Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
BEX
It feels good to be back at the tattoo shop. Walking through the front door earlier tonight felt like stepping back into my old life, and I hadn’t even realized how much I’d missed it.
Not the constant worrying about whether I’d have enough money to make rent or feed myself, of course.
I definitely don’t miss that. But the buzz of tattoo machines, the sharp smell of disinfectant and fresh ink, and the familiar rhythm of taking orders from Ronnie and bickering with Devin all settle over me like muscle memory.
Within minutes of slipping behind my station, it almost feels like I never left.
Ronnie doesn’t even ask where I’ve been, just tells me when my first client is due to come in and leaves me to set up.
As far as he’s concerned, my ‘personal drama’ is responsible for my reduced hours lately, and he’s never been the type to pry for details.
It’s one of the things I’ve always appreciated about him– if I want to talk, he’ll listen, and if I don’t, he minds his own damn business.
Devin knows the truth, but he also signed an NDA when he became a Bite donor, which means we both have to dance around the parts of our lives we can’t talk about.
He keeps it vague when he asks how I’ve been, and before long we’re back to doing what we do best– trading gossip, complaining about tattoo clients, and talking shit until it feels less like catching up and more like no time has passed at all.
It’s easy to slip back into the rhythm of this place.
The penthouse has started to feel familiar in its own way, but it’s so polished and pristine, every room so damn quiet that it feels like a museum.
Here, there’s always music playing somewhere in the background, ink stains on the counters, and laughter drifting between stations.
The shop feels like it has a life of its own.
By the time the last customer leaves, I’ve almost forgotten that I’m now a live-in blood donor for one of the most famous vampires in the country. For a few blissfully ordinary hours, I was able to be just Bex again.
I should be looking forward to heading back to the penthouse and curling up underneath sheets so soft they’re borderline pornographic.
Instead, I find myself working slower than normal to break down my station, wiping every surface a little more carefully than necessary because part of me just isn’t ready to leave yet.
Across the room, Devin rises from his station and shrugs into his jacket.
“I'm heading out,” he announces. “Got date night.”
“Tell Alaia I said hi,” I mumble, a little pang of loneliness settling in my chest.
A month ago, he’d be hassling me to hurry up so we could walk home together, probably talking me into spending our tip money on greasy takeout along the way. Now, the night’s ending with the two of us heading in opposite directions.
“I will,” Dev says, flashing me a grin. “She misses you.”
“Yeah right,” I snort.
“She does,” he insists. “I do, too. We should all get together sometime. Have drinks or something.”
“Sure,” I reply with an easy smile, appreciating the thought even if we both know it probably won’t happen.
We’ve never really been the type to make plans.
We’d just end up in the same place at the same time, one of us wandering into the apartment with a bottle of cheap whiskey or convincing the others to hit the bar after work. It always happened naturally.
Funny how quickly that changes.
Devin tosses me a wave before heading for the front door. The bell chimes as he pushes it open, then it swings shut behind him, leaving the shop a little quieter than before.
Ronnie disappears behind the curtain in the back to start his nightly closing routine, muttering something about inventory under his breath.
I barely pay attention, still taking my sweet ass time wiping down my workstation, organizing my supplies, and finding little excuses to linger.
I should probably head out, but I’m in no real hurry.
A few minutes pass, then the bell above the front door chimes again. I glance up automatically, expecting Devin to come wandering back in because he forgot his keys or left his phone on the counter.
I definitely don’t expect to see my vampire stalker.
For a second, I think I’m hallucinating. My heart trips over its valves, every muscle in my body going taut.
I only met Vincent once, but he’s exactly as I remember. Same dark hair, same startling amber eyes, same practiced smile stretched over the sharp edges of his face. The kind that probably puts most people at ease, but instead makes my skin crawl.
“Tiffany,” he drawls, voice smooth as silk. “I thought that was you.”
The use of my alias hits me like a slap. It used to feel familiar– comfortable, even– but after not hearing it in weeks, it just feels wrong. Especially coming from him.
I straighten slowly, setting the spray bottle down on the counter before the tightening of my grip cracks the plastic. “What are you doing here?”
He hooks a thumb toward the street behind him. “I was just passing by. Saw you through the window.”
“Uh huh.” My arms fold across my chest, the posture more shield than attitude.
