Chapter Two
Elodie
“I still think this is a mistake.”
Sarah laughs beside me as we step off the school grounds and head toward the tattoo shop across the street. “You’ve been saying that since lunch. Do I need to remind you that you agreed to this?” she asks.
I sigh. “I know. But I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“You’ll be fine, Elodie. I promise,” Sarah reassures me.
I tighten my grip on the folded paper in my hand. The matching tattoo design we’d chosen suddenly feels far more intimidating than it had when we were sitting in the teachers’ lounge discussing it weeks ago.
Sarah bumps her shoulder against mine. “Loosen up. We’re celebrating.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Celebrating what? We barely survived our first year of teaching,” I point out.
“Exactly. And we swore we’d do this the second we made it out alive,” she says, stopping to look at the tattoo shop.
I groan softly, earning another laugh from her. Then, I follow her gaze.
The black sign hanging above the brick building reads 4R Ink in bold silver lettering. I’ve walked past it almost every weekday since moving to Atlanta three months ago, but I never paid much attention beyond wondering what the inside looked like.
From the outside, it looks intimidating, with dark windows and black trim. The motorcycle parked beside the curb just makes it more daunting to approach. Nothing about it screams kindergarten teacher.
Sarah grins.
“Too late to chicken out.”
“I’m still considering it.”
Sarah has become one of my closest friends almost by accident.
I met her during our student teaching placement.
We went our separate ways after the program, and then she called me last spring about an opening at her school.
My first year as a teacher was for a quiet district north of the city where every child already had everything they needed.
I wasn’t happy and finished the year feeling merely decorative.
Instead, I wanted to be somewhere I’d actually be missed if I left. Three months later, here I am.
We have absolutely nothing in common except our jobs.
She is beautiful, outgoing, and endlessly talkative, with bright red hair that always seems to attract attention wherever we go. Meanwhile, I’ve spent most of my life trying to avoid attention altogether.
She drags me out of my comfort zone more often than I care to admit. If she hadn’t insisted on celebrating our first year of teaching, I wouldn’t have done anything about it.
The bell above the tattoo shop door chimes as we step inside. Immediately, my nerves start to jitter.
The shop is far nicer than I’d expected. A dark-wood reception desk sits at the front of the lobby, while artwork and framed photographs of tattoos cover the walls. Some of the designs resemble intricate works of art, others look bold and striking.
The space smells faintly of antiseptic and ink, but it looks clean and welcoming rather than intimidating. A comfortable black leather sofa sits beneath one display while shelves hold sketchbooks and small sculptures instead of the skulls and flames I’d imagined.
“Told you,” Sarah whispers.
Before I can respond, a woman speaks from behind the receptionist desk. “You must be Sarah and Elodie.”
My brain freezes for a moment, wondering how she knows our names until I realize Sarah made an appointment for us days ago.
“That’s us,” Sarah says chirpily, smiling wide.
I shake my head, smiling. Sarah has never met a situation she couldn’t find excitement in. The receptionist stands to walk toward us. She is tall and willowy, with chocolate-brown hair, warm brown eyes, pale skin, and full lips. There is something elegant about her, though she wears it casually.
“I’m Nadia,” she says, stopping before us. “Welcome to 4R Ink. I can see you both have your designs with you,” she says, nodding toward my hands, still gripping the paper. “Please, have a seat. I’ll check that they’re ready for you.”
“Thanks, Nadia,” Sarah says while I nod as she leaves the lobby.
We sit on the sofa, and Sarah turns to me, brimming with excitement. “So, how do you feel now?”
I pause for a moment, truly thinking about it. Getting a tattoo feels strangely significant. Not because of the design itself. But because of what it represents.
For years, I’ve done exactly what was expected of me.
After my parents died, I buried myself in schoolwork, determined to make something of my life.
They’d brought me over from Galway when I was sixteen, chasing a job my father swore would change everything.
Three years later, a drunk driver crossed the center line, and at nineteen, I stopped being anybody’s daughter.
What they left behind covered the rest of my tuition, so I finished the degree they’d have been proud of.
While I’d never been particularly rebellious even before the accident, afterward, I’ve become even more careful. More responsible.
Everything I’ve done has served a purpose. College. My career. Building a life for myself. This tattoo is different. It’s something I simply wanted.
