Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Dev grinned at the mental image of clocking Stink. How the skin might split open. That briefest flash of confusion as the man absorbed the blow.
Except in his mind, he’d then leap over his stupidly expensive client’s chair, directly into the guy’s lap, and pummel his lights out. He moved cartoonishly fast in beating up Stink, giving one right after another in a volley of fists.
Lost to the mental imagery, Dev nonchalantly lifted his shoulder in an accepting shrug. It wasn’t too late to make that shit happen. Then again… He’d hired Millie full-time months ago to clean and sterilize his instruments as well as the entire parlor. She was good with blood. Surely, she wouldn’t mind some teeth and flesh thrown in. She had a dark gothic vibe about her.
Maybe that was one of those employee benefits she kept prattling on about. At the very least, it might help break up the monotony of her day.
This time he gave a mental shrug at the direction he’d taken to help justify kicking this guy’s ass. He’d do it for Millie if nothing else.
“Lookin’ good. You were worth the wait,” Stink yelled over the music. He lifted his arm to better see the freshly inked skin.
Such a bullshit amateur design.
Why Stink had waited months for this appointment was beyond Dev. Any beginner tattoo artist could have inked some skank’s fake titties on the guy’s forearm. The design only highlighted her chest. They were oversized for the body holding them up. The super-defined tits were hard and round. Full of silicone with two fat nipples perfectly centered and appearing to protrude out from his forearm. Stink had requested the 3D effect. He’d come up with some idea to twist his arm to make the breasts bounce. Fucking loser.
Not that Dev was above a titties tattoo, but over the last few years, he’d developed a pretty decent business with his own custom designs. People paid thousands of dollars for one of his original drawings that took months for him to complete. He couldn’t remember a time he’d worked from a cell phone image of a real-life stripper’s bared breasts.
As Stink moved his arm, testing the bouncing theory, the scent of stale cigarette smoke and something that reminded him of fermented vomit wafted to Dev. His stomach twisted hard.
“I found you on that ink show. You know the one…”
Dev tuned him out again but held back his groan. He regretted ever being a guest judge on Ink Life. His schedule had packed up tight for months and months after the show aired. Hell, he might be scheduled out a year by now. It had forced him to follow a fucking routine. He hated the monotony of a damn schedule. It wreaked chaos on his creative side. Nothing ruined a good vibe like a fucking time clock.
Now this douche client had made it to his chair because of that dumbass show.
And just like that, his racing thoughts switched gears again as the connection Dev had tried to make all morning finally materialized. Sudden heated anger again lit a fire inside his soul, causing his gaze to narrow.
Fucker. He knew who this loser smelled like. Smoke Dixon—his best friend’s dying loser father and full patch member of the Disciples of Havoc.
The man might be on his deathbed and Dev couldn’t think of a more deserving person to be there. Dev hated that sorry motherfucker to his core and wished him a long, painful trip to hell where he belonged.
Vengeance toward his client replaced loathing in rapid-fire succession, making his head crazy and his fists curl. In most things, Dev responded with unbridled emotion. He never claimed to be level-headed. He didn’t need things like facts to deal out his own brand of justice if he thought it was warranted. His gut was rarely wrong.
This loser may not be Smoke, but he’d pay for that man’s sins.
Besides, Dev didn’t need to consult his Magic 8 Ball to know this client had left a trail of victims in his wake. The guy absolutely reminded Dev of Smoke, a bully, picking on the young and underprivileged just because he could. Karma was in payback mode today.
First, he’d make these cheap titties into a big fat scrotum. He barely held back his grin. Ten minutes and he’d be done.
Since he had such a gift with the iron, he’d be able to hide the redirection of the tattoo. He’d give it a couple of days, maybe weeks, before anyone recognized the ball sac inked into this guy’s titty design.
He leaned in, preparing to make this next ten minutes hurt the most.
Unfortunately, Stink bent over to watch him work. All that bad breath built around them as Stink rattled on about the hardships of waiting months for this appointment.
Yeah, Dev was done. Pissed off threshold reached.