I don’t believe him for a second– not after the questions he asked during our engagement, and especially not after he showed up outside Henry’s townhouse, then my old apartment. Besides, a wealthy vampire has absolutely no reason to be wandering around this shitty neighborhood.
“I think you should leave,” I say, forcing my voice to remain even despite the fear tightening my throat. “We’re closed.”
Vincent’s brows lift in mild surprise. “Whoa, why the cold shoulder?”
His gaze drifts lazily around the shop as he takes another slow step inside, like closing time is merely a suggestion.
“Our last engagement went well, did it not?” he asks, cocking his head as he glances down at my Bite bracelet, then back up at me. “I've sent several requests since then, but I've noticed you haven't accepted any of them.”
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to put something between us. Instead, I lift my chin with false bravado and say, “I'm an exclusive donor now.”
That stops him cold. His muscles lock up, something flashing across his face before disappearing so quickly I almost miss it.
“For who?” he asks suspiciously.
“Dr. Elliott Faulkner.”
His eyebrows shoot up, then knit together. “Faulkner,” he repeats, almost to himself.
“He's claimed me as his source,” I add, remembering what James said about vampire law.
If I’m a claimed source, nobody else can touch me.
For a long moment, Vincent just stares at me. The smile fades, his jaw working. Then, just as quickly as it vanished, the smile returns.
“I see,” he says softly. “I wasn’t aware.”
“Well, you are now,” I bite out, refusing to break eye contact. “So again, I think you should leave.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “What if I’m a customer?” His attention wanders to the artwork covering the walls, then returns to me. “Maybe I want a tattoo.”
My pulse pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. “Like I said, we’re closed.”
His eyes stay on mine long enough that every tiny sound in the shop seems to disappear.
The refrigerator hum.
The music.
Even my own breathing.
It’s just him watching me, like he’s trying to decide whether Elliott Faulkner’s claim is enough to make him walk away… or whether I’m worth the risk.
The silence stretches, every instinct in my body screaming at me to move, my fight or flight response kicking hard.
“Is there a problem here?”
Ronnie’s voice slices clean through the tension, and I glance over to find him emerging from the back room, his eyes flickering between Vincent and me. One hand rests casually atop the handle of the trusty baseball bat he keeps behind the counter to fend off trouble.
Not that it’ll do much against a vampire.
Still, the knot cinched tight around my lungs loosens just enough that I can breathe again.
“No problem,” I say quickly, turning back to the vampire intruder. “Vincent was just leaving.”
For a second, I wonder if he’ll push it. Instead, Vincent’s eyes linger on mine for another long moment before he inclines his head and turns for the door.
“I’ll see you around, Tiffany,” he drawls, the promise wrapped in the same smooth tone he’d greeted me with. He strolls toward the door at an unhurried pace, tossing me a wink over his shoulder as he pushes it open.
The bell chimes softly, and I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until the door swings shut and he disappears into the night.
“Tiffany?” Ronnie asks.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face as I cross to the front door, flipping the lock and turning the sign from open to closed. “Don’t ask,” I mutter.
“Normally I wouldn’t,” Ronnie grumbles. “But if vampires are showing up in my shop, I kinda have to.”
I roll my eyes as I pivot back around. “They're part of society. They're gonna wander in from time to time.”
“But that one knew you. Called you by a name that isn’t yours.” He studies me for a beat, eyes narrowing. “What have you gotten mixed up in, Bex?”
“Nothing.” The lie comes automatically, and I turn away before he can see anything on my face, stalking back toward my station.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Ronnie mutters, still watching me. Then he lets out a long sigh, scrubbing a hand over his beard. “Maybe you should take a little more time off. Figure your shit out.”
I freeze, then slowly turn around. “What?”
He shifts his weight, dropping his gaze. “I’m just saying…”
“Are you firing me?”
“Of course not,” he grumbles. “But with your reduced hours, I’ll probably need to look into bringing on someone else anyways, and–”
“So you are firing me!” I interrupt, throwing up my hands. “This is such bullshit. Dev wanders in whenever the hell he wants, and he’s never even gotten a slap on the wrist!”
Ronnie heaves a sigh, shaking his head. “For fuck’s sake, Bex, I’m not firing you.”
“You just told me to take time off.”