Page 123 of Sincerely, Butterfly

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m heading home for the night.”

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars,” I offer.

He raises a brow. “That’s maybe a three-hundred-dollar tattoo. Get Robin to book you in. I’m sure I can squeeze you in sometime next month.”

I could be nice. I could be understanding. I get it, I just walked in out of the blue without an appointment. But I didn’t know I’d be getting my hands on the blood until a few days ago.

Maybe I should have planned better. I’m starting to see a recurring theme here, but again, I can’t really be perfect when these kinds of things are going to pop up.

“Look, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I need this done tonight. My dad said you were the best at what I’m asking for, so I don’t want anyone else but you to do it.”

“It’s just a butterfly. Anyone here can do it.”

“But can they doblood ink tattoos?”

His brows shoot up. “You want a blood ink tattoo?” he chuckles in disbelief.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Callie asks.

“It's just… you don’t seem like the kind of girl who would want something like that done.”

“Looks can be deceiving, buddy. Trust me on that one,” Callie mutters.

“Who’s your father?” he asks, crossing his arms.

“Toren Edwards.”

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath before turning his attention to Robin. “Call my wife, let her know I’m coming home late. If she asks, tell her Toren needs me.”

“Okay.” Robin looks confused. “Sure.”

He turns back to me, nodding his head. “Come on.”

I grin over at Callie. “First time I used my dad’s name to my advantage.”

“Really?” she laughs. “I’ve been doing it for years. You wouldn’t believe the number of people who nearly pissed themselves at just the mention of my dad’s name. Never understood why until recently. Not much of a flex now, though.”

“Do you have the blood with you?” Gerard asks as we step into his tattooing room.

“No.” I grab the vials of ink from my purse. “I already mixed the blood and ink together.”

He takes them from me and huffs out a laugh. “Of course you did,” he sighs, taking a seat. “Can I see that photo again?”

Pulling it up on my phone, I hold it out for him to see. “Do you want that exact design, or do you need me to sketch something up?”

“This one. I’ve already looked at hundreds of designs, and this is the only one I like.”

“Normally, I don’t copy other people’s work. But for you, I’ll make an exception.” He holds up the blood-ink mixture. “Same goes for this. Does your Dad know you’re doing this?”

“He does. That's how I found out about you.”

“And is this your blood inside here?”

“I don’t see how that's any of your business.” I narrow my eyes.

“I only ask because of the risk of spreading infections or diseases,” he explains. “I need to know if the blood is contaminated."

“If someone was on drugs at the time it was extracted, would that make a difference?” Callie asks, sitting down in one of the wheely chairs.