss and half the timehe’s so fucking jacked on coke he can’t tattoo worth shit. He keeps fucking upthe clients the way he is, and this place is gonna go under. He’s barelykeeping it afloat now.”

“Give you a reason to finally open up yourown shop,” Gideon said.

Preacher didn’t reply, and Gideon cranedhis neck to stare at him over his shoulder. “You talk to Vic about thatbusiness loan yet?”

Preacher continued tattooing, filling instroke after stroke of the lion’s mane across the back of Gideon’s rightshoulder. If Gideon didn’t know him better, he’d think Preacher’s concentrationwas so focused he hadn’t heard him.

He knew him better.

“I gave you Vic’s number for a reason,”Gideon said. “He said he might be able to help. Call him.”

Preacher shut off the tattoo gun and wipedacross the tattoo. “No bank manager is gonna give an ex-con a fucking loan.”

“You won’t know until you ask,” Gideonsaid. “At least call him and make an appointment.”

“I met with him this morning.” Preacher’sjaw was tense, and a muscle ticked at his temple.

“And?”

“Like I said, no bank manager is gonna givean ex-con a loan.”

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