Page 87 of Hide and Seek
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“He can’t hurt me,” she says. “I take Pilates, you know?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Stop trying to make me feel better about it all. I’m trying to be in my feels.”
“You can get lost in your feels tonight. I’ll bring a bottle of wine, and we can just let it all out, but until then, you need tohold yourself together until Knight gets back and can make sure this bastard doesn’t lay a horny hand on you.”
“Agreed,” I say.
“So, what’s your plan?”
I shrug, even though I know she can’t see. “I don’t know. Maybe some needle therapy.”
“Oooh, yes. Another tattoo to piss off your mother. Sounds perfect to me.” Izzy laughs before letting out a heavy sigh. “Okay, I love you, girl. I have to go. The models have just arrived for the shoot, but try not to get yourself in trouble. And Harper?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really sorry about Laith. I know how close you were.”
A single tear rolls down my cheek, and I try to smile through the pain. “Thanks, Iz. I’ll see you tonight.”
She ends the call, and I just sit for a minute, needing to process everything, and as I find my heart still stable in my chest, I get up and finally get started with my day.
Twenty minutes later, I’m back at my apartment, packing a bag of clothes, my toothbrush, and my favorite shampoo and conditioner to leave in the back of my car for if and when Knight decides to eventually kidnap me. Let’s be honest, it’s coming. He knows it just as well as I do, and he’s bidding his time, hoping like fuck he doesn’t freak me out, and while I’m not down to have some beast of a man demand that I move in with him, I’m certainly not opposed to him kidnapping me for a week or two.
After searching my apartment for every last one of his shirts, I throw them in the bag too, and soon enough, I’m back in my car, heading straight for my favorite tattoo parlor. We have a few in Blackstone. One is owned by a junkie, another is owned by the local motorcycle club—though I’m pretty sure they’re cooking up something in the back—and the last and final parlor is a small studio owned by an awesome artist who makes killer designs and absolutely nails it every time. Harlow is always booked outmonths in advance, but she has a bunch of artists who work with her that can generally squeeze me in on short notice.
I park on the street just outside the tattoo parlor, and the second I make my way inside, Harlow spots me and offers a wide grin. “Hey, Harper. I was starting to think something happened to you. We haven’t seen you in ages.”
“It’s been three months,” I laugh, recalling the exact moment I saw her last because I literally fell out the door and almost broke my nose on the pavement. One of her guys took a photo of me sprawled on my ass with an ice pack against my face. The picture now hangs on their wall of shame, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“And?” she prompts. “Three months to you is practically a lifetime.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, whatcha doing here? You didn’t have an appointment, did you?” she asks, getting up from her station and checking her schedule, almost looking panicked that she might have accidentally double booked.
“No, no,” I rush out. “Just having a shitty day . . . Well, more like a shitty few weeks. I figured I could do with some needle therapy.”
“Ahh, gotcha,” she says. “That’s how I ended up with the exploding watermelon on my right ass cheek.”
I can’t help but laugh. I’ve seen that particular exploding watermelon, and I’ve got to admit, it’s pretty damn cute with its glasses and big bursty eyes. “Well, I’m not quite after an exploding watermelon,” I tell her. “More like a little voodoo doll, pin cushion thing with the little x’s for eyes, right behind my ear.”
She arches a brow and looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind. “A voodoo doll?”
I nod. “A voodoo doll, indeed.”
“That’s not really on brand for you,” she muses, making a point to glance at the rest of the tattoos covering my body, and I nod, understanding exactly where she’s coming from. Every single one of my tattoos are artistic masterpieces. Skulls hidden within butterflies and daggers and flowers surrounded by rosary beads. Every inch of me that’s been covered has been done so with thought and months of planning.
I don’t just get random little things on my body that don’t mean anything, and as I smile back at her, I know she gets it. “This one is sentimental.”
“A voodoo doll?” she confirms.
I nod. “Yep, a little gothic voodoo doll. But make her cute.”
Harlow grins, and I can already see the wheels turning in her mind. She glances at her watch before looking over her schedule again, and when she finally looks up at me, her brow is arched. “Fine line?”
I nod. “Of course.”
