Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Especially during the times when it doesn’t make any sense. But it fit too perfectly there.
Because you’re the realest motherfucker I’ve ever seen.
It brings me back to the present. To the Philly townhouse where the pipes groan as Maximoff takes a shower. But I’m not upstairs with him.
Eighteen minutes until a lunch “date” with my boyfriend’s family, and I’m lying on the mint-green rug where the coffee table usually would be. Black pants ride low on my waist.
And Donnelly is tattooing me.
His needle pierces the right side of my lower back. Right, right above my ass.
A sparrow—the only bird inked without color and the largest one on my body—spans most of my back with its feathered torso in the center. The tip of each wing touches my deltoids and reaches my traps. Further down, towards my ass, its talons clutch a dagger.
The sparrow and blade leave room for more ink on the lower left and right side, above my waistband.
“Don’t call Papa Hale sir when you see him,” Donnelly says, tattoo machine in hand. “I did that after he found out I inked Luna’s hip, and I’m telling you, he grew a third horn. Looked like he could’ve impaled me in the throat and ripped out my asshole.”
I chew Doublemint slowly and glance back at Donnelly with a pointed look. “Don’t talk about ripping assholes while you’re so close to mine with a needle.”
He smirks, not meeting my gaze as he works carefully on the design. He wears thin-framed reading glasses. “All I’m saying is that Maximoff’s dad is no joke. I thought he was the funny one. Sarcastic and shit. But I almost pissed myself.”
I thought Loren Hale would do worse if he found out Donnelly tattooed his eighteen-year-old daughter. “You still have your job?” I ask.
“Barely.” He pauses as a calico cat jumps off the Victorian loveseat onto the rug.
I throw a toy mouse and Carpenter chases it under the iron café table.
I’m not scared of Lo. But I’m wondering what conversations he plans to start. Since the crash, we’ve stuck to one main topic: Maximoff rehabbing his collarbone. Easy shit.
Something tells me this lunch isn’t going to be easy.
Donnelly resumes tattooing, the needle pricking skin. Not painful. The ink on my ribs hurts like hell, but this isn’t bad. He tells me, “Cobalt parents never batted an eyelash when I inked Beckett.”
Mention of Beckett reminds me about him doing cocaine to help his ballet performance. I told Donnelly that I knew about it, but we didn’t talk long.
“If it’s hard being on Beckett’s detail,” I say now, “you should see if Akara will let you transfer.”
I never asked if Donnelly supplied the drugs. Some bodyguards will, but Donnelly would let another person chop off his hand before he touched cocaine.
I stay on my forearms. Not looking over my shoulder at him.
Donnelly inks me quietly. Tattoo machine buzzing, and then he says, “I can’t leave him, man.” He lowers his voice. “I know I can’t get him to stop. I mean, fuck me, his twin brother couldn’t even convince him.”
I pop a bubble in my mouth. “Because Beckett thinks drugs make him a better dancer,” I whisper, “and now he’s started thinking that he dances like shit without them.”
“I hate that,” he mutters and then speaks under his breath. He tells me how he can’t talk to Beckett about his teenage years. Because then Beckett would try to protect him and ask the Tri-Force to transfer Donnelly off his detail.
Donnelly doesn’t explain his past to me. I already know it. When he was fourteen, his parents gave him meth for the first time, and as an adult, he prefers not to be around hard drugs. Not out of temptation. Mainly, they bring back bad memories.
“Hidey ho.” Luna hops off the last stair into the living room. “Uh, I mean hi.” She raises a hand in a hesitant wave.
Luna.
“You covered your ink?” Donnelly mimes to his forearm where lyrics to “Dreams” by The Cranberries should be. The black ink is concealed with flesh-toned makeup. Hiding her tattoos is new. The plain dress, pin-straight ponytail, and simple makeup has been happening for weeks now.
“Yeah, yeah.” She comes over and sits on the loveseat.
I raise my brows at her. “Why do you keep looking less like yourself and more like everyone else?”
She shrugs. Glances at Donnelly, then back to me, and tells us, “Andrew says it’s easier.”
Easier for him.
“Luna, fuck this fucker,” I say, grinding my gum beneath my molars. Maximoff has been afraid that her new boyfriend is the cause of Luna changing, and in four words, his fear has been confirmed.
“This guy wants a basic bitch. Go let him date a basic bitch,” Donnelly says while he finishes my ink. “Don’t turn into one.”
Luna watches the tattoo machine, lost in thought. “He’s not all bad. He gives okay head.”