Page 70 of Inked Desires
I already miss him.
All I can do is hope that with time… it’ll hurt a little less.
CHAPTER 17
ANDREW
Six Months Later
I still don’t understand what happened to me, or how I could’ve been so damn naïve.
After the attack, someone stood at my bedside. Turned out he was an undercover FBI agent who had infiltrated Jace’s gang to gather intel.
That part, I get. It makes sense, at least. But how could I have been so careless? I literally welcomed Jace with open arms and let him beat me down for years. Some scars from that time still remain, but none of the memories ever came back. My subconscious keeps them locked away, while my mind struggles to bring them to the surface. No matter how hard I try, it’s like fighting through thick, black tar.
The only thing I’m certain of is that the entire country is hunting down drug lord and murderer Jace Benton... my Jace.
I shake my head. I’d always believed his business was just corporate. What a fucking fool I’ve been. I was in love with one of the most powerful and ruthless men alive. And now, to top it all off, he wants me dead.
Robert made the decision to let me live in his apartment. He says it’s the safest place. No one would think to look for me in a gang member’s home.
And here I am, sitting on the couch like I do every day, watching the minutes crawl by, like I no longer have any control over my own life. I don’t know anyone. I have no reason to go outside.
A sigh slips past my lips as I stand and head up the stairs. In the hallway, I stop—probably for the thousandth time—and turn my back to the mirror. I lift the messy hair growing at the nape of my neck. Beautiful roses wind around my collar. Every time I look at this tattoo, I feel safe. It’s become my most precious symbol. I still wonder who did it. It can’t be very old—the ink hasn’t faded yet. I take care of it. I don’t want it to disappear. Ever.
I remember Robert telling me I hid out in Maple Creek for a while. Until now, I haven’t dared to investigate. What if I find something I’m not ready to face? Would it change who I am now? Would it alter what little I do remember?
As much as I search for answers, I don’t even know if I want them.
I sigh again and go back downstairs, sinking into the couch. On the table in front of me is a laptop. Hesitantly, I reach out and turn it on. It takes me a minute to click on the internet icon.
Then, after six months of silence, I finally do it—I type“Maple Creek” into the search bar.
A small sleepy town appears on the screen. Two thousand residents. A guesthouse. Just below, a website catches my eye. Drawn to it like a moth to flame, I click.
Devil’s Sign. A tattoo studio. The style of the pieces shown looks a lot like mine. I search for the artists, but there’s almost no info. No photos. Barely any data. All I get is the name of the owner: Arès Clark.
My chest tightens painfully.
I was hoping to learn more, but now I just feel... disappointed.
“What are you doing?” comes a voice from behind me.
I jump, then see Robert settling beside me. I close the laptop just enough so he can see the screen.
We’ve grown close—like best friends, in a strange way. He visited me in the hospital several times. He helped me reclaim my real identity. Thanks to him, I’m Andrew Lopez again. I’m alive. I even have a green card now, letting me stay in the country.
I should be happy. But no emotion comes.
“Did you remember something?” he asks, noticing I haven’t spoken.
I let my head fall back onto the gray couch and close my eyes. He thinks it’s simple, like I can just snap my fingers and everything will come rushing back.
“No,” I say.“You told me I was hiding out in Maple Creek. I wonder if that’s where I got this tattoo.”
Robert runs his hand through my hair, gently brushing it from my forehead. I turn toward him.
“Do you want to remember? It’s been six months,” he says.
