Ink (The Haven Series) Read Free Page B

damned. It was a chance to clear his mind of damn near everything; a rare moment of something close to peace. Or as close as someone like him was ever likely to get anyway.
    The patch that usually adorned his back – the golden eagle soaring above a snarling skull - might as well be embedded in flesh rather than leather, so strongly were the memories of how he’d earned it seared on his mind. On his heart. His conscience, for what it was. No one earned a position like his without picking up a few scars along the way. Some physical, others ... not.
    The jingle of the door chimes had him cracking open an eye before he could take another step down that particular path. But that eye soon closed again at the familiar sound of too-cheerful whistling, even though the needle had stopped moving over the taut tanned skin low on his abdomen.
    “Yo, Sketch, you wanna try dialling it down a notch? Some of us are trying to work here.”
    “Damn, girl, what’s eating you today?” her boss demanded as he returned from a coffee run, throwing the question over his shoulder while trying to close the door with the toe of his boot. “Here - brought ya one of your fancy skinny, frothy, whatcha-ma-call-its.”
    “I’d ask what you did that you’re trying to make up for, but that’s probably quite the list ...”
    He feigned theatrical outrage as he ran a hand over his short dark dreads. “You hear how she talks to a brother , even when I do something nice? Sometimes I wonder which one of us owns this joint.”
    “Funny, me too,” she shot back, but she took the coffee he held out to her with a smirk. “Now, you gonna let me get on with this?” He held up his hands in silent defeat, retreating to the back office again as she turned back to the job in hand – only to find dark eyes trained on her. “Sorry, you know what he’s like.”
    Colton did. There were only a couple of tattoo studios the biker favoured these days and Sketch’s self-named outfit was one of them. He knew from extensive experience that, behind the mouth, the owner was a hell of an artist. Shit, he’d been responsible for pretty much all of his right sleeve at one time or another.
    Then that same mouth had gotten the opinionated tattooist in trouble - again - and he’d had his arm broken in a bar fight. It had put him out of action for weeks and left his customer with an intricate but only half-finished Aztec warrior on his shoulder.
    Cue Callie.
    She’d been on the payroll for a while, but off Colton’s radar and it had taken a hell of a lot of fast-talking on Sketch’s part to convince him to let the little blonde finish up. It was just unfortunate she overheard the less than enthusiastic I’ll give the bitch a chance, but she better damn well not screw up . He probably deserved her snappy don’t do me any fucking favours – which was the sole reason he let it slide - but in his defence, she was probably the least likely tattoo artist he’d ever seen. Not that he cared about having a defence.
    That had been maybe five years and many, many tattoos ago and he’d long since come to realise he’d gotten the girl all wrong. They did say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but he was a mean-looking bastard and thought that was pretty damn a ccurate. She, on the other hand – fresh-faced and with that mane of silky blonde hair tumbling right down her back - was harder than she looked.
    At least he didn’t have to admit his change of heart. His unspoken acceptance of her, in the wake of their impromptu run-in with a bunch of Reno gang-bangers, spoke volumes on its own. And beneath that almost-innocent exterior, behind those calm gray eyes, he’d found a fierce intelligence, ready sarcasm and, perhaps most surprisingly, a bold skull and crossbones design at the centre of an elaborate half-sleeve.
    That and she knew how and when to keep her mouth shut.
    FLASHBACK
    Much as his entire being was crying out to attack, to take out those who’d come after