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ROMAN
Ihave fifteen missed calls from Hunter and Jace. It’s not unusual to have that many, but usually I’m in the ring smashing some asshole’s face in when they’re calling. Tonight, I’ve watched every single call on my phone since I left, ignoring them all.
I put my cell in my pocket and listen to the buzz of the tattoo gun. I watch as Ronnie tattoos a butterfly on some chick while her friends stand nearby, giggling and taking selfies. They keep looking over, trying to flirt with me. Everyone wants a turn with the “bad boy.” I’ve heard it time and time again.
“Hey, you, come here.”
I shake my head, and two of them pout at me. “Fucking hell,” I mutter to myself. Why did I come here? But I know the answer already. Mila.
I have no idea why I ran… Fuck, I ran. I never run from anything. I smash it, destroy it, until it’s not in my way. But I can’t do that with Mila.
I kissed her. I kissed the girl I have been in love with since I was six. I can’t ever do that again. I can’t let her get under my skin like that and let go. Because if I do, she will get hurt. I can’t ever…
My phone vibrates in my pocket again, and I pull it out to see Grady’s name on there. Great, they’re involving him now. I turn my phone off and slide it in my pocket. I don’t want to talk to any of them. I don’t want to see their faces, and I don’t want their questions.
I run my hands down my face, trying to forget the way she smelled and how she crinkled her nose at me. How her lips tasted, how she kissed me back…how she touched me.
No one touches me.
Yet, I let her touch my face. Her touch was so light, a caress along my lip. I wanted to suck her finger into my mouth and taste it. I wanted to show her how hard my cock gets for her. I groan, my cock hardening even now at the thought of her gasp on my lips, her throat gripped tightly under my hand.
I don’t know what came over me when I kissed Mila. Fuck. My knuckles tighten and my hands ball into fists. I need to fight someone right now, but I know The Shed is the first place Hunter and Jace will look for me.
When Grady told us that Mila was at his place and that someone drugged her at a Kings party last night, l lost it. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to her. I was out for blood, but Hunter suggested we go see her.
After the revelation last night that Mila and Asher Rossi aren’t together, Hunter claimed he wouldn’t speak to Jace again. He was angry at Emerson’s party, so much so, he didn’t even hook up. And, normally, Hunter is the type to hook up at every party. He always has a girl hanging off him.
The girls keep their distance from me. That’s the way I like it.
I’d freaked out as soon as I got into Grady’s house. He said she was fine and in Jace’s bed, but I’d needed to see with my own eyes she was safe. That she wasn’t hurt. When I threw the door open and saw her pale, smooth skin bare, and the pink lace of her bra and thong, I lost it.
I didn’t want to scare her, but I wanted to kill Jace just as much as I wanted to kill the fucker who drugged her. I could smell sex in the air; I’m not stupid. The fact that Jace wore a guilty expression, and he was trying to wipe the evidence away as if nothing happened, told me all I needed to know. Even if they didn’t have sex, he broke the pact.
He’s the one who goes on about the pact every day, that we can’t let her back in because she will be the end of us. Yet, he breaks it the first chance he gets. He wants her for himself. He doesn’t give a shit about what I want. Or Hunter. Since she left, it has been all about Jace. He’s become a selfish asshole. And we let him.
“Hey, Valentine. Think you can help this lovely young lady out with a butterfly?”
I look up and see the brunette that was taking selfies is now standing beside Ronnie. He winks at me, and I let out a deep breath. He knows I hate these airheads, but money is money. I stand up and nod, pointing to the chair beside Ronnie’s.
“Your name is Valentine.” She looks up at me, batting her fake lashes, and I grunt in response. My last name is Valentine, but I’m as far as you can get from a romantic. I don’t do flowers and hearts.
I do pain.
“Love, Valentine here don’t talk much,” Ronnie drawls. “But he’s the best. He’ll take care of you.”
I shake my head but don’t look over at him. I’ve known Ronnie for years; I’ve been escaping to his shop since I was a kid. The art of tattoos has always intrigued me. I’m not great at drawing, but if you give me the design, I can tattoo that onto any skin.
I didn’t come here to tattoo today, but Ronnie has been teaching me for years. He thinks I’m decent enough with a tattoo gun that he now pays me to work in his shop. I enjoy it, too. He mostly gets me to tattoo college girls who venture in here on the weekends.
“I like the quiet ones.” She smiles up at me as she pushes down her skirt, exposing the virgin flesh there. “I want it here,” she says, pointing to her hipbone.
Another stupid butterfly on a hip for a college chick, coming right up.
It doesn’t take long. A small butterfly on the hip is nothing. I might have smiled when she cried out in pain. I have done dozens of these in the last month, and I never get tired of hearing them complain that it hurts. You get a tattoo on your hip bone—what do you expect? It’s gonna hurt.
The shop’s door opens, and I look over and immediately roll my eyes. Hunter walks into the shop with his cocky swagger. He’s wearing his glasses, not his contacts. I’m surprised since he hates his glasses. I haven’t seen him wear them at all this year. He used to wear them for reading when we were younger then high school he had to wear them all day. Now, he wears contacts all the time.
When he sees me, he nods. Like he knew I was here the whole time. “Hey, Roman. Been trying to call you.” He leans against the counter, and the chick I just inked sidles up next to him.
