Page 7

Gabriel and I meet at Bobby’s house boat, which is docked up in North Falls near my rented house. I’m already seated inside, and Gabriel hops on board with light, sure steps. I almost miss his entrance, absorbed in my own thoughts.

He enters with no weapon in his hand, no fear of me.

Bobby’s house boat, beyond the galley kitchen, is neat and minimalistic. He proclaims he doesn’t need much, and I believe him. There’s a couch and chair, a radio propped on a table beside a lamp, and framed stock photos on the wall. A ladder leads up to the loft, where he keeps clothes and his bed.

I’ve taken the chair, leaving the sunken-in couch for Gabriel.

“Where’s Bob-o?” Gabriel asks.

“Out.”

“Hmm.” He pouts. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“You’re speaking in one-word sentences,” he points out. “How else am I supposed to feel?”

I take a deep breath. “You took pleasure fucking with me, then? Taking Reese out from under my nose?—”

“You took her ,” he snaps.

He’s a rabid dog, calm one moment and foaming at the mouth the next.

From Artemis, I learned about his involvement in Terror.

And while Gabriel had never mentioned his past—he suddenly showed up in Emerald Cove a few years ago, proving himself in more ways than one—I knew it had to be something bad.

What else could twist his brain like it is?

“I didn’t take her.” I try to remain calm. “You never said who you wanted to find, or what you wanted. I knew of Artemis from rumors, nothing more.”

I followed her from Reese, not Gabriel. His clues led me to her club, then her brother’s. To the brother and finally, right down the street to Artemis Madden herself.

“How is Reese?” he asks suddenly.

I narrow my eyes. “That’s not what we should be discussing.”

He scoffs. “It’s okay, Kade. I owe him a visit anyway. I’ll just ask him myself?—”

Rage . I’m up and in his face in an instant. Both hands wrap around his throat, yanking him closer. I squeeze, and something sharp digs into my side.

Hoarsely, he makes a clicking noise.

I glance down at the knife he holds, perfectly poised to drive up under my rib cage. My anger is still boiling, though it doesn’t completely cloud my judgment. I throw him back onto the couch and ignore his burst of laughter.

He straightens his shirt, grinning, while I sit.

“So. Artemis, Reese, they’re off the table.”

His gaze sharpens. “Are we bargaining?”

“No. But I’ll fucking kill you if you touch Reese again.”

Gabriel waves me off. “Let’s talk about your men.”

My men. The ones coming in daily from South Falls, slowly replacing the workers there. It’s been quiet, since we don’t know who has allegiance to those at Olympus. Ships go out, fishing boats go out, factories open.

Diligence, crawling along and doing exactly what is asked of me, the weight of responsibility pushes and shoves at me like the tide.

If I walk through South Falls, almost half of the people are mine.

“Another cargo ship comes in on Monday,” I inform him. It’s not the cargo that’s important—again, it’s about the people. The ones who come and stay, while others receive an exorbitant amount of money to get on the boat. Although the cargo matters, too.

Weapons. Drugs.

“And West Falls?”

Gabriel has been filling in the gaps the Titans left.

They weren’t just holed up in those neighborhoods—the gang leader, Kronos, owned a lot of properties speckled around the western side of Sterling Falls.

It’s what secured his territory. His lookouts lived there, had friends and family there.

When something happened, he was the first one they called.

“It’s going.” He picks at his fingernail, too nonchalant for my taste. “I want to push east.”

I narrow my eyes. “No.”

“You don’t get to deny me, brother.”

“You’re too eager,” I argue.

This is why we’re here, but it feels too soon.

“They’re in Emerald Cove.” Gabriel looks at me plainly. “They’ll be stuck in Emerald Cove for the foreseeable future.”

A stone plummets in my stomach. “Why?”

“Because I led them there,” he says simply.

He rises and brushes off invisible dust from his jeans.

I follow him out, pausing in the doorway. He hops onto the dock, hands in his pockets, and strolls away.

He hasn’t always been like this. In Emerald Cove, he operated with precision, his movements and decisions tactically efficient. But now that we’re back in Sterling Falls, it’s like a screw has wound itself loose.

He gets into a convertible, sliding sunglasses on his face, and flips me off before he shoots off down the street.

Fucker.

