Page 15 of Tragic Ink
He left quickly after that, still muttering. I crossed my fingers he wasn’t the type to report bodily threats. That wouldn’t go over well with the police rightnow.
The next few hours were spent inking new customers. The first wanted a ladder with initials carved into each of the rungs. I had no idea why, and I didn’t question it. Probably a family or lineage thing; I’d seen my share of those. It was a cool idea, but after the morning I’d had, conversation was the last thing Iwanted.
When the next customer wouldn’t stop attempting small talk, I told him I worked best in silence. He finally shut up, and the rest of the evening passedquickly.
At ten, I closed the door behind the last client and flipped the sign, turning the deadbolt just in case. By the time I’d cleaned up, the couple of shots I’d taken had long since worn off, and my stomach growled and twisted in defiance at being left empty. A diet of coffee and booze didn’t sit well. Or maybe it was the knowledge that I was about to willingly visit the DirtyKnuckle.
I neededfood.
And time to figure out how to approachRhys.
* * *
The Dirty Knucklewas a brick building with soft lighting and lots of dark leather. I’d been inside once. A personal test two years ago to see if I was really over Rhys like I’d been telling myself for so long. Thirty minutes in a corner booth that obscured me from the bar and the back offices had proved otherwise. I hadn’t been back since, though I was ashamed to admit that I knew for a fact he was there now. Just like I knew he was there every day during the same hours I was at Tragic. I knew more about Rhys Graywalk than I’d ever let on. But, this time at least, it worked to myadvantage.
I sat in the same booth as last time, needing the view of the bar and offices it provided. The dark leather was cold against my jeans, so I took my jacket off and slid it underneath me to warm mylegs.
Across the room, I spotted Michaela Petran sitting with her fiancé, Xandru, and her best friend, Addie Beaumont. The three of them had been practically inseparable since Michaela had returned to Havenwood Falls almost a year ago. I’d gone to high school with them, and Addie and I were stillfriends.
Addie was the official tattoo artist for the Court, a job I wouldn’t want in a million years because it meant taking orders, but Addie seemed to enjoy it. She was also an amazing artist, and her friendliness could somehow cut through my layers of grumpy self-defense. She was actually a fun drinking buddy when I felt like getting out, but I wasn’t in the mood to socialize tonight. When Addie glanced my way, I made sure to keep my eyes averted and my ski cap pulled low. She must have taken the hint because, thankfully, none of them came over to sayhello.
A moment later, a server with a nametag that read Casten took my order. He was fae, older than me by maybe ten years. I didn’t know more than that, but like recognized like; it was easy to spot my own kind aroundhere.
And he was friendly—just like the rest of the damned towntoday.
I grunted answers, making it clear I didn’t want to chat, then wolfed down a burger and fries. While I ate, I watched for Rhys and eventually lost myself in the hum of voices and laughter as the human tourist crowd piled in from the ski resort just down the road. It felt good to be anonymous again. Maybe I’d come here more often if the locals didn’t let up on their new friendly routine. Unless Rhys chased me awayagain.
Casten had just cleared my plate and brought me a beer when I spotted him. Rhys emerged from the offices behind the bar area, smiling and chatting with a couple of men seated on leather stools. I recognized one of them as Everett Weston, a gargoyle who’d moved to town about a year ago. Rhys was great at making new friends and maintaining them, not like me with my former classmates. I’d always liked that about him, like we balanced each other out somehow. Yin andyang.
But now... I’d never felt less close tohim.
From here, I could see his dark hair falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes. I had no idea when he’d started growing it out, but I liked it better that way. It made him look younger but still dangerous. Sexy. The thought brought me up short. This visit was not about the way Rhys wore his hair. It couldn’t be. It was about mutual cooperation. It was about finding akiller.
It was about justice, and that wasit.
As if I’d called his name aloud, Rhys suddenly looked up, the easy smile he’d worn a moment ago frozen on his face as he spotted me. Our eyes met and held. The smile vanished. In its place was a storm that reminded me of my own dark mood from thismorning.
Good. My temper was going to come in handy now that it had a target. I latched on to my anger, still simmering underneath the surface, and slid to my feet. When Rhys cocked his head at me, I grabbed my jacket and made my way over, leaving my empty beer glassbehind.
“Hey,” he said. Relief, surprise, and a lot of what might have been hope was packed into the singleword.
“Hi.” My response was short. Hopefully impossible toread.
He gestured toward the office door behind him, and I slipped inside, my expression arranged into something hard as I scanned the space before me. I’d never been in here before, nor had I seen Rhys in his personal space in several years now, but it was somehow exactly what I pictured for him. The office was done in dark leather and warm earth tones. Deep-cushioned chairs that complemented a dark-stained desk took up the center of the room. Along the wall was a leather sofa worn into soft creases. Landscape prints of the forest hung above it. Across from the sofa, a fire blazed in the hearth. The effect was masculine and still somehowcozy.
I wanted to hate it out of spite, and because I didn’t, that fueled my tempertoo.
When the door clicked shut behind me, I whirled and found Rhys watching me, his dark eyes warming when they settled onmine.
“Gwen,” he said simply, but the single word sent a thousand emotions rippling through me. It was so warm and personal, like an invitation. Like he was telling me a secret. “It’s good to see youhere.”
I could tell he meant it, and that hurt. My temper flared, thanks to the pang of hurt. “I wish I could say thesame.”
He didn’t react to the harshness of my words except to nod as if he’d expected nothing less. I bristled at the easy way he gestured to the sofa. “Would you like tosit?”
“What I would like are answers,” Isaid.
“We have that in common,then.”
