Page 57 of Christmas with Four Tattoo Artists

Jack gave a shaky nod, patting Kai’s shoulder. "I know you will, kid. I've seen this place rise from the ashes before. But it just ain't right what those motherfuckers have done."

From the corner of my eye, I watched as Adele sashayed toward Jack, her demeanor oozing fake sweetness. The mood in the room shifted instantly. Everyone, especially those who'd been around the block a time or two, was hip to Adele's ways. She was like a cat—always landing on her feet and rubbing up against unsuspecting victims, trying to gain their trust.

"Jack," she purred, sidling up close to him, "you must be devastated. Let me take you out for a coffee. You need to take your mind off this."

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, I thought.She’s putting the moves onJacknow?

I gritted my teeth. The audacity of the woman! Even in the midst of such devastation, she was working her angles, preying on someone at their most vulnerable. How the hell hadn’t the guys realized what kind of person she was?

But Jack, for all his years, was made of tougher stuff than she’d reckoned. He glanced down at her, his face unreadable. "Girl, I've been around long enough to know trouble when I see it. And right now, I'm looking it dead in the eye.”

His voice held a steeliness that silenced Adele. The rest of the room, sensing the tension, paused momentarily, eyes darting between the two.

Adele, caught off guard, blinked in surprise. "I just thought—"

"Save it," Jack cut her off, his gaze unyielding. "I've known real heartache, real pain. And what I need right now isn't you or your games. It's to see this place rise from these ruins."

I couldn’t help but grin, loving the way he saw right through her bullshit and told her right to her face what he thought of her pathetic attempts at manipulation.

But when Jack turned his attention back to the wreckage of the shop, it was almost too much to bear. He was visibly shaken.

"Damn it, boys," Jack growled. "We can't let these bastards get away with this."

Kai stepped forward, a mirror image of his father but younger, placing a steadying hand on Jack's broad shoulder. "Dad, we've got it under control. We need you to head home though, stay safe."

"Your mother would have hated seeing it like this," Jack spoke, a rare crack in his usually steadfast demeanor.

Finn, trying to ease his pain replied. "We'll handle it, Dad. Just... take a break from all this for now."

Jack's eyes swept across the studio, taking in every piece of shattered glass, every drop of spilled ink. The place was his legacy, handed down to his sons. It wasn’t just the physical damage; it was the violation of memories, of years of dedication.

As he made his way out, he paused beside me, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Keep your chin up, kiddo. We've weathered storms before, and we'll weather this one too."

His eyes held a fierce determination, a silent promise that we weren’t in this fight alone.

My voice, though choked with emotion, found strength in his words. "We will, Jack."

Maddie pulled me close as Jack walked out the door, offering a silent pillar of support.

"We've got this, Jules," she whispered.

I nodded, taking in the chaos that surrounded us. This was more than an act of vandalism, it was personal and it cut to the bone of every one of us. Although the road ahead was uncertain, Jack's words rang in my ears and I knew we would indeed weather the storm.

Chapter 25

Andrew

The rain streaked down, warping the neon lights of Miami into a smeared display of color. From up in my penthouse, the hum of the city's nightlife reached me as a distant murmur, overshadowed by the storm raging in my mind.

Leaving the Marines had been more than just shedding a uniform. It was meant to be a fresh start, a chance to leave the horrors of the past behind. Memories of the desert, of the weight of the sniper rifle snug against my shoulder, still haunted my nights. I thought I had left all that behind.

I drew a deep breath, letting the scent of rain and the sights of the city lights ground me. My fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the windowpane, the beat echoing my agitation.

Why the hell did it have to come to this?

Life had been good since I left the service—running the tattoo parlor with my friends, losing myself in the buzz and rhythm of the workday. But the wreckage Klaus left behind was more than just a random act of vandalism. It felt personal, a call to arms.

In the dim light of my penthouse, memories swarmed me like hornets. During my time in the Corps, I’d been a dealer of death. My hands, skilled and precise, had taken lives, decisions made in split seconds, ones I’d justified as necessary for the greater good. But it wasn’t long after returning home that the faces of those I’d killed began to haunt me, to become my nightmares.

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