Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“What? No.” What the hell?
The elevator dings, and doors open into a lobby manned by the friendly concierge who let me in earlier. I smile and wave as we pass his desk, trying to lose paranoid, coke-snorting Carnell when he stops to ask him a question. I shouldn’t have agreed to let him come. The door attendant spots me and opens the door, almost getting it fully closed before Carnell’s hand slams against it, forcing it back open.
Fuck.
“Tattoos?” he says hurriedly, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them to ward off the chill clinging to the air.
“Kitty, you good?” Tim calls out from across the street. He’s a pup. Has only been a prospect for a month.
“Who’s he?” Carnell frowns.
“Come on.” I roll my eyes and check the street for cars before jogging across the asphalt. The sun has almost completely depleted the sky of light, leaving space for the moon. I prefer the moon. The moon is flawed, full of craters and imperfections, but still beautiful like us.
“Who’s he?” Tim mimics Carnell’s question with a jerk of his chin.
“Tim, this is Car…”
“Nicolas,” Carnell cuts me off, his tone cautious.
“Okay, good. Nicolas is coming with me. Let’s go.” I tap Tim’s face as a cue for us to get going before letting myself into the passenger side. Tim follows suit, climbing into the driver’s seat and kicking the engine over. After a couple seconds, he blows out a riled breath and drums his fingers against the steering wheel.
“Is he waiting for someone to get the fucking door or what?” he scoffs, looking in his rearview mirror. His sarcasm fills the air between us before Carnell finally slides into the backseat, typing furiously on a cell phone.
“Everything okay?” I ask, turning to look at him.
“Fine,” he snaps without looking up from the screen.
Tim’s gaze cuts to mine, his hands tightening around the wheel, making the leather creak. I don’t think they’re going to become friends. Punching the address into the GPS, I tap the screen and smile at Tim as he rolls his eyes at me. I don’t think he sees me as a friend either. Pulling out into traffic, we drive in silence, my buzz waning to the point of non-existent.
“Right here!” I shout at the neon lights glowing against the dark backdrop of the shop window. Ink & Metal. Straight and to the point. The Kings had their own artist for all members’ ink, but this was for me, and I chose this place because the artist is a badass bitch who came to a club party last year. I fell in love with the intricate designs painted all over her skin. I couldn’t say much about her choice of bed partners. She ended up in Monster’s room and said she had to take a week off work to recover. Biggest she’d ever had, she told me. She’s never been back, but I visit her when I can.
“We won’t be long,” I tell Tim, leaping from the car and yanking Carnell’s door open, ushering him out.
“They do piercings too.” He nods to the list of services written on the door.
“You want your bellybutton done?” I tease, pushing through the entrance. The bright lights illuminate the space. An almost overpowering scent of cleaning products burns my nostrils. Everything is white, the tiled floors, painted walls, and low ceilings. Even the chairs and tattoo tables are white. It’s clinical, reminding me of the dentist.
“Kitty! I nearly shit when I saw your name on my books.” Wynona squeals from her station where she’s cleaning her equipment. Her long, dark hair is pulled back into a high pony with braids weaved on either side of her forehead. She looks out of time, a Viking visiting from Valhalla.
“It’s been a long time coming.” The grin pulling up my cheeks hurts.
“Fucking right it has. Give me five minutes to finish getting set up.”
The incessant, unmistakable buzz of a tattoo gun fills the air as another artist begins a skull design on a guy’s leg.
“I’ll give you a grand to get your nipple pierced.” Carnell grunts, his body curling over mine to whisper in my ear.
“I wouldn’t even lift my shirt for a grand.” But the idea of getting my nipple pierced sends a rush through my body. “Sweeten the pot and I’ll do both nipples.” A hot flush sweeps over me. Could I really do my nipples? I can’t remember what it felt like getting my ears done when I was five.
“Ten grand,” he offers, studying me for a response.
“Twenty,” I counter. “Ten for each tit.” I shrug, a nervous laugh tickling out of me.
“Fifty, but you have to let me watch.” He attempts to pinch one of my nipples over my shirt. My hand whips out so fast, it blurs in my vision. My palm makes contact with his bony cheek, the slap echoing through the open space, drawing Wynona’s attention. Carnell barks out a laugh, stroking over the red handprint I left there.