Page 66 of Reaper and Ruin
King nodded at him. “Can we help you with something, bro?”
Lynx’s gaze strayed to me. “Wouldn’t mind some new ink if you’ve got time?”
King squinted at the computer on the desk in front of him that held the studio calendar with each artist’s time blocked out in various colors. He shook his head. “I’ve got appointments—”
Lynx nodded at me. “What about you, Reaper? You got any room on your calendar for an old friend?”
King threw a bucket of water on that idea before I could even respond. “He’s got a long way to go on his apprenticeship. He’s not qualified to be putting a needle in anyone’s skin yet.”
I knew he was right, but it still kind of smarted. I was new. But I wasn’t completely without a clue. The only reason my lineswere so shaky today was because my head was full of Violet and Nyah, and memories of those bodies kept playing over and over in my head.
Lynx eyed me. “What if I’m willing to be a test subject?”
I glanced at King. The man might have been ten years younger than me, but while Dax wasn’t here, he was in charge. I wasn’t stupid enough to fuck up my chances by pretending like I was top dog, just because I was older.
King eyed Lynx. “Gotta warn you, bro, you let a brand-new apprentice ink you, you’re brave. You get what you get. He’s got talent, but its raw and untrained.”
Lynx pulled up his shirt, showing off washboard abs but also a variety of prison tattoos.
King cringed at them.
Lynx chuckled. “I already know he’s better than this shit.”
King clapped me on the shoulder. “All yours if you want to take it.”
I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tattooing something other than these fake skins would be the highlight of my week. I jerked my head at Lynx. “Come on then. Show me what you want.”
King wandered away, leaving Lynx to sink into the seat beside mine. He rolled his sleeve up. “Surprise me.”
I raised an eyebrow, but when Lynx just grinned back, I couldn’t help but smile. I knew him. I’d spent six years in a cell with this man.
I suddenly felt like shit that I’d suspected him at all. Yeah, he was capable of some fucked-up shit, but not the things that had been inflicted on those women. That was some sick son of a bitch, making sure we knew they were watching us, always one step ahead.
Not my good-natured cellmate.
I got my inks out, mentally thinking over what the hell I was going to do with the blank piece of skin he’d offered me. “I still can’t believe we’re both out.”
“Me neither. And you’re already all shacked up with a woman and everything.” He nudged me with his arm. “She’s beautiful, bro.”
“I know.” I saw Violet’s beauty in everything she did and everything she was. Every smile that popped the dimple in her cheek. Every sweet thing she did for other people, always putting her own feelings last. Every wobble of her backside as she walked away, always leaving me wanting more.
I was surprised Lynx had noticed though. Every poster he’d stuck on our cell wall had been of tiny, skinny women with huge fake tits. Beautiful in their own right, for sure, just not what I wanted.
I held the tattoo gun up. “You ready?”
He nodded.
I started working on his arm, freestyling a small design, noting the way his skin and muscle moved differently than the practice skins I’d been working with up until now.
My heart rate picked up, and I moved the needle across his skin with sure, confident strokes, not a hint of the wobbles I’d had earlier. Something about doing this felt so damn right. It was the same feeling I had whenever I was around Violet. It was the knowledge that this was where I was supposed to be.
Lynx watched me work; his gaze trained on his arm. “You remember your first night inside?”
I paused to meet his gaze, but I didn’t really see it. All I saw were men circling me like sharks.
A bag being shoved over my head.
Hands restraining me.
