Page 38 of Holiday Scars
Floating in and out of sleep is rudely interrupted when something stings my ass. Not my hole. My cheek.
Cool liquid follows, and I go to turn around to see Jett with his tattoo gun.
My eyes widen, and I stretch to see what the hell he did. “Did you...”
“Tattoo my name on your ass?” he says, lifting off me. “Fuck yeah, I did. You wouldn’t tell me what you wanted for Christmas. So, I gave you whatIwanted.”
“How the hell did you do that while I was asleep?”
He blows on the gun like he’s fucking Clint Eastwood. “I’m that good.”
“That’s...” I struggle to think how I feel about that.
“Your neck is next,” he says and holds me down.
“Wait...” I push off him. “What about you?”
He shows me his forearm, and fuck, there’s my name.
Property of John Blade
“That’s on your left arm. You’re a lefty. How?”
“Dirk stopped by to do it.”
My eyes widen. “Your brother was here? While I was in your bed, naked?”
“Sure was. I wanted him to know about us, and that I’m happy and in love. Although he kind of knew it already.”
“What did he say about us?” Regardless, I’ll have to talk to him, too.
“He told me not to break your heart.” Jett puts the tattoo gun on a towel on the dresser.
“Yeah, please don’t break my heart.”
He climbs into bed with me and rubs my back. “Does it hurt?”
I consider the broader range of his question. “No, Jett, it doesn’t. Nothing hurts anymore.”
I pull him in for a kiss.
We just lie there, enjoying the idea of a day off. It’s been two weeks since Rhys stole that Christmas tree for the redhead neighbor. Two weeks since I realized how bad he’s got it for her.
Just yesterday, on Christmas Eve, we got called to his apartment again, to dispose of yet another body. And find an open hardware store for planters and soil. Rhys barely looked up from the mess the body made and only cared about Fallon’s plants. That told me everything I needed to know. That relationship isn’t fake anymore.
Jett looks up at me and then around the room. “I think we should get a bigger place. Something we pick out together and build...together.”
My chest tightens at how he wants that with me. “Your name is on my ass, I guess I can have it on my mailbox.” I lean in and kiss him slowly, until he’s running his hands down my chest and heading for my cock.
Well, Merry fucking Christmasto me.
But my phone vibrates on the nightstand. I groan seeing Trace Quinlan’s name flash across the screen. “What’s up, boss?”
“Blade, I know it’s Christmas, but I need you. Get to a town north of the city called Ashbourne. Walk the streets. Look for guards with that tattoo the Feds talked to Dirk about and spy on them. Listen to their conversations. Find out what their boss is up to.”
Quinlan Empire’s enforcer’s voice is low, sharp, but also frantic. He never sounds like that. Something’s happened to his brother. Fallout from the mess we cleaned up yesterday for Rhys.
My gut goes cold. “What the hell’s going on?”
