Inked Babies (Inked Brotherhood 6)

“Something like… Tyre, or Tyrell. I think. Dunno who the other one was. If he was there, if my fucked-up brain isn’t making this shit up.” Zane looks up, right at me, and uncertainty flickers over his face.

I stare right back, force myself to speak. “Don’t worry about what’s real and what’s not. Just tell us.”

He nods, an almost imperceptible dip of his head. “As for the other kids… A tall kid named Samuel. And an Elvis, I remember that one. A ginger boy.” His hands are shaking. He rubs them on his denim-clad thighs, as if cold. “I dunno what happened to them.”

Fuck, it’s not much to go by. Not enough to verify anything he’s said, probably, and it fucking pisses me off more. I wipe a hand over my mouth and prepare to call this goddamn meeting off and just go the hell home, grab my girl and my babies and hug them like never before, when I meet Ash’s gaze. He shakes his head slightly.

“The guy you saw,” Ash says. “Was it this Tyrell? And where was he?”

Everyone’s attention snaps back to Zane, if it had wavered even for a damn second, and he wipes his hands on top of his thighs again.

“Tyrell. Or whatever his name is. I was… I’d gone to buy stuff for the baby that Dakota needed right after she came home from the hospital. Had to drive to the Walmart Supercenter that’s open twenty-four hours, because it was almost midnight. Parked my truck, and I crossed the parking lot when I saw the motherfucker. I just… Just froze. Can’t fucking remember what I did after that.”

He wraps an arm around his middle, and I wonder if he’ll be sick again.

Hell, I feel fucking sick. Still haven’t recovered from what he told us. The thought of a young Zane, a little kid, being forced and abused that way turns my stomach. No wonder Ash is so damn protective of him. Seeing a tall, muscled guy with tattoos and a Mohawk you’d never think of him as having ever been weak and powerless.

And I should know better. I may lack the Mohawk, but I’m even taller and wider that Zane, and I couldn’t even save myself from my own dad when I was younger, much less Ash.

“Motherfucker,” I hear Dylan mutter. His face is unreadable, but cold anger is burning in his blue eyes, and as for Rafe… I flinch at the look on his face. Where Dylan’s anger seems cold, his is burning. His eyes look like flames.

“Anything else?” I force myself to ask.

Zane blinks, his gaze empty. “I remember his car. He’d just come out of his car in the parking lot. White. A sedan.” He rocks slightly, back and forth. I don’t think he knows he’s doing it.

Dammit, can’t remember ever seeing Zane like this. Sure, when his sister had been sick he’d been riding an edge of despair so sharp he’d act like a cornered animal most of the time, snarling and biting and hiding from the world, drowning in booze. It wasn’t that long ago, and this second hit…

This second hit seems to have bulldozed over him, crushing him. Can’t remember ever seeing him so gaunt and exhausted. It ain’t right. Not right that I hadn’t noticed until now how bad off he is.

Yeah, I’ll blame myself until I see him happy again, no matter what it takes. Just like I’d do for Ash. Just like I’d do for Erin, and my kids.

Because he’s my brother, too.

“I saw that car or one just like it a week ago,” Zane is saying, still rocking, his eyes blank, tracking something none of us can see. “Not far from there.”

“How would you know it’s the same one? Lots of white sedans out there.”

He glances at me, and for the first time there’s a spark in his dark eyes. “One side is dented and scratched, marked with yellow paint.”

All right, then. “We’ll find out who this guy is,” I tell him. “And who the guy in the foster house was. I’ll do my very fucking best to find out the truth, Z-man, you have my word on this. We will protect you. We will do all we can to set things right.” I hold his dark, heavy gaze, hoping he sees I mean every word. “You can count on us. We have your back.”

This Brotherhood is strong. We’re family.

Now and always.

Part II

Asher and Audrey

Scars Are Beautiful

Chapter Eight

ASHER

“How many lines do you see?” Audrey asks.

“I’m not drunk, you know.”