I look at Sarah, smiling. “I think I’m good,” I finally answer. Though the realization still feels oddly unsettling.
Sarah grins victoriously. “Thought so.” She crosses one leg over the other and leans toward me conspiratorially. “So?”
I immediately narrow my eyes. With Sarah, it’s hard to predict what she’ll say next.
“The open house. How was it? Meeting all the parents for the first time?” she asks.
I groan. “It was great for the most part. Except for when I met Teddy Krane’s father.” I exhale. “I don’t want to say this about a parent, but that man makes my skin crawl.”
A shiver runs through me despite the warm afternoon as I remember his leery gaze. The memory of Mr. Krane standing far too close to me last night still makes my skin crawl. Sarah’s smile fades.
“He wouldn’t leave me alone,” I admit quietly. “Every time I turned around, he was there asking questions.”
“Questions about Teddy?” Sarah asks.
“Not really.”
Her expression darkens. “What kind of questions?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Personal ones. He kept asking when I moved to Atlanta, what I thought of him, and saying how beautiful I looked.” I inhale softly, still holding Sarah’s worried gaze.
“He put his hand on my arm, and I shrugged it off. But a part of me wonders how brazen he’d have been if I’d been alone with him. Or am I reading too much into it?”
Sarah swears under her breath, and I blink in shock. I’ve never seen her look this serious.
“What is it?”
“Just be careful around him. I’ve heard things. Things that have never been proven because he’s too slick. But he’s definitely dangerous, so steer clear of him,” she warns
I want to ask her what she knows, but Nadia enters the lobby, ending the conversation.
“The boys are ready for you. I just need you both to fill out some paperwork,” she says. She heads to her desk, pulls out two documents, and brings them to us. “If you’ll fill these out, we’ll get started.”
Curiosity still burns inside me. Unfortunately, Nadia hands us the waivers. By the time we sign the paperwork and return the forms, the opportunity to ask Sarah more about Mr. Krane has passed.
Nadia goes through the pages before nodding approvingly. “Perfect. Follow me.”
She leads us through a doorway and down a hallway toward the back of the shop. “We have four artists here,” she explains. “Each one has their own private room. Raiden and River will be working on you. You’ll take your designs in with you.”
I nod, though my attention is becoming increasingly occupied by the realization that I’m actually about to do this. No backing out now.
“Given the size you want, it shouldn’t take more than ninety minutes,” Nadia explains as we walk.
“There’s some prep work before they start with the ink.
They’ll go over everything with you. Then, they’ll bandage it and walk you through the aftercare.
” She finishes her spiel just as the hallway opens into a larger area.
A man steps out of one of the rooms.
“This is River. He’ll be working on Sarah,” Nadia says.
River is rough-hewn, I note distractedly. Maybe a little scary.
He is enormous. Broad shoulders stretch the sleeves of his black T-shirt, revealing tattooed forearms that look as though they belong on a professional fighter rather than an artist. His dark hair is buzzed short at the sides, longer on top, while a long, well-trimmed beard frames his face.
Sarah moves closer to him. “I’m hoping you don’t enjoy making people cry,” she says, deadpan.
His mouth twitches. “I don’t. Mostly. But I’ll try not to traumatize you.”
She gasps dramatically. “I knew it.”
For the first time, I see the faintest hint of a smile appear as River gestures toward his room.
Sarah looks back at me. “If I scream, ignore me.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say with a wide smile.
“I know.” She winks at me. “But screaming builds suspense.”
I shake my head as she disappears into River’s room. I know she’ll breeze through the process the same way she does everything. Nadia turns toward the last door.
“Raiden?”
A quiet voice answers. “Come in.”
She opens it and steps aside for me. “This is Elodie.”
I look up and forget every coherent thought I’d ever had.
He stands a few steps from the doorway of his private room, and something inside me clenches tight and hot. Pale blue eyes, impossibly vivid, framed by dark lashes and heavy brows. His black hair, slightly too long, falls messily across his forehead, making my fingers itch to push it back.
He wears a fitted black T-shirt that strains against his lean, muscled shoulders. Sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and inked with intricate designs that look like armbands. Light scruff shadows his strong jaw.
Despite his inviting features, an air of danger surrounds him. Almost daring someone to cross him. I should want to flee; instead, I want to stand near him and discover his story. His full lips are unsmiling, and when his gaze finds mine, I feel it everywhere.