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The three of us were chilling upstairs, watching a movie while I worked on a sketch for a tattoo. It was an elaborate snake design, for a client who’d survived a bite from a deadly brown snake and wanted a souvenir of his brush with death.
The image came to life as I focused on the shading. The snake was coiled, tense, ready to strike. I was especially proud of the fangs, but so far, the creature had no eyes. I always left those for last because they would have the biggest impact.
As an apprentice, when I first started working for Xavier, the guys kept an eye on everything I did. But as I learned the ropes, they trusted me more and more. It felt good, especially when I could see my skill level improving with every tattoo I completed.
I’d almost finished the shading when the doorbell rang.
We looked at each other, confused.
“Did anyone order a pizza?” Jackson asked. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and frowned as he checked the camera. “What the hell?”
Xavier sat up, alert.
“What is it?”
“Emma,” Jackson said. “She’s outside. And looks like she’s been running through the wilderness.”
He disappeared downstairs and returned a few minutes later with a disheveled-looking Emma.
“What happened to you?” I asked, alarmed, as I saw the leaves in her burgundy hair and dirt on her feet.
She nursed her wrist like she’d injured it and blinked away tears.
“It’s okay,” Jackson said, and placed his hand on her shoulder.
As soon as Emma spoke, she started to cry.
“He… he… was in my house,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what he was planning to do. I climbed out the window…”
She lifted her arm, saw it was bleeding, and stared at it in shock.
I blinked. The guys had filled me in on everything that had happened that afternoon, but I still thought they were overreacting. But breaking into herhouse? This guy was psycho.
Xavier scowled.
“I should have punched his lights out when I had the chance.”
“No violence,” I stated, matter-of-factly, and Xavier reluctantly sat back against the couch cushion, letting the fist that he’d raised drop. He knew why I didn’t support any kind of aggression — aside from it not being something I supported in general, being with someone charged with assault would breach my parole conditions and send me back to prison.
Jackson wasn’t as quick to realize what I was talking about.
“Are we supposed to let this dipshit get away with it?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “We’re just not going to use violence.” I looked at Emma. Her eyes were huge; she was terrified. “Emma can stay here for a while until we sort something out.”
“You don’t have to…” Emma started, but Xavier held up his hand.
“You don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said. “You’re welcome to stay — we don’t spend much time here, and we’ll keep you safe.”
The wordsafeseemed to unlock something in her, because she visibly relaxed.
“I’ll need my stuff,” she said. “Clothes, phone, car… I don’t even have shoes.” She looked down at her dirty feet, almost on the verge of tears.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Xavier said. “You’ll feel better after a shower.”
Emma looked miserable, but she nodded.
“What about my clothes?”
