Risk (Gentry Boys #2)(68)

I wanted to do something bold, something to advertise to the world a fact I’d kept hidden for so long. It was time.

I’d forgotten that Cordero Gentry worked at the tattoo parlor. Cord was the one who walked over to help me.

“Hi,” he said, visibly puzzled to see me sitting on one of the plush velvet chairs in the waiting area up front.

“Hey Cord,” I answered, scouring my brain for a way out of this.

Cord leaned on the counter and patiently waited for me to spit out whatever it was I needed to say. He most likely thought I’d sought him out to ask about Creed.

I looked right into his blue eyes. They were the exact same shade as his brother’s. “Actually I’m looking to get a tattoo.”

Cord glanced around. “Well, you came to the right place. It’s what we do here.” He stared at me for a moment, perhaps sensing my discomfort. “Truly, would you like me to grab someone else to help you?”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind if it’s you.” I pointed to the elaborate ink on his arms. “After all, it seems like you know what you’re doing.”

He smiled. “All right, then. Step into my office.”

Cord whistled lightly as he waited for me to follow him. As I walked through the place I stared around in fascination at the artwork covering the walls. It was like being inside someone else’s dream. A man with huge ear gauges and ink from his wrists to his shoulders was listening to a pair of college girls argue over which Celtic design would make the best tramp stamp. He smirked at Cord and rolled his eyes. Cord chuckled and opened the door to a tiny room.

“After you,” he said, making a chivalrous hand gesture.

I set my purse on the floor and carefully sat on the edge of the large black chair.

“So,” Cord said, pulling up a bench, “what are you looking to get?”

I cleared my throat and tried to explain what I was looking for. “I just want something simple, something showing a specific date.” I thought for a minute. “Maybe you could somehow write it into a magnolia blossom?”

Cord nodded. “If you want. I can do whatever you tell me to.” He picked up a pen and a pad, tearing off a page of intricate drawings and balling it up. He tossed it cleanly into the wastebasket without looking and began rapidly sketching on a fresh sheet of paper. After a minute he held it up. “Like that?”

“Yes,” I breathed. He had drawn a perfectly rendered flower. It nearly looked alive. “Exactly like that.”

Cord was pleased. “Now I can build the date into the design. Just tell me what it is.”

“Today,” I answered and Cord looked up. “September fourteenth.”

“Okay,” he said. “You want a year with that?”

“No. The month and day are enough.”

He returned to his sketch, deftly adding the numbers nine and fourteen inside the petals of the flower. He showed it to me. “So where do you want it?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Where do folks usually put these things?”

“Anywhere,” he laughed. “Just depends on how much you want it to be seen.”

I could barely hear my own voice. “I want it to be seen. It should be seen.” Cord was staring at me strangely so I shook off my odd mood and pointed to my right shoulder. “Put it right here.”

“Roll up your sleeve,” he said, already getting his tools out.

He kept a serious look on his face the whole time he worked. I expected he would ask me the significance of the day; whether it was my birthday or someone’s death. He didn’t though. I kept my head turned away most of the time. I didn’t care about seeing the needle, but I didn’t want to see him. With his head bent and a stern concentration to his manner, he reminded me too much of Creed.

“How is he?” I blurted out when Cord had been working for about ten minutes.

He paused, then sighed. “He’s hanging in there.” I looked at Creed’s brother and noted the sag of his broad shoulders. He gave me a sad grin. “That’s what we’re all doing, isn’t it, Truly?”

“It’s not as easy as it looks,” I muttered and leaned back into the chair, closing my eyes and waiting for him to finish.

Cord refused to accept any money for the tattoo.

“Fuck that; we get some leeway to do favors for friends,” he said airily and pushed my cash back in my face. I was irritable as I stuffed it back in my purse. It was one of the most infuriating things about the Gentry boys; so gruff and yet so gallant.

Cord walked me out. My shoulder stung a big but it was nothing. It was like suffering a paper cut beside a gaping stab wound.

“I want to see him,” I said and hated the shakiness in my voice. “I want to see him so much.”

Cord slumped against the building and looked up at the sky.

“I know,” he answered. “But it’s better if you don’t.”

I was going to dissolve. Again. I would be little more than a breathing puddle of tears if I kept this up.

“Cord?” I asked haltingly and he gave me his attention. “You’ll let me know? When it’s…over?”

One way or another, whether he’s dead or alive.

He shut his eyes tight and leaned forward, looking like he might vomit on the sidewalk.