Page 16 of Lovely Venom

He smiles, covering their tab, adding twenties to the pile of money on the bar like he’s all-in at a Vegas poker table.

Dominating much? What is happening with them?

“You coming, boss?” Blade asks me, shaking me from the idea of my trackers fucking each other in the off-hours.

I arch a brow. “Where?”

“Tattoo parlor.” Blade jerks his chin toward the door. “Jett’s bro Dirk needs to finish the shading on my graveyard piece tonight. Thought I’d swing by, maybe bleed a little.”

Rhys snorts into his glass. “Most people schedule their pain. Your pain sits up and begs for it, aye?”

“That’s why my art’s better than yours, Rhys,” Blade fires back.

I glance at my cousin, who shrugs and gives in to the late-night trip to a tattoo parlor. He’ll do anything to avoid talking about his neighbor.

“I can use some pain, too.” I push everyone’s cash away and slam my black card on the bar.

I’mthe fucking alpha.

Finding that woman today has messed with my head. I need a distraction. Every facet of her memory sits just under my ribs, making each breath heavy.

“A graveyard, huh?” I ask Blade while I sign the bill.

He smirks. “Yeah. Bleeding headstones, twisted trees, and crows. Might add a screaming woman trapped in one of the crypts.”

“Jesus,” Rhys mutters, standing up.

I consider asking why a screaming woman, but really don’t want to get into it. I pinch the Audi keys before Rhys even realizes it. He won’t mind. Probably.

Rhys and I get into his car, with me driving. Blade and Jett load themselves into his Denali, arguing about whether Dirk’s color work is worth the premium cost, even though Blade gets the friends and family discount.

Despite the chaos of the city streets for August, the drive is quiet. The kind of late-night silence that makes your thoughts echo louder than the rubber tires sighing against the hot asphalt.

All I hear ishervoice in the back of my mind.

DEA!

I lost visual.

Fuck me. Fuck me harder!

I park behind the Denali in front of a shop with a red neon sign. Flashing in the dark, it reads: TATTOO. The cracked open door means the AC has either crapped out or Dirk never bothered.

Blade is through the door first, already unbuttoning his shirt to show off the half-done work sprawling over his ribs.

Dirk sits over a guy lying on one table. “Sorry, this moron went somewhere else. Where they don’t know how to spell. I gotta fix this. He’s got a plane to catch.”

“I’ll get you started,” Jett says, pulling the cart up to the one empty table.

“You do tats?” I ask.

I guess everyone has a hobby.

“Sure. Bro taught me.” Jett smiles warmly at his near-identical other half.

Blade hesitates, but a look passes between them. Next, the needle is buzzing and Blade is grinning from the pain with his eyes closed.

“I’m taking off.” Rhys reaches for his keys.