Page 11 of Vicious Desire (Fallen Royals 4)

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll give you fifty bucks to turn right now.”

He sighs and flicks on the blinker.

“Okay, pull over.”

“Sir—”

“My dad is the sir, not me. I’m just the asshole standing between you and your next paycheck.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second. Probably wondering who the bigger dick is—me or Dad. It’s Dad, but he doesn’t have to know that. This little interaction can stay between us, for all I care.

Once the car is stopped, I toss a fifty onto the passenger seat and hop out.

The tattoo shop is brightly lit. There’s a ton of hand-drawn art taped over the dark-blue walls, giving it a sort of retro teenager’s bedroom vibe.

Whatever.

The girl at the counter smiles. “Hi. Can I help you?”

I grin. “I was hoping to get a tattoo.”

“We only have one tattoo artist here today,” she says. “If it’s small, he might be able to squeeze you in this afternoon. Otherwise, we can make an appointment.”

I shrug. “I just wanted a name.”

“One sec.” She disappears into the back and reappears with the tattoo artist.

Riley’s brother doesn’t do more than glance at me, and recognition does not fly across his face as anticipated.

“I was thinking script,” I say conversationally, leaning on the counter. “Right over my heart in bold letters. R-I-L-E-Y.”

Noah Appleton’s head snaps around.

“You,” he growls.

I feign confusion. “You don’t think that’s a good idea? Maybe I should get an arrow piercing—”

He jumps at me, swinging.

His fist glides through the air millimeters from my nose. That was a close one. Imagine a broken nose on this face? Wouldn’t be a good look.

Arms bind around Noah’s chest, hauling him back. The girl who greeted me is stronger than she appears, apparently.

“Leave,” she barks.

I raise my hands in surrender.

I was hoping for a solid punch, but this will do. The way he’s glaring at me means he knows what happened—Riley’s side of the story, anyway.

I can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing. If he knew the real truth, he wouldn’t be glaring at me like I stabbed his kitten.

“Maybe I should put her name on my ass,” I muse. “Because she’ll be kissing it—”

He lunges, escaping the girl’s grip. This time he does make contact.

Pain explodes across my jaw. Blood fills my mouth.

I stagger back, but he stops. Cocks his head.

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