Page 3 of Keegan's Promise

“Are you here for a tattoo?” he asks instead of acknowledging what I’ve said.

“What?” I gape up at him, startled. “N-no. I just…” I trail off before telling him I ran in here to hide. The less he knows about my messy life, the better off he’ll be. For now, I need to be just another tattoo enthusiast in the crowd. That’s what he needs to remember.

“Yes,” I whisper reluctantly. “I guess so.”

His lips quirk into a panty-melting smile as he leads me around the side of a booth, ignoring the line stretching halfway down the aisle. No one protests. In fact, they all whisper with excitement, gawking at him.

“Do you know what you want?” he asks as we step behind a curtain, effectively blocking out the rest of the convention. At least…mostly. The dull roar is impossible to miss. But behind the simple black curtain, it’s just me, him, and an array of tools and ink. If Garrick comes inside looking for me, he won’t find me back here.

“Um…no?” I squeak, looking all around as realization slowly sinks in. This is Keegan’s booth. He’s a tattoo artist. And I just told him I came for a tattoo. “M-maybe I should wait.”

He grins at me again, his expression still soft as he boosts me up onto the table with his hands around my waist. His hands are only on me for a few seconds, but my thighs clench again, a wave of heat rolling through me.

Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think he feels it too. He grunts, his eyes turning a shade darker before he drops onto the rolling stool in front of me.

“What’s your name, baby?”

“Um, Landry.”

“Just Landry?” One eyebrow lifts in question.

“Landry Drake,” I lie, hating that I have to do it when he’s been nice to me, but it’s safer that way. For both of us.

“Well, Landry Drake, my name is Keegan, and I’ll be doing your tattoo today.” He pauses, his eyes rolling over me as if he’s seeing me again. “If you trust me to pick it for you.”

“I d-don’t think I can afford it.” I’m not entirely sure if I’m talking about the tattoo or trusting him.

“I didn’t ask you to pay me, sweetness,” he says, chuckling.

“Oh.” I lick my lips nervously. “What do I have to do?”

“Sit right there and look beautiful, just like that.”

My stomach turns a flip. No one has ever called me beautiful before.

“Okay,” I agree before I can stop myself.

“I’ll pick something that fits you. And I’ll be gentle.”

I’m not sure why I believe him when I never trust anyone, but I bob my head in a nod. And I think it’s worth the courage it took when he rewards me with another of those panty-melting smiles before he starts lining up tools on a tray and selecting inks. His hands are so steady and methodical as he moves, like he’s done this a million times.

“Where are you from, Landry?” he asks while he works.

“Um, here,” I say. It’s a lie, just like my name. Until Uncle Danny sold me to Garrick, I lived my entire life in Texas. But I’ve been in Colorado Springs for three months, so it’s not a big lie. My tiny apartment with the leaking faucets and the draft felt more like home than anything else.

“How old are you?”

This is one answer I feel like I can give him. “I’m twenty.”

“Eleven years younger than me,” he murmurs softly, loading his tattoo machine with ink.

I’m not sure why that’s important, so I don’t say anything.

“Have you ever been to an expo before?”

“I…no.” I shake my head. “I didn’t even know they were a thing.”

“Then how’d you end up here?”

---