Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Even as background, her sketch was precise enough to match any database we had.
“Thanks.”
She smiled again. “You’re welcome.”
I walked away, forcing my steps to stay even while my mind raced.
Immediately heading toward the rear entrance, I shot a picture of Wizard, one of my brothers. Then I slipped outside, crossed the lot, and called him, knowing he was the one guy who could get me the information I needed because he was a tech genius.
“Yo.” Wizard’s voice came through with zero preamble.
“Got a symbol for you. Need you to run it through anything that isn’t public facing. Go deep. Looking for syndicate ties, not aesthetic matches.”
He grunted. “You saying this came from an active job?”
“No. From Elena.”
There was silence, then a muttered, “Fuck.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll call you back when I have something.”
It didn’t take long.
An hour later, I was in the lounge at the club, sitting at the long counter with a beer in one hand and my boots propped on a stool. Wizard stalked in with his phone in hand and an annoyed look on his face.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just dropped his phone on the bar, screen lit up with the symbol. Then he tapped twice, and another image came up—an old scan from a surveillance case we’d done recently. Nearly identical.
“This is active. Syndicate tier-two. Not decorative. These aren’t artistic embellishments. They’re code modifications for rank structure.”
“Fuck me,” I muttered.
“These don’t go online. They don’t float around as art inspo. You don’t find these on Reddit boards or tattoo flash sets. This shit is proprietary.”
“Someone’s feeding it to her.”
Wizard nodded slowly. “And whoever it is knows exactly what they’re doing.”
Rage simmered under my skin, low and deadly.
Elena had no idea how deep she was in.
She’d been trained to notice things most people missed, whether she realized it or not. To recreate what she saw and instinctively refine it. To build a lexicon of symbols that didn’t just look good—they meant something.
And that made her a fucking liability.
Not to us.
To them.
If anyone in those networks saw her work. If they realized what she could do with half a sketch and five minutes of silence, they wouldn’t see a tattoo apprentice. They’d see a threat.
They’d put her down without blinking.
“Whoever her mentor is—” I started.
Wizard cut in. “Needs to be checked out. I’ll start digging.”
I stood, the scrape of my chair loud in the room.
“She’s not safe.”
Wizard looked up at me, reading the decision already written all over my face.
“No, she’s not,” he agreed.
I walked out without another word.
Whatever she was mixed up in—and however deep it went—I was going to make sure she didn’t have to face any of it alone.
Not now. Not ever.
Elena Dane was under my protection.
Whether she knew it yet or not.
5
ELENA
At first, I half convinced myself the change in Reeve’s behavior after my shifts at Hellbound Studio was just a coincidence. But he’d waited near the door for me all week, then fallen into step beside me as I headed home like it was the most natural thing in the world. He even positioned himself just slightly between me and anyone else when the sidewalk narrowed, or a group passed too close.
He never told me why he suddenly decided to walk me home every night.
The lack of explanation was almost more disconcerting than the attention itself. I was hyperaware of his presence, but I tried to tell myself it was nothing. Maybe this was just how things worked here. Looking out for each other, making sure everyone got home safely.
Reeve managed the place. It made sense that he’d be protective and take that responsibility seriously.
I might have been reading too much into it because I wanted to.
The realization startled me because I’d never thought of myself as someone who craved attention. But from that first day, my reaction to Reeve had been anything but normal for me. And impossible to ignore.
As the evening wore on, I counted down the minutes. Clients filtered out one by one, the front door chiming softly each time it opened. Chairs were wiped down. Machines powered off. And I wondered if Reeve would wait for me again tonight. The thought made my pulse quicken.
Ink finished locking up and glanced my way. “I’m heading out. You good?”
“Yeah,” I replied, a little too quickly.
His gaze flicked briefly between Reeve and me. The corner of his mouth tipped up. Shrugging on his jacket as he headed toward the back exit, he added, “Don’t stay too late.”
Reeve shifted beside me. “You want to help me check stock before we head out?”
“Sure,” I answered, acutely aware that we were the only ones left at the studio.
He nodded and led the way toward the supply room. Shelves lined the walls, neatly organized, the space just wide enough for two people to work without getting in each other’s way. Or so I told myself.