Page 138 of Bleed

Devin’s just finishing up with his client, peeling off his gloves while the guy admires the angry red lines of his new tattoo in the mirror. I return to my station and start setting up while he pays Devin and heads out, the bell jingling with his exit.

A minute later, Ronnie emerges from the back and reclaims his station beside mine.

“Did this Mike guy say what he wanted?” I ask him, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and spraying down my counter.

Ronnie shrugs. “Eight-inch piece on his chest. Said he’d be bringing in a few photos for ya.”

I heave a sigh as I wipe down the surface. Last-minute custom jobs are the fucking worst, especially when the client shows up with a handful of random reference photos and no clue what they actually want.

“If the design phase takes longer than an hour, I’m charging him double,” I grumble.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Devin heckles from the sink as he scrubs ink from his hands.

I flip him off again, and he returns the gesture with both hands.

The bell over the door chimes, and all three of us glance toward it, my hand stopping mid-swipe.

A pair of amber eyes locks onto mine from across the shop, and every muscle in my body locks up. My pulse takes off like a rocket, the bottle of disinfectant slipping from my fingers and hitting the floor with a hollow clatter.

No.

I blink hard, hoping like hell I’m hallucinating, but no dice.

Vincent looks exactly as I remember him. Tall, immaculately dressed, and eerily composed. He hovers near the door with that distinctly vampiric stillness that somehow feels more threatening than movement.

Of all the fucking nights.

I literally just promised Ronnie I wouldn’t bring any more vamps into his shop, and now…

Well, it just fucking figures, doesn’t it? Can’t I have one goddamn second of peace?

For a suspended, tortuous moment, nobody moves.

Then Ronnie pivots toward our unwelcome visitor, his entire demeanor changing as recognition sets in. His shoulders square, jaw tightening as he points toward the door.

“Nuh uh, not again. Out.”

Vincent cocks his head, lips pulling back from his teeth in a wolfish grin. “But I’m a paying customer.”

“The fuck you are,” Ronnie scoffs.

Vincent’s attention slips past him and settles on me again, his smile sharpening. “I have an appointment with Bex here.”

My stomach drops.

I fold my arms over my chest, trying to look tough despite the way my heartbeat’s pounding harder with each shaky breath. “You go by Mike now?”

His smirk deepens, and a cold shiver slides down my spine.

“Leave,” I huff.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he drawls, inclining his chin. “Not until I get what I came here for.”

I arch a brow, clinging to sarcasm because I absolutely refuse to let him see how badly he’s rattled me. “A tattoo?”

“No. You.”

Before I can respond, Ronnie comes around my station and plants himself directly in front of me, blocking Vincent’s path.