I watch as Michael texts away on his phone.
My phone buzzes again.
Michael is not one of the chatty Rigg’s kids, that’s for sure, but I thought he’d at least talk to me while I was doing this for him. I’m not even certain he likes me all that much. He’s more prickly than Henry. But then again, both of them are far bitchier than Everly and Law. They both have this don’t fuck with me vibe, and most of the time, it comes off as rude. Henry can turn on the charm when he needs to, but Michael chooses to keep up with the asshole vibe ninety percent of the time.
The door opens in the front of my shop, and I curse at myself for being distracted and not locking it up when I got started with Michael. I don’t do walk-ins and there’s no more appointments set for today, so that means I need to turn away anyone who’s thinking they’re getting a piercing or ink on a whim.
From the tattooing space of the shop, I see two guys walking in.
“Give me a sec,” I tell Michael. “I need to tell these guys I’m not doing any more appointments today.”
I remove my gloves as I make my way over, and I’m hit with the smell of black licorice. I never liked the smell, but something about it this time, mixed with cigarette smoke, makes me instantly nauseous. My stomach has that sinking feeling.
“I’m not taking any walk-ins tonight, gentlemen,” I say as I take in the two men hovering in the lobby of my shop.
The taller of the two smiles at me with a tilt of his head, as if I’ve met him before. It doesn’t register right away that I have, not until he turns his neck toward his friend, and I see the top of a lion’s mane peeking out of his leather jacket. I suck in a breath and freeze instantly.
I look at his friend, shorter, with jet black hair. He removes his leather gloves, and a bear claw tattoo shows on his left hand.
Lion.
Tiger.
Bear.
The smile that creeps along his mouth turns my stomach. The tall one starts to speak, and I blink, only watching his mouth move, but no sound comes out. They step closer to me, and the proximity turns my ears back on.
“Saw your sign lit up. Our flight doesn’t leave until after midnight, so we were thinking of adding a little ink. Kill some time,” the one with the bear claw tattoo says.
I swallow, but my mouth is so dry that it makes me cough. I do my best to stand tall, try to hide the nervous energy that’s thrumming throughout my body. “Sorry, boys. Like I said, I’m not doing any more appointments tonight.”
Moving toward the front desk, I try to put space between us. As I turn away, the one with the lion tattoo moves closer and says, “I like the flowers. Bright and loud. I’m partial to keeping mine black.”
“What are those?” the bear accusingly asks as he juts his chin out toward me. He points his finger at my neck.
And without thinking, I answer, “Lemon blossoms.”
The moment the words leave my lips, I regret them. My eyebrows jump. And the realization must register all over my face. I look to the Lion and back to the Bear.Fuck.
“I’ve seen ones like it before. What’d you say your name was?”
I try to smile, but I don’t know what my face actually does because I’m on the verge of tears. I need to get away. “I’m so sorry, but I have to get back to what I was doing. I’m not doing any more appointments ton—”
“I remember you,” the lion says in his thick Russian accent. He turns his head to the side to study me, maybe trying to remember that night a little more clearly. My hands start to shake, and my body has broken out with a sheen of sweat that coats my face.
“The Italian’s daughter.” He shakes his pointer finger at me. “We left you in a pool of your own blood, couldn’t find a pulse. How did you survive, Su-ka?”
“So you are what Mikhail found,” the bear says as he stalks closer to me. I don’t move. If I move, they’ll grab me, and the only way I can get out of this is if I play along, and then run.
Mikhail? The guy from New Year’s Eve. The Tiger.
“We thought he was going to a New Year’s bash for some billionaire who had taken photographs of his model girlfriend. Then, to my surprise, I found out that he had an altercation at the airport and somehow ended up dead. It all seemed strange.” He shifts, scratching his chin. “Mikhail didn’t do drugs. He would never carry drugs. If we smuggle, we ship, we never carry,” he says with atsk tsk.
“Did you kill my brother, Su-ka?” the lion asks as he pulls a switchblade from his jacket pocket. He’s intimidating at his height, but I see his hand shaking. I swallow my fear and start to pay attention. He looks gaunt, sickly skinny. Not at all built like a lion. He looks high or strung out by the way his pupils are blown wide, almost entirely black.
“You’re supposed to be dead, Su-ka. What are you doing breathing right now? The last time I touched you”—the bear reaches out and drags his fingers along my jawline—“you were barely conscious. Just how I prefer my women.” Another wave of nausea runs through my body at the thought of this piece of shit touching any part of me.
The knife the lion holds drags up my chest, between my breasts, and up the column of my throat. He stops the blade at my chin. “I think we will have fun tonight, Su-ka. You didn’t learn your lesson the first time,”