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I smile as I pet his clean, soft coat. “I’m glad you’re here, Jed. I’m so glad you’re here.”
27
LUKE
I’m so tired of long-sleeved shirts.
I should’ve tried to get the tattoo removed. It was on my list, but then I met Katelyn.
But who am I kidding? Even if the tattoo were gone, I would still be Lucifer Raven. I can’t escape who I truly am.
“There are some things I can’t fix,” I say to myself. “I guess I’m going to have to live with that.”
Coming back here to make amends—to get the red off my ledger—was a silly idea. I can’t make amends. All I can do is learn from my mistakes and try to live the straight and narrow from now on.
If only I truly were Luke Johnson—no man and every man.
But I’m not. I’m Lucifer Charles Ashton III, otherwise known as Lucifer Raven.
I’m truly a dead man walking.
I remember when I first saw Emily Moreno. Dark hair and dark eyes so different from the blond and blue-eyed women who usually crowd the LA beaches. She was painting. Painting on a canvas, while all the other women sunbathed or drank drinks with umbrellas in them.
I was drawn to her immediately.
Back then, I had no problem wearing short sleeves or tank tops. For those who knew who I was, the tattoo reminded them not to cross me. And those who didn’t? It made me look pretty badass.
Back then I had long blond hair. Sometimes I wore it in a low ponytail and sometimes in a messy man bun. Other times, when it wasn’t quite so hot, I let it flow over my shoulders.
My old man hated my hair long like that, and I think my mom did too, though she never said anything.
“You’ve got a lot of talent,” I say to Emily.
“Oh. Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. You were engrossed in your work.”
She turns then and looks at me, her eyebrows rising. The reaction I get from women is unusual. They all stare for a moment.
Sometimes I think it’s the hair. Or maybe it’s just that I’m good-looking and muscular.
“That’s some really cool ink,” she says, eyeing my left arm.
“Thanks.”
“You have any other tattoos?”
“That’s the only one.”
“It’s amazing. You don’t see a lot of people with something that ornate unless they’re inked up all over the place.”
“I never really thought about getting another one,” I say.
She smiles. “Not the name of some woman?”
“No. I’ve seen too many guys get somebody tattooed on their body and then have a bad breakup.”
“I see.”
I don’t ask her out that day.
But the next day, when I go back to the beach, and she’s painting again, I ask her for a drink.
Two weeks later, she moves into my beach house.
I fell hard and fast that time.
Just like I did with Katelyn.
But there was one thing I couldn’t do for Emily or any other woman that I’m going to do for Katelyn today, and only one person I trust to do it.
My brother.
Sebastian Ashton. Not a joke. He hated being saddled with that, but I had no sympathy for him. Hell, at least he wasn’t named after the devil himself.
And I’m not talking about Satan. I’m talking about our father.
My brother was as big of a disappointment to our father as I was.
No, he didn’t become a criminal, but he did take his trust fund once he turned twenty-one and open a tattoo parlor on the beach.
He and I were never close, but we are blood.
He didn’t do my left arm.
Still wearing long sleeves in this wretched heat, I take one of my father’s many cars and drive to Sebastian’s place.
I walk in.
“Can I help you?” a tattooed, gum-popping receptionist asks.
“I’m looking for Bas. Is he here?”
“In the back. Working on some art.
“Can you get him for me?”
“I could, but who are you?”
“I’m his…”
What do I tell her? Jorge knows I’m back in town, but he’s the only one. I trust him. Hell, he won’t rat me out. Ratting me out would be ratting himself out.
But I can’t hide forever.
“I’m his brother.”
“You don’t look much like him.”
Actually, I do. He’s blond and blue-eyed, but of course right now I’m brown-haired and brown-eyed.
“Just tell him,” I say. “He’ll see me.”
“Okay.” She gets up and walks, slowly, into the back. The zing of the electric needle rents through the air when she opens the door.
I looked down at my left arm covered in cloth. Damn, it took five different sessions to get my Raven perfect.
Here goes nothing.
“He says to wait here.”
I jerk. I didn’t even hear the receptionist come back.
“Okay.”
She nods to a few chairs. “Sit there. He’ll be out as soon as he can.”
“How many people are back there?” I ask.
“Just Bas and his client.”
“Do any other artists work here?”
“A few, but only Bas is here today.”
