Ruthless Hold (Back Down Devil MC #9)(4)

It was what he always did. A single bullet to Griffin. Maybe in some stupid way he thought that bullet would bring Griffin back. Maybe it was just a dumb gesture and a waste of a perfectly good bullet.

Each time Trev came back, the bullet was always gone.

That had to mean something, right?

Trev climbed onto his ride, fired it up, and sped away, the call of steel horse crying out to the silent cemetery.

Inside himself, Trev felt something… the Griffin thing… almost a year later… but there was something lingering…

__



three.



The whir of the needle was her only escape. Living through the stories of those who gave their clean skin to ink was the best part of the job. The most ironic thing about Eden was that while she was considered one of the best tattoo artists in the area, she didn’t have a single tattoo on her. Because of that, it made her even more special. Nothing against tattoos, Eden wasn’t sure if she’d ever find anything worth putting on her skin to be there forever.

She worked long hours, saved her cash, lived in a small apartment, and when she wasn’t tattooing, she was drawing pictures, dreaming of a life where she could find her mother, her father, and find out the truth of herself. All she knew was that right from birth she had been given up for adoption. Her adoptive parents - Bruce and Lena, so f*cking middle class and perfect - were killed in a head-on collision when Eden was fifteen. Lena’s sister, Leslie, stepped in and raised Eden until she was eighteen. Leslie worked for a marketing company and that’s where Eden got her start with drawing. She literally just picked up a pen and started to draw.

Soon she was drawing eight, ten, twelve hours a day, recreating everything about her life she loved and lost. For an entire summer, she drew pictures, collecting enough that when Aunt Leslie found them, she passed them to her boss. Overnight, Eden became a star. So much so she was going to have her artwork on display. She was going to go attend a prestigious art school. Hell, she even had a job offer lined up with Leslie’s company. She’d work there part-time, attend school full-time, and become the epitome of surviving the tragedy of the death of her adoptive parents.

Eden gathered up all the artwork and lit it on fire.

Aunt Leslie had a fit and told Eden to move out. It was a silly fight. Aunt Leslie had too much wine that night, but Eden left anyway. She didn’t want to be part of any family if it wasn’t her real one. Her quest to find her real parents took her to Los Angeles. Her drawings took her to the beach which didn’t provide a damn thing financially. Then she met Dimitrio. He was tall, covered in ink, and gave her a hundred bucks to tattoo his left calf. When she said she’d never tattooed anyone before, he said he didn’t give a shit. When she asked what he wanted, he said anything. Eden did her first tattoo in Dimitrio’s shop, after closing, doing it freehand, drawing a skull with a snake slithering through the mouth and left eye socket. She completed the designed with red and black roses. When she finished, she wept and Dimitrio handed her a thousand dollars in cash.

“What’s this for?” she asked him.

“First week’s pay. You’ll get paid every Friday, plus whatever tips customers throw at you. Be here Monday. I’ll have all the equipment and supplies you’ll need.”

That was the beginning of Eden’s new life and career.

She still checked in with Aunt Leslie once in a while, but not too often.

Well, she hadn’t talked to Aunt Leslie in almost a year. Not since the lawyer contacted her and gave her The Letter.

In her mind, Eden called it The Letter because it was the most powerful thing she’d ever received in her life. It was a letter from her birth father, along with pictures to prove his existence, her birth mother’s existence, and what to do when she received the letter.

Eden took the needle from the man’s shoulder and wiped the ink away. A tiger stared back at her, good enough to be alive. This guy came with no story though. He just liked tigers.

After a few more minutes of shading, she was done.

“How’s that look?” Eden asked.

“Ah, damn,” the guy said. “That’s perfect. It’s looks f*cking real.” He looked at Eden. “Sorry for the language.”

“I work in a tattoo shop, man,” Eden said. “You can’t imagine the shit I hear.”

“Thanks for this. It’s amazing. Really. You’re really good. And you have no ink?”

“Not that you can see,” Eden said with a sly grin.

The guy’s eyes lit up.

She stood and took her gloves off, throwing them out.

“I’m only kidding,” Eden said. “I have no ink. No desire.”

“That’s crazy. And you do work like this? You’re the best.”

“If I’m the best then anyone who touches me wouldn’t be the best.”

The guy nodded. “Yeah, right.”

He took out some my money and handed Eden a generous tip. She thanked him, explained the instructions for care - not that he needed it as his other arm was half a full sleeve of tattoos - and sent him to the counter.

That was the last one for the day.

The shop closed up twenty minutes later and Eden sat in her chair and opened her top drawer. That’s where she kept The Letter. Reading it so many times had it tattooed in her mind. It was so dumb to wait this long, right? He had sent The Letter, but he also made it very clear that Eden had no obligation to contact him. Her father just wanted her to know he knew who she was.