Page 57 of Inked Desires
I thought I knew what heartbreak was. Turns out I had no clue. Andrew brought that feeling to a level I didn’t even know existed.
Anger pulses through my veins. How can one man cause so much chaos in so little time? Not even my ex ever messed me up this bad. And yet here I am, sulking like a fool.
I toss the pencil onto the table. It’s pointless. This morning, I tried blowing off steam with a workout, then with sketching, even with a random drive. None of it helped.
I fell for that stupid bastard. Fell hard. So hard I can’t even face it. And on top of it all, I’m worried about him. Ishouldbe furious. Andrew stole from me and didn’t trust me, but I’m not mad at him. I’m mad at myself. I let him go.
“Shit…”
I get up again, pacing the living room, desperate for anything to do. Everything is clean, almost sterile. No appointments today, and the drawing refuses to take shape. I look up at the ceiling.
The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the silence. I sigh, cross the room, and grab it.
“Devil’s Sign,” I say, my voice colder than intended.
Great way to scare off potential clients.
On the other end, silence. I wait. Sometimes new clients are so nervous they don’t even manage a word.
When the pause gets awkward, I speak again:
“Hello?”
I hear breathing. I press the phone tighter against my ear, straining to catch more.
“If this is some prank call, I’m really not in the fucking mood,” I growl.
“I’d like to speak to Andrew,” a man’s voice finally says.
My brows lift. My free hand curls into a fist. A man’s voice.
I don’t remember Andrew mentioning anyone he wanted to talk to. Or anyone who’d have this number.
A bad feeling curls in my gut.
“He’s not here,” I snap.
Has he already replaced me? The thought vanishes as fast as it came. Why the hell would Andrew give someone the tattoo studio number if that were the case? And three days would be a record to find someone new—especially with his trust issues. He wouldn’t just jump into another guy’s arms.
“Where is he?” the man asks, voice calm now.
Something clicks in my head. Loud and clear, like a light switch being thrown.
“No idea.”
Even if I knew where Andrew was, I wouldn’t tell this rat.
“Tell him his husband’s looking for him,” he adds with a smile in his voice.
He wants to provoke me—and it’s working.
“Listen to me, asshole,” I spit, seething.“I’m not telling him shit. I know what you did to him. You must really have a tiny dick if you need to beat up someone weaker than you.”
“You better watch your mouth,” he replies, voice low and dangerous.“I let it slide that you fucked that little whore. I can’t blame you. He’s good at manipulating people. But if you get in my way, I’ll burn down your fucking shop—with you in it.”
I breathe deeply. He’s trying to scare me, but he picked the wrong guy. I’ve already made the mistake of backing the wrong person once, and a brother-in-arms took a bullet for it. I’ve killed men—men who thought their cause was righteous. Threatening to kill me is pointless. I’ve wished for it too often myself.
“You’re threatening me?” I ask, my voice like ice.“Don’t underestimate me, Benton. That would be your last mistake. And stay the hell away from Andrew if you value your life at all.”
