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“Tati? It’s time.”
The sound of Keira’s voice at the office door pulled me from my thoughts, prompting me to turn off my phone screen. An app on the device had served up “memories” from this same day throughout the years, with accompanying pictures.
One of my photo-hating father had my mind soaked in nostalgia, but I shook it off as I stood, shoving the phone into my pocket.
“He’s waiting in the inking room,” Keira said, nervously pushing a handful of honey-blonde locs out of her face before she continued, “Should I grab some of the others that stayed behind?”
“Absolutely not.” I shook my head, meeting Keira’s widened eyes with narrowed ones of my own.
No wonder she was nervous.
She knew I wouldn’t like that shit.
“He doesn’t get an audience,” I reminded her as I approached the door.
“But Blue said—”
“Is Blue here?” I challenged her, and she cut her gaze toward the ceiling as she pushed out a sigh.
“No.”
“Then I don’t want to hear it. Did you follow my instructions?”
She sighed again, heavier this time. “Yes. And I have to say, making him strip to his boxers for a neck tat feels like some kind of ethical violation or something.”
I smirked. “So report me to HR. Come on,” I said, moving past her, deeper into the maze of hallways beyond the “employees only” sign that separated public spaces from private. I’d walked this path often enough that the purposely dim light didn’t bother me; my feet knew where to go.
On the way, Keira kept up a running stream of quick conversation, updating me on happenings with the members, meetings, and a bunch of other shit I wasn’t really in the right headspace to hear about.
Moments later, we were at our destination.
The inking room—nota place for outsiders.
At least, it didn’t used to be.
Untilthismotherfucker came along.
“What’s up?” Keira asked, stopping with her hand on the handle. “Seriously, Tati, you’ve been on one about this dude. Do you see something we don’t? Catching a weird vibe?”
I huffed. “Weirddoesn’t quite cover it,” I admitted, shaking my head.
If only I could articulate what was happening.
An openhanded measureof suspicion was a healthy characteristic with the kind of life I led. I didn’t need everybody falling at my feet, kissing my proverbial ring or any shit like that, but Ididneed a good mental grasp on their motivations.
Their desires.
Those things we all supposedly have that make us “tick”.
I needed to know where they stood, the crux of their allegiances, if they existed.
I didn’t know any of that about the man waiting on the other side of this door to be treated to a privilege I didn’t think he’d earned, not even in the slightest.
I trusted my president though.
Mybrother.
As we entered the inking room, my confidence inBrandon’sjudgement was the only thing keeping me from putting a bullet between Onyx’s eyes while he was vulnerable in the tattoo chair.
