I flex my hand and the black seam doesn’t move or pulse.
I’ve handled it. It’s done.
A group of kids crosses the street in front of me. One of them, a boy with a skateboard tucked under his arm, bumps my shoulder. “Watch it,” he says, looking me up and down like I’m a lamppost he just walked into. He jogs to catch up with his friends. I roll my shoulders and keep walking, reminding myself I would’ve been a terrible father anyway.
I look up, hesitating before going in. I’ve been here a million times and somehow never noticed the snake in the logo.
I got my first piece here at eighteen. Months before I went to find Sisk. I was a fucking mess then. Too angry, too lost. Each piece helped. Viper did that one, and she’s done most of them since. Murtaugh and her have known about the markings from the start, so asking her to cover certain things hasn’t been an issue. Doesn’t hurt that she’s crazy talented.
The first one was right over my heart. A chain wrapping around it, a promise to the ballerina who already owned it. Most of my ink is a graveyard now, buried under layers of newer mistakes, a map of all the ways I’ve fucked up since. But not this one, this one is clean. I look at it sometimes,a reminder of why I do what I have to do.I’ve never told Sisk what that chainmeans. I’m starting to think that after all these years, the biggest mistake I ever made was never telling her how I really feel.
Viper and I were never a couple. Our “relationship”—if I can even call it that—was mostly me killing time. Or trying to carve Sisk out of my skin, and Viper pretending it meant something bigger. I never lied to her, I just didn’t make it brutal enough.
“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon after our little chat about your girlfriend’s dark secret.” She steps around the divider.
“Yeah,” I say. “Been a day.”
Her eyes drag over me slowly, like she’s trying to read the story I’m not telling. “So. How may I be of service today?”
“I need Quentin.”
She blinks. “He’s booked,” she says. “I’m not.”
“I need Quentin today.”
Her head tilts. “That’s funny. I’ve done almost every piece on you since you were legally allowed to bleed in here. I know your skin better than you do.”
“This is different.”
She studies me properly. The seam in my palm itches like a son of a bitch. Her eyes lower and she locks onto it.
“New mark?” she asks lightly.
“None of your business.”
She steps closer anyway, invading my space. Her expression shifts from teasing to something else. “You covering that up?”
“No.”
“So what now?” she asks, a cruel little smile returning. “You’ve got a girlfriend and suddenly I’m disqualified? You on a leash, Jax?”
I hold her gaze, trying to keep my voice steady. “Something like that.”
Her brows lift. “So what should I tell him you want?”
Already had my balls mutilated this morning. Might as well finish the job,I think. “Six.”
She pauses. “Six what.”
“Six curves,” I say. “A ladder of them. Straight down the shaft. Even spacing.”
She coughs surprised. “A full ladder?” she asks, and for the first time, she sounds genuinely impressed. “You planning on keeping it functional?”
“Yes.”
She exhales slowly through her nose. “This about her?”
“Yes.”