Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
But I’m over it. Over him.
I manage to zone out and make decent progress over the next half hour, the familiar hum and buzz of the machine drowning out my thoughts.
Soothing me as the design gradually comes to life in vibrant hues against tan skin.
Almost done with this session. If I can just...
The floorboards creak as Lyon shifts his weight, sending a jolt of irritation up my spine.
That’s it. I’ve fucking had it.
Setting down the tattoo machine with exaggerated calm, I spin in my chair to face him head on. “Do you need something, Lyon? Because you’re being incredibly distracting and unprofessional right now.”
His brows lift at my sharp tone, but a smug smile tugs at his pierced lips. “Just admiring your technique, darlin’. No crime in that, is there?”
“There is when you’re hovering nonstop and I’m trying to concentrate,” I retort through my teeth, conscious of my client listening in. “I’m with a client. So either tell me what you want or kindly fuck off until I’m done here.”
Lyon pushes off the doorframe and adjusts his backwards snapback, that annoying smirk still plastered on his face. “Damn, you’re so hostile, Iris. I just wanted to talk to you about something. But I can see you’re...busy, and you don’t want me admirin’ your work.”
His gaze rakes down my tank top and ripped jeans in a way that makes my skin crawl before he meets my glare again. “Find me when you’re done here, yeah? We’ll have that talk.”
With that, he pivots and saunters off, leaving me stewing.
The audacity.
As if I’m at his fucking beck and call.
I suck in a deep breath and force myself to unclench my jaw.
Get it together, Iris.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter to my bemused client, Rosa. “Man doesn’t have any boundaries. Let me touch up a few spots and then I think we’ll be good for today.”
Rosa hums sympathetically as I pick up the machine again with hands that tremble slightly. “Sounded like your ex? What an ass. I don’t know how you put up with that bullshit. Hot as he is.”
A harsh laugh punches out of me.
If she only knew.
The swagger and bad boy ink hid a mean, manipulative streak that could turn on a dime.
“He’s my boss too. Makes it extra fun,” I say tightly, biting my tongue against the full shit-talking session I’d love to indulge in. “But I don’t intend to put up with it much longer. Just gotta line up another job first.”
“Mmm, I hear that. You’re talented as hell though. You won’t have any trouble finding a new shop.” Rosa lifts her head to catch my eye, her expression suddenly sly. “You know, a bunch of us dancers could use a good tattoo artist. One who gets our style, does cover-ups and touch-ups, that kinda thing. If you ever want an intro at the club...”
I raise my brows, intrigued in spite of myself.
I've done plenty of ink on strippers and sex workers.
They tend to be great clients—easygoing, fun, with a bold aesthetic and high pain tolerance.
And discreet as hell, which I can certainly appreciate.
“That’s...tempting, actually.” I flash her a considering smile as I finish the final highlight with a flourish. “Might just take you up on it if shit goes sideways here. Which, given that little scene, is a definite possibility.”
We share a knowing look as I wipe down the fresh ink and sit back to survey the piece with a critical eye.
The lotus and lush greenery wrap seamlessly around her ribs and shoulder blade, the jewel tones popping against her bronzed skin.
Not bad at all.
After snapping a few pics for my portfolio, I cover the piece and give Rosa the usual spiel about aftercare.
We head up front to settle the bill, and she leans on the counter with a wink as she hands me her card. “I’m serious, Iris. Satin Dreams could use a girl like you. For ink and...other things. Think about it.”
Her tone is light but the implication unmistakable.
I swallow and nod, slipping the card in my back pocket as we say our goodbyes.
Heading back to clean my station, I feel the first real spark of excitement I’ve had in weeks.
A new opportunity.
A chance to get the fuck out of this toxic hellhole and away from Lyon’s clutches.
It’s almost too good to be true.
But first, I need to deal with the steaming pile of bullshit waiting for me in his office.
Squaring my shoulders, I stalk down the hall and push through the door without knocking.
Time to lance this fucking boil once and for all.
“All right, asshole,” I bite out, not bothering to hide my seething resentment. “You wanted to talk. So talk. But make it quick, because I have zero patience left for your fucking games today.”
Lyon looks up from his desk, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.