Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
We walked down the hall to his bedroom which had less stuff in it now. He’d moved everything important to my apartment. Except for one thing that was definitely important.
I snatched his sketchbook off his desk, opening it up.
“This,” I pointed to the phoenix. “This is what I want on me.”
He squinted, obviously confused.
“I assume the club has a tattooist on speed dial,” I said, hoping that would clue him in. “I want you to call him, tell him to drop everything, or you’ll kill him and his whole family… Whatever it is you do to get people to do things.” I waved my hand. “And I want this.” I tapped the page again. “Here.” I pointed to my stomach.
Colby’s face went blank. “You’re serious.”
I nodded. “As a heart attack.”
He crossed the room, snatched my chin, tipping it so our lips crashed together for a fierce kiss.
Then he got out his phone and did his thing.
An hour later, I was in a tattooist’s chair.
COLBY
I figured a lifetime with Sariah would mean a lifetime of surprises. Of chaos.
Not once in a million fucking years did I think I’d be sitting beside her as she got one of my drawings inked on her skin. On her scars.
The scars that she couldn’t even stand to look at, to touch only a few months ago. The scars that made it so she could never escape what that fuck did to her.
Now one of the best tattoo artists in the state was expertly inking around them, making them part of my phoenix. Her phoenix.
I’d planned on getting it somewhere on my body. Getting Sariah somewhere on my body.
She beat me to the punch.
I’d never witnessed bravery like hers. Not since she was taken from that warehouse and chose helping her best friend over having her life saved. Not since she was brave enough to let me in, let me love her.
That was probably the best moment of my life.
Up until this point.
I had a feeling that a lifetime with Sariah meant I’d have a lot of fucking great moments.
But there, in the tattoo shop, I felt it. Felt Alyssa there with me.
“You deserve this, big brother,” she whispered.
And for once, I got to remember my sister without her brains all over the wall. For once, I was brave enough to think of her alive instead of dead. Because of Sariah.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
ONE MONTH LATER
“I need you to not freak out,” Ollie said the second I answered the phone.
I chewed on my pen as I stared at the webpage for the space I was thinking about leasing.
“I’m already freaking out,” I told her honestly.
Who the fuck did I think I was, taking on a project like this? Yes, Garnett needed this. Garnett needed a grown-up to introduce something like this. A grown-up who understood what it took to lease things, get business licenses, deal with banks.
Ick.
“Well, okay, are you sitting down? Do you have a drink in your hand?”
I picked up my glass tumbler and leaned back in my chair. “Yes and yes.”
Ollie took a deep breath. “There’s a copycat.”
I frowned into my drink. “What? How can someone be copying me? Colby and Violet are the only ones I’ve talked to about this, and they surely wouldn’t rat.”
If someone had come up with my idea before me, that was probably a good thing, right? Someone other than me would be less likely to fuck it up. Then I wouldn’t have all that scary responsibility, and I could continue to sling lattes by day and party with bikers by night.
“Okay, I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, Sariah, but I’m talking about a murder.”
I perked up at that, my problems melting away. The ones that had seemed so important just seconds earlier. Silly me. I’d forgotten what real problems were. I’d been tricked into thinking monsters weren’t lurking outside my door, waiting for me to let my guard down.
“A copycat,” I repeated, realizing what she meant.
“Yeah.” I could hear Ollie typing. “Crystal Sanders, early twenties, sex worker. Found outside town limits, naked, stabbed.” She relayed the information grimly. Neither of us were quite so fired up about murders now that we’d been so close to them.
I no longer followed true crime social media channels, I didn’t listen to the podcasts. I didn’t watch horror movies. I was all about comedies, fantasy and reality TV. I had lived a fucking true crime episode. That was enough.
“It was sloppy,” Ollie continued. “There were hesitation marks with the first half dozen wounds.”
Half dozen wounds.
My hand automatically went to my stomach. My tattoo had almost entirely healed. It itched like a bitch for weeks, and I’d almost passed out while I was getting it. But the guy who did my tattoo was hot, covered in ink and seemed like a total badass… I’d had to keep up appearances.