My thoughts turn to Artemis. With her brother out of the picture—at least temporarily—she’s going to need more protection. Saint seems like a fine guy, but he doesn’t know what Gabriel will throw at them.

Neither do I, for that matter.

But if push comes to shove, I might hold some sway over the Cyclopes. I might save them from being dragged into West Falls and beaten… or worse.

My throat is tight, and I’m still in the same spot when Bobby returns with an armful of groceries. He gives a little start, as I’m still in the shadows, but recovers quickly.

“Hungry?” he asks.

I shake my head and brush past him. “See you around, Bobby.”

My options are limited, but I find myself in front of Starlight.

I’ve never wanted a tattoo before. And yet, Saint is covered in them. They frame his jawline, cover every inch of the rest of him… what I’ve seen anyway. I climb out of my SUV and try the door.

My biggest surprise is when it opens.

I step inside quickly, half expecting an alarm to go off, but instead there’s just the quiet hum of a tattoo machine. It cuts off when the bell overhead swings, announcing my arrival.

From his tattoo station, Saint wheels into view. A black cap sits backward on his head, his white t-shirt loose with the sleeves rolled up. The tattoos on his hands are blocked by black gloves. As soon as he registers it’s me , he scowls.

Rude.

I frown right back at him, then turn away and resume my examination of the wall of framed drawings. Saint’s signature is scrawled in the bottom corner of quite a few.

After a minute, the tattoo machine resumes.

I wait, because I don’t really know what else to do. I could round the corner and see who he’s tattooing—but I’m not some jealous monster who wants him to tattoo me and only me.

That would be neurotic, and I’ve done a lot of work to restrain myself in that regard. Possessive, lacks an ability to share, quick to anger… labels a therapist slapped on me when I was thirteen and acting out.

My attention catches on the trash bin. Black fabric hangs out of it, and I pull it out slowly. Nothing was tossed in on top of it, and there’s nothing under it either. Which is good, because the sweatshirt belongs to me.

The branding for the Cyclopes was obvious—and right in front of their faces the whole time. I had hoped that Artemis wearing my sweatshirt would keep her safe, or at least let her pass through the roadblocks in West Falls that Gabriel set up. He wanted to test the sheriff’s mettle…

And catch a golden girl.

I went about it in a different way, using the sheriff to funnel me information that seemed innocuous. Seeing if he’d break a little rule. Later on, he’ll be more likely to break a bigger rule for us.

Artemis being attacked, not once but twice, in West Falls should’ve been a clear sign that something else was going on. That Gabriel had marked her specifically.

My grip on the fabric tightens, until I’m white-knuckled grasping it. I force myself to breathe out slowly, releasing the tension and loosening my fingers one at a time.

An hour later, I’m reading one of the magazines that featured Saint for the second time, and he’s walking the client to the door. The girl sports a brand-new flower on her arm, and she bats her eyelashes at him at the door.

I cough to cover my disbelief, although he shoots me a look.

When she’s gone, he flips the lock and faces me.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

“I want a tattoo.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not fucking happening.”

“I got Artemis out,” I can’t help but mention. “She?—”

“She’s only awake because of Reese and me,” Saint snaps. “Get. Out.”

I pause. Artemis being awake is new information that I latch on to. Of course she’s awake—he wouldn’t be here otherwise. He’d still be in the hospital with her, right? Unless he trusts Reese enough…

That rankles.

“Is she okay?”

He stares at me for a long moment, then dips his head. “Yeah, she’s recovering. She got home this afternoon.”

Home.

The condo that they both live in… and I imagine Reese is holing up there, too. I keep going by the apartment he was renting, expecting to find some trace of him now that he’s awake, too. He can’t hold things against me forever.

I haven’t had a home in a long time—the word is a novelty. There are houses, there are places I rest my head at night, shelters from the oncoming storms. But a home?

“And you left her to come here?” I question.

He looks around his tattoo shop, his jaw muscle jumping. “I have responsibilities. Artemis will be okay lounging for a few hours.”

Except I’ve never known her to sit still. Not that I’ve known her for very long. If Saint thinks she’s going to stay put, I’ll take his word for it.

Or not.

Still, I came here for a reason. I gesture to the chair his last client just vacated.

“Tattoo me.”

He scoffs.

“I’m serious.” I peel off my shirt, feeling the sense of déjà vu, and throw it at his face. “Are you a coward?”

