“Manny and I work for Arturo Flores. La Valla answers to him.”
A trickle of cold dread washes down my spine. It’s impossible to play off my reaction, and Leo gives me a rueful smile.
“Yeah, so if you want to just show me out, I understand.”
I take a breath and force my clenched jaw to relax. I shake my head and motion for him to roll back over so we can get back to work. “How long?”
He settles his cheek against the pillow, one eye still on me as if he worries I might bolt at any second. “Five years. We’re his enforcers under Gustavo, his lieutenant. But several years back, he started hiring me and Manny as bodyguards for his daughter sometimes too. Turns out, there were people trying to get to him through her. Someone tried to kidnap her one night, so it’s good we were there.”
I’m fairly certain I know where this is going, and my head is spinning from the revelation. Memory flashes of a pretty, hazel-eyed girl, her face one that’s been etched on my mind since I was seventeen. La douleur exquise indeed.
“Is she okay?” I ask before I can stop myself. But I’m no stranger to how closely Flores protects what’s his. If Leo had failed to keep Arturo’s daughter safe, he wouldn’t be here to tell me this story right now.
He laughs. “Yeah, she was fine. I wasn’t. Not after seeing her take down the bastard who was after her before Manny or I could even get to him. She knows how to handle a pistol better than I do.”
“She’s her father’s daughter.” Somehow it’s easy to picture Celeste pulling a trigger and putting a bullet through someone’s skull.
“I’m crazy to want her, I know. Men who get close to her tend to disappear. But it’s my goddamn job. And what’s worse is that Manny’s with her best friend, Toni, now. It’s serious between the two of them, so all bets are off on me ever getting any breathing room. Your fucking needles are easier to handle.”
I latch on to that new detail, grateful for an excuse to change the subject finally. “Toni, as in Toni Valentine, right?” I don’t even care that it’d be a stretch for an average person to know of Celeste’s connection to the celebrity tattoo artist from San Diego. I’m intrigued, but even more grateful for the diversion so I can focus on my work for a change.
It works, thank fuck, and Leo relaxes as he dives into stories about his brother’s pursuit of the gorgeous artist who has risen in prominence in my world over the past few years. I have deep respect for the place Toni has carved for herself in the tattooing community, but it’s my younger brother, Sam, who’s the true fan.
After another hour of tattooing, a chime sounds from one of Leo’s pockets. His broad shoulders twitch beneath my needles and I sit back, eyeing him in irritation. “If you need a break, just say so. You’d think Papá Flores himself was about to walk through my door.”
He lifts up and fishes into his pocket to look at his phone, then puts it back. He turns his head, his mane of black curls a halo around his face. His dark eyes squint, and his lips twist in a grimace I doubt has anything to do with the tattoo. “You have no idea how close you are, man. Gustavo’s at the club tonight. That text was a warning from Benny that the fucker’s headed this way now. He’s such a fucking glory hog.”
“Shit,” I growl, my pulse picking up. Gustavo is the same thug who took a set of brass knuckles to my face more than a decade ago to teach me a lesson, and I’m not exactly keen on seeing him again.
I block out the boisterous voices approaching my shop outside and motion for Leo to lie flat, as if all that bothers me is the interruption. Getting this thing finished is the only goal I have for the evening, though I’d hoped for a quiet night.
I swipe a damp paper towel over his skin, unwilling to lose focus. I have the man at my mercy rarely enough as it is.
He flexes his shoulders once before relaxing. An elaborate lion spans his back, clinging to him by its claws. Its tail curls down past his hip and ends at the top of one ass cheek. The details are rendered in geometric shapes rather than smoother shading. It’s probably the most intricate tattoo I’ve ever done, and it’s going to be a masterpiece once it’s complete.
It’s my turn to be too tense to focus now that I know who’s about to visit my shop. I routinely ask the most dangerous men in LA to strip for me, then photograph them to hang on my wall. So I shouldn’t flinch when one is about to pop in. I have armor now after spending four consecutive tours in Afghanistan. I came home with a medal and an abundance of scars to show for it. Yet where is that armor now?
“You gonna hang me on your wall up there when this is finished?” Leo asks when I shake off the fear as best I can and settle back down, pressing the needles to his skin.
“Maybe if you ever let me finish this damn thing,” I mutter. His crazy hair obscures the side of his face, but I catch his mouth curving into a smile. He’d like that, egotistical bastard that he is, but I don’t think I’ll hang photos of him for the world to see. I might just keep this one to myself. Of all the subjects who might grace
