Page 8 of Inked Heart
And every time I see Emette Black, my brain drags me straight back to a version of myself I spent years trying to bury.
I finally kill the engine and climb out of the truck.The night air is warm, thick with the scent of asphalt and honeysuckle drifting from somewhere down the block.Franklinton isn’t exactly a bustling city after dark.Most of the shops on Main Street closed hours ago, leaving the town wrapped in that quiet Southern stillness.
House of Ink is one of the few places that stays open late.
The front windows glow with warm light, illuminating the graffiti-style mural painted across the brick exterior.Even from the back parking lot I can hear faint music drifting through the walls.Someone’s still working.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans and head inside.The moment I step through the back door, the familiar hum of tattoo machines greets me.Buzz.Buzz.Buzz.
It’s a sound that used to make me nervous the first time I heard it.Now it’s just background noise.
Luke is in one of the booths finishing up a piece on a client’s forearm, his brow furrowed in concentration.Across the shop, Alistair is cleaning his station while Skye sits on the counter swinging her legs with her hand on her very pregnant belly, like she’s got nowhere better to be.
Which, knowing Skye, is probably true.
“Look who finally decided to join the living,” she says when she spots me.
I lift a hand in greeting.“Had errands.”
“Magnolia Room errands?”she asks innocently.
I stop mid-step.“How did you...”
“Laine went to pick up food earlier,” she says, grinning.“Said he saw you there.”
Of course he did.Nothing happens in this town without at least three people hearing about it within the hour.
“Takeout,” I say simply.
Skye tilts her head, studying me like a suspicious cat.“Mm-hmm.”
I ignore her and head upstairs toward the small office space where I keep my laptop and paperwork.But before I make it two steps, Laine’s voice cuts across the shop.
“You look like you swallowed a cactus.”
I glance over.My older brother leans against the wall near his booth, arms crossed over his tattooed chest.Laine Grey has always had this irritating ability to read people like open books.Especially me.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Sure you are.”He jerks his chin toward the stairway leading to my office.“Walk with me.”
It’s not a suggestion.I sigh internally but follow him anyway.
Laine pushes open the office door and steps inside, flipping on the overhead light.The small room fills with a soft glow that reflects off the stacks of paperwork covering my desk.
He leans against the doorframe while I sit in my usual chair.“Well?”he says.
“Well what?”
“What happened at the Magnolia Room?”
I stare at him.“Are you spying on me now?”
“No,” he says calmly.“But you look like someone ran over your dog.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“And accurate.”
