“I thought you were out this week,” one artist said.

“I am,” Erin replied as she went to an unused station. “I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

Kera watched Erin set up her work area. She moved quickly and efficiently, stopping long enough to ask the hot, goth receptionist covered in tattoos to toss her one of the T-shirts with the shop name, Amsel Tatts, on the front. She took a pair of scissors and quickly cut out the neck before handing it off to Kera.

“Put this on.”

“Why?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“Erin.”

“Why do you think when you’re standing in the middle of a tattoo parlor that does nothing but tattoos? Now just put it on.”

Kera went into the clean bathroom and changed out of her Zeppelin T-shirt and sports bra and into the shop tee. She then used the facilities and washed her hands before going back to Erin’s station. By then, Erin was already waiting for her.

She motioned for Kera to sit down in a chair that reminded her of a barbershop.

With rubber gloves on, Erin began to clean and shave the tiny hairs lightly covering the old tattoo of Kera’s ex-husband’s name. That’s when Kera asked, “Are you going to ask me what kind of tattoo I want?”

“Nope.”

“Because you just know?”

“Yep.”

“I may have some ideas on what I want, you know?”

“Ideas? Would those be the same ideas that prompted you to tattoo your ex’s stupid name on your shoulder?”

“He wasn’t my ex at the time.”

“Were you sober?”

“I was . . . pleasantly buzzed.”

“Exactly. So can I get on and do my job?”

“Fine, but I better fucking like it.”

“You should feel honored,” Erin said, moving a rolling tray of her tattoo gun and inks close to her left hand. “People wait four months to get an appointment with me.”

“Six,” the receptionist said, walking over to place cold bottles of water beside Erin and Kera.

“What?”

“You’re now booked for six months as of yesterday.”

“Why?”

“That article about your work came out in Rolling Stone yesterday. And we’ve been getting calls and e-mails all day today, so it may stretch into a seven-to-eight-month wait.” She smiled at them. “Isn’t that great?”

“Fabulous. Now go away.”

The receptionist giggled and went back to her desk.

“You really own this place?” Kera asked.

“Yep.”

“All these people work for you?”

“Yep.”

Kera glanced back at her. “That fascinates me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s you.”

The other artists laughed and Erin picked up her tattoo gun and sucked her tongue against her teeth. “Keep it up and you’re going to find a tacky drunk pig tattooed on your back.”

The sound of the gun started and Kera braced herself for that first sting of needles filled with ink being shoved into her skin. It was, in a word, unpleasant. And yet she always forgot the worst part of getting a tattoo. Not just the tattoo itself, but the soreness of her flesh because of the needle going over the same area again and again.

She was worried, too. She couldn’t help it. Erin was free-handing her tattoo. She wasn’t using a stencil, and she hadn’t given Kera any idea what she was putting there.

Kera was just going to have to wait and see. She really hoped it wasn’t something as stupid as putting her ex’s name on her shoulder.

“How come you got divorced anyway?” Erin asked.

“We just stopped getting along.”

“Did you love him?”

“At the time, yeah. He’s happier now, though. He’s got a wife, two little girls, and the last time I saw him, he was really doing well.”

“Are you happier?”

Kera had to think on that, but between getting more comfortable with the Crows and her time with Vig . . . “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Good. You like cats, right?” Erin suddenly asked. “Like little adorable, fluffy kitties?”

“I am not a cat person.”

“Really? Uh-oh.”

“Okay, you’re just trying to freak me out right now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Erin said on a laugh. “But you make it so damn easy.”

After talking to Kera’s old building manager, Mrs. Vallejandro, the Crows had found that no, Brodie had not come back to Kera’s previous apartment, but that the local gang members did run a dog-fighting ring in the neighborhood. She also knew that they kept the cops off their back by moving the fights around to local, abandoned warehouses.

The warehouse closest to Kera’s place turned out to be a bust, but Jace had a feeling Brodie was around here somewhere, so they kept searching and searching . . . and searching until they practically stumbled upon an abandoned warehouse nearly a mile from Kera’s old apartment.

Jace knew it was the right place from all the barking. But what concerned her wasn’t the barking dogs.

It was the screaming.

Jace ran into the empty parking lot beside the building and went to the back door. Just as she touched the handle, something heavy hit the metal door from the other side.

The Crows backed up.

“That does not sound good,” Annalisa muttered.