Page 26 of Inked Daddies

When the library is empty again, I glance at the clock. Just a little while longer until closing time.

I press my hands to my cheeks, trying to cool the warmth lingering there ever since Hugo showed up. I’m supposed to be shelving books, but instead I’m standing here like some smitten fool, running over every word he said and trying to make sense of it.

Hugo wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. Could he?

He was teasing me, playing with me the way he always does. That’s just Hugo—sharp-tongued and cocky, with a way of looking at you like he knows all your secrets.

But then I think about the way his voice softened, the way he leaned in so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin.

Would you do the same for me? For me and Sam?

The question replays in my mind, over and over, until I feel like I might combust. And my answer—yes—feels louder every time I hear it.

It’s been a quiet day, and for that I’m grateful. After everything that’s happened over the past few days, I could use a little quiet. But when I lock up and step into the parking lot, I realize the quiet doesn’t feel as heavy as it did before.

It’s still daylight, and the faint glow of the setting sun makes everything feel warmer, safer. I glance around the lot, half expecting a shadow to move, but there’s nothing.

No one’s here.

And for the first time in days, I’m not looking over my shoulder every two seconds. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that I already know I’m coming back to The Lethal Legacy later tonight.

The drive home is quiet, except for the steady hum of the car engine and the sound of my own thoughts, which are louder than ever.

Hugo said he wanted me to come to the shop. He didn’t say it outright—Hugo never says anything outright—but it was there in the way he spoke, in the way he looked at me. He expects me to show up.

But for what, exactly?

A show.

I bite my lip, my grip tightening on the steering wheel as I replay the conversation in my head. As much as I want to believe he was joking, I can’t shake the feeling that he was testing me.

Like he wanted to see how far I’d go. But how far do I want to go?

I pull into my driveway, my heart racing as I turn off the engine and sit for a moment, staring at the house. The shower is callingme—I can already feel the tension melting away at the thought of hot water and steam. But it’s not just the stress of the day I want to wash away.

It’s the nerves.

Because as much as I want to deny it, I already know I’m going to the shop.

The shower is scalding, but I let it run hot, scrubbing at my skin like I can somehow wash away the memory of Hugo’s voice. But it’s no use. His words are burned into my brain, and the longer I stand here, the more my nerves twist into something else.

It was just teasing. Just Hugo being Hugo.

But what if it wasn’t? What if hemeantit? What if he’s at the shop right now, waiting for me?

The thought makes my stomach flip, dread swirling in my chest, my head.

I need an excuse. Something to explain why I’m there if he was just joking, if none of this is real. Something to make it seem like I’m not showing up to give him—or them—what he asked for. Something to make it easier to back out if I lose my nerve.

Getting a tattoo.

No. No one would believe I’m there to get a tattoo. Maybe to get my ears pierced, but a tattoo? Absolutely not. There’s no way?—

To prevent being trafficked. Marked skin is an identifier, and traffickers hate those.

The idea pops into my head out of nowhere, and I laugh, the sound echoing off the shower tiles. It’s ridiculous, but it’s the kind of thing Hugo would appreciate. He’d laugh too, probablymake some smart comment about my “alabaster unmarked skin.”

It’s perfect.

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