He doesn’t answer, but his gaze seems stuck on my chest. I let him look while I take a seat. It’s still in the reclined position, so I kick my feet up and cross my ankles.

Finally, he ventures closer and sits on the stool.

He wheels over to his counter, taking several minutes to change over the equipment.

New needles, ink in little plastic wells, a razor, and a dollop of coconut oil on the side of the tray.

He soaks some paper towels and comes closer, gesturing to my body.

I tap my chest.

His eyes narrow, but he cleans the area without comment. Sweeps the razor over the skin, then wipes away the residue.

“Any requests?”

“Something inspired by Atlas.”

He pauses. His blue eyes swing back to mine, seeming to analyze me for my sincerity. I keep a straight face while my mind whirs.

Why did I say that , of all things?

On my chest?

Picking Atlas when I prepared to go to Olympus wasn’t easy. I wanted something that would vaguely represent my struggle, and the Titan called to me in a way that no other did. He helped the gods in their fight against their creator, and in doing so, condemned himself to a lifetime of punishment.

His sentence?

Holding apart the heavens and the earth.

Saint wheels closer.

My abdomen tightens, flexing the kind of muscles I used to envy as a kid. I am fully aware that I’m showing off my body—and right now, all I want is to see if Saint will blush. He pauses, and yes , there’s the red creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks.

Hmm.

I don’t hide my smug smile when he bites the cap of a marker off with his teeth and leans toward me.

I focus on the top of his head. His short, dark hair isn’t visible under the black cap.

The brim conceals the back of his neck, hiding that blush from this angle.

I take in his dark eyelashes, the slope of his nose and slant of his cheekbone.

Did Michelangelo consider his muse for David so critically?

“Do you normally draw your designs freehand?”

I miss his expression, his head tilted as it is, but I imagine it’s somewhere between annoyance and anger. His grip on the marker tightens for a moment, then relaxes. I don’t look at the design—I don’t want to know.

I want to trust him.

Or… maybe I just want to show that I trust him.

My mind spins back to Artemis and the fact that she’s awake and he’s here. I was under the impression that he cared for her, and I don’t like being wrong.

“If the design is intricate, I’ll use a stencil.” His voice rasps. “But I’m confident in my abilities for this.”

I hum.

He tosses the marker on his work table and grabs another color, then wheels back to me. He pauses, poised, and continues.

I couldn’t tell you what he’s drawing.

“How did you get into tattooing?”

He scoffs. “You trying to get information to feed back to your brother ?”

“Oh, yes, because Gabriel cares so much about that.” I roll my eyes. “Didn’t I already tell you he’s not my actual brother?”

“Then, what?” He sits up abruptly, and his gaze burns into mine. “Where is your loyalty?”

“To—” I cut myself off and laugh. “Never mind.”

“Yeah,” Saint goads. He shakes his head and points at my chest. “I should’ve gone with a realistic dick.”

I smirk. “Only if it was yours.”

His mouth drops open, shock overtaking the anger—but only for a moment. “I have half a mind to throw you out,” he says under his breath.

“You won’t,” I challenge. “You’re just scared.”

“I am not.”

“Then finish what you started.”

This is the way to get through to him, I think. Incessant needling.

Saint seems to contemplate it, and he releases a long sigh.

“Good boy,” I murmur, his decision clearly made.

My dick twitches, threatening to make itself known… and probably ruin this rapport we’ve been so nicely building.

But he doesn’t notice. Not yet. Instead, he motions again to the drawing. “Take a look and tell me if you want anything changed.”

“Do you see anything to change?”

He scowls. Then, when I don’t move, stands. He gives me a look, and I do the same. Intentionally in his space. I’m taller than him by a few inches. He has to tip his head back to meet my gaze, and he does it with no small amount of fire.

His body heat rolls off him, and he finally takes a step back. Then another.

I like a flustered Saint Hart, but I keep that opinion to myself.

He bites the cap off again and suddenly is right back in front of me. His hand on my chest sends my pulse skittering, but he just corrects something and then backs off.

“Good?” I ask, my voice rougher than I expect.

“You should see it.”

“No.”

He sighs.

So much sighing from one man.

I take my seat and close my eyes. Ultimate trust, isn’t it?

Or… he should think so.