Page 1 of Inked Heart
Chapter One
Quiet Calculations
Damien
The thing about numbers is that they don’t lie.People do.
People lie with their words, their smiles, their promises, and their intentions.They lie with the way they look you straight in the eye while planning to stab you in the back.But numbers?Numbers are honest.Numbers are predictable.Numbers behave exactly the way they’re supposed to.
Which is probably why I like them so damn much.
I push my glasses higher on my nose and stare down at the spreadsheet glowing on my laptop screen.The office above House of Ink smells faintly of antiseptic, ink, and coffee that’s been sitting too long in the pot downstairs.It’s a smell that’s become strangely comforting over the past couple of years.
Below me, the shop is alive.Tattoo machines buzz in that familiar electric hum that’s basically background music in my life at this point.Someone laughs, loud and sharp, and I’m pretty sure it’s Skye.The woman has the kind of laugh that could wake the dead and make them join the party.
Then there’s the low rumble of my brother’s voice.Laine.
Even through the floor I can tell when he’s talking to a client versus when he’s messing around with the crew.Right now, it’s the relaxed tone he uses when he’s working.Calm, focused, and confident.
The guy’s a damn artist.I don’t mean just with a tattoo gun but in general.He can bring any idea to life on skin or on paper.
I glance around the small office space, taking in the stacks of receipts, invoices, and paperwork I’ve been sorting through for the last three hours.Running a tattoo shop isn’t just needles and ink.It’s insurance, payroll, supply orders, licensing fees, and taxes.Lots and lots of taxes.
And because my older brother would rather chew off his own arm than deal with accounting, that responsibility landed squarely on my shoulders.Which is fine.I’m good at it.
Better than good if I’m being honest.
I type a few more numbers into the spreadsheet, double-checking the totals against the receipts in the stack beside me.Everything balances out perfectly, just like I expected.
See?Numbers don’t lie.
A sudden burst of laughter erupts from downstairs, followed by Skye’s unmistakable voice.“Oh, my God, you brought the good ones!”
That gets my attention.I lean back in my chair slightly, listening.Laine says something I can’t quite make out, and then there’s another voice.Soft, warm, and familiar.
My chest tightens before my brain even fully registers why.Quinn.
I freeze for half a second, my fingers hovering above the keyboard.Well ...hell.
I should have known the moment Skye got that excited tone in her voice.Quinn Thomas has a habit of showing up at the shop with baked goods like she’s some kind of sugar-coated fairy godmother.
Cupcakes.Cookies.Brownies.The woman bakes like it’s her love language.
And if the reactions from the guys downstairs are anything to go by, they’re probably already swarming around her like starving wolves.
I sigh and push my chair back from the desk.There’s no point pretending I’m going to get any more work done now.Not with her downstairs.
I stand and stretch, rolling my shoulders to loosen the stiffness that’s settled into my muscles from sitting too long.My t-shirt rides up slightly as I move, exposing a sliver of the ink that runs across my lower ribs.
Most people in town don’t know I’m tattooed because I am not like my brothers.They wear their art openly—arms covered, necks inked, stories written across their skin like living canvases.
Mine stay hidden.On my torso, back, and ribs.Places a t-shirt keeps covered.
I grab my glasses and head for the stairs.The moment I step into the shop, the atmosphere hits me like stepping into warm sunlight.
Music hums softly from the speakers mounted near the ceiling.The scent of ink and disinfectant hangs in the air.Tattoo machines buzz as artists work, clients chat, and the entire place feels alive.
And right there in the center of it all ...is Quinn.
