Inked Babies (Inked Brotherhood 6)

Yeah, it’s late. We have babies and young kids waiting at home for bedtime stories and a cuddle. Our girls are there, tired and in need of our help.

But they’re also hoping to hear I’ve tackled this. That I’ve found out the truth and how to help Zane. Can’t put it off any longer.

The last customer leaves Ocean’s cubicle, and I lock up the register, then power down the computer and grab the bitter medicine I brought with me for the occasion. I put the bottle on the desk and walk around it, aware I’ll need to drag Zane out of his booth. No way will he come along willingly.

Rafe comes out of the office at the back of the shop and nods at me. Two of the other inkers are still here—Ocean and Micah—while the other three, Shane, Seth and Jesse, work nowadays in the other wing of the shop, next door.

Which means it’s a simple thing of waiting for the two of them to gather their stuff, bidding them goodnight and turning back toward Zane’s cubicle.

“About fucking time,” Rafe growls, his cat-like eyes narrowed. I pat his back as he joins me. Rafe’s not pissed. He’s on edge, like all of us. “The others?”

“I called them. They’ll be here any minute. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure Dylan set up camp across the street.”

“Awesome. Come on.”

But before we take two steps toward Zane’s cubicle, there’s a crash and a grunt, and I start to run.

“Z-man.” I burst into his cubicle, Rafe hot on my heels, skidding in the mess of paper and spilled ink and Zane sprawled on top of everything, his stool knocked aside. “What the fuck? You okay?”

He pushes himself up with a groan, gripping the counter to get to his feet. “Slipped.”

I exchange a look with Rafe. “The hell?”

“I fucking slipped, okay?”

“From the stool? Did you fall asleep where you were sitting?”

“Leave it, man.” He leans against the counter, and I catch a glimpse of his face before he turns away. Too fucking pale for my liking. “What do you want?”

“Talk to you, remember?”

“Fuck.” He shifts on his feet, papers crunching under his combat boots, and hunches over. “Can’t, fucker.”

“Come on, buddy.” I take a step inside the cubicle. “You know how it is. You’re the one who taught us the importance of talking about our problems. We need to get to the bottom of this, and find a solution. You can’t avoid it forever.”

“Goddammit, Tyler.” He has a long scratch on one arm, probably from his fall, and a dark drop of blood is snaking over his wrist. “Everything’s okay. Everyone’s fine.”

“But you are not fine.” And I’ll admit it, it breaks my fucking heart that he’s still only thinking of us when he’s so haunted by his past he’s closing up and falling apart, withdrawing from us as if to protect us from that pain.

“So you wanna sit around and talk about my fucking nightmares?” he whispers. “That what you want? How’s that gonna help?”

“I think we all know they’re not just nightmares.”

“We talked last night.”

“We need the goddamn details. We need to know what spooked you.” I jab a finger at him. “You. You don’t spook easy, Zane Madden, and whatever it was that brought back those nightmares, we need to find it. Or him.”

A shudder runs down his back. “Shit. That’s the fucking point, man, I just can’t—”

“The guys are here,” Rafe says, and Zane’s head snaps around just as Ash walks into the cubicle, squeezing past me.

“Z-man.” He slings an arm around Zane’s shoulders. “Ready?”

“To have my fucking guts dissected and discussed?” Zane snarls but lets Ash manhandle him and haul him out of the cubicle to the small sitting area of the shop. “Sure thing. Couldn’t fucking dream of a better evening.”

He’s even worse at hiding his fear than Rafe is tonight, too exhausted to put up a convincing front. Apart from cursing and snarling at us, he doesn’t have the energy to stop us from interrogating him, and despite feeling a twinge of guilt about it, I guess we’re lucky in this.

Going to the desk, I grab the whiskey and some glasses, and we sit on the funky armchairs that mark the entrance to the shop. We pull a couple more chairs, and I pour each of us a few fingers, then pass the glasses around.