All this research had been slow going because no one who worked in town wanted anything to do with a project that had them following around a member of the Kings of Men MC. It was stupid.
They weren’t even scary.
Jake leaned on the counter beside a turning rack of stainless-steel jewelry, grin wide across his angular face. “Hey, man. Welcome. Can I help you?”
“Do you own this place?” I knew the answer already, but if I wanted to play this cool, I needed to bide my time.
“Nope, that’s PD. He’s not in.” Jake pointed at the one tattoo chair that was free. “If you’re looking for ink, I can help you. I have an open space in my schedule today. Your artist packed some fire into those designs you have.” He nodded down at my inked sleeves.
My black tank top left most of me bare for him to see the collection of black ink spread across every available inch of my skin, from my hands, up my arms, across my shoulders, and around my neck. I had some on the sides of my head, too, where my hair was shaved so I could show them off. Jake followed the ink with his inquisitive eyes. I understood getting that look from another artist. He was appreciating the lines of my work, evaluating the shading and technique. Checking out other people’s ink came with the territory. It gave us inspiration. A goal to reach.
“Where’d you get the work done? It’s sick.”
“Thanks, man.” I offered him a full-blown smile, the one that always got people to love me. I pointed at him. “I know your face. Have we met?” We hadn’t, but Jake wasn’t anonymous, either.
Jake chuckled. “No.”
I snapped my fingers. “You’re married to that hockey player from the New Gothenburg Blizzards. What’s his name? David?”
“Declan. His name is Declan Greenwood-North, and yeah, I’m married to him and our other husband, too. Logan. Well, as married as you can be in this slowly progressing world.” He smiled sadly.
I shifted closer and rocked on my feet when I stopped in front of the counter, acting as casual as I could. “Right. You’re in the throuple. Hey, that’s cool, man. Real cool. I like that you aren’t ashamed of your relationship. You and your husbands give the haters the big middle finger and that’s fucking awesome.”
His face lit up, eyes shiny, and I kind of felt bad that I was here to destroy the business he worked for, but that was what happened when you were associated with Luke. My brother had a way of randomly ruining lives, so I was going to repay him and his friends the favor.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
The door flung open and the belljangledas a dark-haired man stepped over the threshold into the store. He paused at the sight of me, brown eyes curious as he studied me and my ink, before his attention returned to Jake. He brightened and a grin spread across his face as he ate up the distance between him and the counter with long strides.
Oliver Hayes. Yeah, he would be the pin to pull in the grenade to blow up Luke’s life.
He worked in Luke’s barber shop—A Barber for Kings—as his assistant and had ever since he was a teenager. Twenty-one. College student. Went to the same school as KC, Luke’s boyfriend’s son. Dare I say, handsome, if you were into bigbrown doe eyes and baby faces. The most recent photos from my private investigator had to be old. He’d filled out. His shoulders were more defined in his white T-shirt and his biceps were wider, the corded muscles in his arms bigger than what the pictures had shown. It was obvious he’d been working out, and I had to commend him on the effort. Still slim and sinewy but bulking up. He looked good. But most importantly, he was the dutiful assistant at Luke’s barber shop. An opportunity I could work with.
Neither would know what hit them.
He offered Jake a kind smile as he brushed his hand through his curls. The dimple in his chin deepened. He was a good bit shorter than me, which had some of my predatory instincts purring to life. I couldn’t quite explain it. As he shifted, the light cut across his face, highlighting the freckles speckling his nose and cheeks.
“Hey, Jake. Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Oliver assessed me cautiously, and I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t said a word to him, but there was something in his stare, a deep-rooted apprehension that made my skin prickle. “Is PD here?”
Jake gave Oliver a pointed look. “Oli, no. Listen, you can’t push this. If you want an apprenticeship, finish school and then come back. PD doesn’t want a green apprentice who hasn’t gotten a taste of the world yet. You know that.”
“I’m getting better.” Oliver’s voice lowered, desperation growing thicker as he leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the counter. His knuckles turned white. “I can prove it to him.”
Jake flinched, his mouth pressed in a thin line. He frowned and bit the corner of his lip.
“You want to ink?” I interrupted, stepping forward to stand beside Oliver. The top of his head reached my eyes, and he had to tilt his chin up to look at me. He squinted, mouth pursed inirritation, as he hunched his shoulders before thinking better of it and straightening.
“Who are you?” The sharpness of his tone sliced between us like a threat. He didn’t trust me. I loved that. Everyone was so quick to accept my charm and run with it.
I held out my hand. “The name’s Ren.”
He kept his eye on me as he accepted the handshake, his palm solid but weirdly shy in mine. “I’m Oliver.”
“I’m opening a tattoo parlor in the old art supply store. Signed the papers this afternoon. I wouldn’t mind an apprentice, teach fresh blood. You got a portfolio?”
“What?” Jake’s gaze cut to me, sharp and accusing, his expression giving away the betrayal he felt. He’d thought I was a customer, hadn’t known I was scoping out the competition. “You tattoo?”
I ignored him. He wasn’t important. Luke liked Oliver. If I could drag him into my business as an artist, I could tear Luke down shred by shred.
