Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Holy shit! That would mean Kinsley would own fifty percent of the company and all the business accounts. She would be a millionaire, which would mean Rick’s parents would have less.
“We didn’t even have to threaten them,” Jax says. “Apparently because there weren’t any known heirs at the time the will was read, the attorney didn’t mention it, and your parents never thought to ask. The second we brought it to their attention, they agreed to do whatever we wanted.”
“They chose the company over their granddaughter,” I say softly.
“They don’t deserve to call her their granddaughter,” Lachlan says. “Remember what I told you before. Blood doesn’t make a family. Love does. Now let’s get you the hell out of here and go get our daughter, so we can finally make us a family, legally.”
Extended Epilogue
Lachlan
Sixteen Years Later
“Dad won’t know if you tattoo me. It’s not as if he looks at my back,” I hear my fifteen year old daughter, Kaylee, murmur from my office at Forbidden Ink. With Jase retired and traveling the world with his wife, and Jax and Willow retired and enjoying the quiet life, naturally it meant I would take over the family business. I wasn’t supposed to come in this morning, since Barrett, my fourteen year old son, has a soccer game this afternoon, but I needed to place a quick order, since I forgot to do it last night before I left. And now I’m damn glad I did…
“It’s not happening, Kay,” Kinsley chides. I can’t help the grin that forms. “Dad would kill me. You know his rule. No tattoos until you’re eighteen.”
“You’re such a downer,” Kaylee whines.
“Trust me, you’ll thank me later for not doing it.”
“Doubtful,” Kaylee grumbles.
“Look at the bright side, I just saved a unicorn from being killed.” Kinsley cackles.
“Whatever.”
I should probably make my presence known, but I don’t. It’s obvious Kinsley has this under control. She’s been officially apprenticing with me for the last three years since she graduated from high school, and this weekend is her first time taking clients on her own. I’m so damn proud of her.
A memory surfaces from the past, when Kinsley was six years old and decided she wanted to become a tattoo artist.
“Dad! Look what I drew.” I’ll never get tired of hearing that three letter word come out of her mouth. She hands me a drawing of two stick figures with the words Dad and Kinsley over them. They’re holding hands.
“Where’s your mom and Kaylee?” I ask.
“At home. This is me and you.” She points to the square behind us. “And that’s Forbidden Ink. My teacher told us to draw what we want to be when we get bigger. I want to tattoo people like you.” Kinsley beams up at me with pride, and my heart expands. “When I’m bigger, will you show me how?”
Her eyes are wide with hope, as if there’s even a small chance I won’t give her anything she wants.
“How about I show you now?”
She gasps. “Really?”
“Sure.”
Kinsley’s spending the day with me at the shop because there’s no school and her mom is home with Kaylee. She’s only four weeks old and sleeps a lot, and Kinsley gets bored hanging out at home, so occasionally she comes in with me while I tattoo. She’s a great little assistant.
I grab my gun and hand her gloves to put on. Grabbing the black ink, I open the cap. I place my arm on the counter and Kinsley climbs onto the chair.
“You’re going to let me tattoo you?” she squeals.
“Yep! But you can’t tattoo anyone else until you’re licensed.”
“Okay!”
I walk her through how to hold the gun, turn it on and off a few times so she can see how it feels, then let her try it for herself. When she tells me she’s ready, I point to a small spot on my arm. “Go ahead and give it a go.”
“What should I tattoo?” she asks, her voice full of excitement. “A skull or a soccer ball?”
“How about we start small,” I suggest. Anything too big will probably leave a hole in my arm.
“Okay,” she says softly, “I’ll draw a heart because I love you.”
She presses the button to start the gun and dips the tip into the black ink. Slowly, she draws a heart on my skin. Tiny beads of red surface. When she’s done, she jumps down and grabs a paper towel, wetting it with water and soap, like she’s seen us do a million times. She drags the paper towel across my skin, exposing the new black heart tattoo.
“I did it!” she squeals.
“You did. One day you’re going to make a great tattooist.”