“Fuck off. What do you want, you feckin’ asshat?”
“Actually it’s me, I have a little request,” I say as I take a step closer to Rowan’s brash older brother.
“Ah the spider lady, coming to ask me for a favor,” Lachlan says with a devious grin as he leans back in his chair.
“Actually, I’m calling in a favor.”
“Oh really? What favor is that.”
“Saving your little brother.”
“If I remember correctly,” Lachlan says, tapping one of his ringed fingers on his chin, “I helped clean up your rather messy murder scene before erasing any record of the existence of a certain David Miller from the annals of serial killer history. So, I’d say we’re even. You’re welcome.”
I roll my eyes and Rowan smirks next to me. “Fine. A favor for Lark Montague in that case.”
There’s a beat of hesitation before Lachlan emphatically says, “Fuck, no.”
“Come on,” I reply, my voice bordering on a whiny plea as I take another step closer. “Lark is moving to Boston the same week that we’re going to be away. Just help her get her stuff into her new apartment, please. She doesn’t have much.”
“Why doesn’t she have much?” Lachlan asks, his brow furrowed, his voice stern. Rowan and I exchange a fleeting, confused glance before I refocus on Lachlan.
“Um, she travels light, I guess…？”
Lachlan’s gaze darkens as though this is insufficient information before he smooths his reaction beneath an apathetic mask. “Fine. But don’t expect me to stick around when it’s done.”
“Of course not.”
“And I’m not going to show her around the city or some shit.”
“Absolutely not.”
“We’re not like, friends. She can’t call me for…milk.”
“Okay… I’ll let her know not to call you for milk. Done.”
Lachlan grunts. I grin.
“Thank you,” I say as I walk over and give him a hug I already know he won’t return. “You won’t regret it.”
“Yes I will.”
“Okay then.”
I give him a kiss on his stubbled cheek to the sound of Rowan’s delighted snort and then back away.
“Thanks for that, bellend. We’ve gotta run,” Rowan says with a teasing grin that Lachlan returns with a flat glare, but he still rises from his chair. He walks us out of the studio and onto the street, and we make plans to get together for dinner next week before he presses his forehead to Rowan’s like he always does. And then we’re off, heading to our appointment hand in hand, taking our time to enjoy our simple company and the mounting excitement for what’s to come as we weave our way to our destination.
The little brass bell rings at the top of the door as we enter Prism Tattoo Parlor.
Laura, the owner of the shop, greets us warmly and gives Rowan a consent form to complete as she and I finalize details about the design I gave her, our voices hushed so that Rowan can’t hear the specifics. When everything is signed and the design is printed on the transfer paper, Rowan takes a seat in Laura’s chair.
“Sorry, Butcher, but I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you,” I say as I step behind him to lower a blindfold over his eyes. Laura smirks as she preps Rowan’s arm and transfers the stencil across his scar.
“You wound me,” he says.
“Right,” I snort. “Did you or did you not follow me for three days in California just so you could cheat your way into winning a game?”
“I did not cheat. And besides, I lost. Miserably, I might add. I still can’t eat ice cream.”
I grin and take a seat next to him so I can watch as Laura starts to lay down the first black lines in his skin. “Maybe we’ll start a desensitization program for you. I have some ideas.”
“Now you’re talking.”
It takes a few hours, but the picture comes to life on Rowan’s arm, a design I made myself and worked with Laura to refine so it would cover his scars and fit the contours of his musculature. And before long, she’s cleaning the fresh tattoo off, wiping away the excess ink and the dots of blood to reveal the final image. We share a bright smile across Rowan’s body, one artist to another, as he peppers us with questions we don’t answer.
“Okay, pretty boy. Time to check it out,” I say as Laura takes one of Rowan’s biceps and I grab hold of the other. We guide him to his feet and over to a full-length mirror. I stand next to him as Laura pulls the blindfold free and he gets his first look at the tattoo that encompasses the length of his forearm.