Caveman (Wild Men 1)

“Zen-man.” It’s Ocean, one of the other two tattoo artists of Damage. His light blue hair is sticking up in spikes. “Your customer called to cancel. He’ll make another appointment for next week.”

I blink at him, his words echoing in my ears. “What?”

“Zane.” Tyler appears at the opening of my booth, glaring at me. “Get out.”

“What the fuck’s wrong?” I glance around my booth, trying to detect a fire, a leak, anything that might call for such a demand.

“Your customer cancelled. You look like hell warmed over. Go out. It’s summer. Go do something fun.”

“Fun,” I repeat, my dark mood spreading like an oil spill. “Screw you, Tyler, and leave me the fuck alone.”

He grunts, exchanges a quick look with Ocean—what the hell?—and leans against the wall of the booth, making it creak. He gazes at me impassively.

Shit. I rub a hand over my face. Why can’t I be civil to my friends anymore? I should at least try. “Look, I’m sorry, fucker. Didn’t mean to yell in your face. I just… got work to do. Designs to finish.”

Tyler nods, his eyes never leaving me. “I called Ash. He’s passing by to get you.”

“Get me. What do you mean?”

“I mean, he is driving by to get you and take you to the park, where I’ll join you later with Erin. It’s a party. They have beers and sandwiches and music, and I hope they throw you into the lake to lighten you up a bit.”

I suppress a shiver at the thought of being thrown into the lake. Tyler has no idea. He’s acting like he’s my older brother lately, and it’s funny, only he is older than me, and maybe… maybe it’s not bad, having an older brother. Just…

Wait a minute. “Did you say party?”

“Uh-huh.” Tyler is watching me with a gleam in his eye.

“I’m not in the mood for parties.” My hands clench into fists so tight my nails are biting into my palms. “Tell him I can’t go.”

“Forgot to say…” Again that quick look exchange between him and Ocean, and then Tyler winks at me. “That girl you like will be there. She seems to pop up everywhere these days, doesn’t she? It’s almost as if she likes your ugly face or something.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Ocean says cheerfully and walks away from my booth.

“What girl?” I ask, my thoughts

full of Dakota, her tight little body, her large eyes, those soft lips. I lick mine.

Tyler winks. “That one.”

“If you’re done playing games...”

“I mean Koko.” He pushes off the wall.

She’ll be there? “Her name’s Dakota, dammit.”

“As I said,” he says and tsks, “that one. Now get ready. Asher will be here in two minutes.”

It isn’t until I’m sitting in Asher’s—well, Audrey’s—car, and we’re driving away that I realize how screwed up I am. Just a mention of Dakota’s name is enough to make me drop everything and follow like a puppy.

Dammit, this ain’t right. I need to exercise some self-control.

“How’s it going?” Ash shoots me a sideways look as he shifts gears in the old Mazda. Audrey got it as a present from her mom last month. “Man, you look like something a sick bird chucked up.”

“Nice seeing you, too, fucker,” I say, and I glare at him for good measure, but I mean what I said.

Ash and Tyler. The two members of my adopted family who are doing fine. The two I wasn’t sure would survive the years of abuse and come out sane. But they did. And now they are the strongest. They make me proud.

They often also make me want to punch their faces in, but I guess that’s what brothers are like.