“Fine.” I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to finish that tattoo here. I don’t even know that I have it in me to do that. I should tell him to meet me anywhere but here: in a garage or bar or back alley or his biker gang clubhouse.
“I’ll be here at three.” His grin falls quickly. “Ned was a good friend to all of us. We had some great laughs down at the clubhouse on game night.”
Game night is a fancy way of saying poker Wednesdays, where Ned would more times than not lose his shirt to a biker. He hadn’t been down there in a few weeks, though. Said it was costing him too much lately.
Things are starting to make sense to me. “Was he into it for money with someone over there?”
“Eh.” Bobby shrugs noncommittally, and I’m not entirely sure what that answer means.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Nothin’ major from what I know.” He rests a hand on the back of the leather chair. “You know, I always hoped Ned would be here to do my son’s one day, too. When I have a son, of course. I don’t have one yet.” His gaze drifts down my front, stalling over my chest. “I need to find a good woman first.”
Look elsewhere for that good woman, buddy. The loyalty to my uncle is charming, though, in a weird way. “Well, maybe your nonexistent son will still get his done in Black Rabbit. We’ll see who buys this place.”
“It won’t be the same, though.” He shrugs. “Unless you’ll still be here?”
“Nope. Not a chance.” I heave a sigh and, hoping Bobby takes the hint, begin carefully picking away at a photo montage on the wall—dozens of pictures of Ned at different stages of his life, from clean-shaven to handlebar mustache, stuck to the drywall with tape so old it’s peeling paint away with it.
“See ya tomorrow, Ivy.” The bell above the door jangles as Bobby leaves.
And the silence that returns now is somehow more unnerving than before.
I quietly sort and toss and pack, shifting around the chair, my irritation with that single bolt growing with each moment until I find myself standing there, glaring at it once again. Tomorrow just isn’t soon enough.
I get down on my knees again and, holding my breath, throw my full weight into the bolt, just as the door creaks open. “We’re closed!” I yell, whipping my head around, my anger at myself for not locking it launched.
A man I’ve never seen before stands motionless in front of me, amusement in his eyes as he stares. Nothing else about him betrays his thoughts, though. His stance is still and relaxed, his angular face perfectly composed.
My heart begins to race with unease.
“I’d like some work done.” His voice is deep, almost gravelly, his tone even and calm.
I climb to my feet, because I don’t like anyone towering over me. And because his piercing eyes unsettle me. Unlike the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound biker who just left, this guy makes me nervous. The wrench is still in my fist, and I grip it tightly now. “I’m not working today.”
“Tomorrow.”
“I’m not working tomorrow either.”
The corner of his mouth twitches as we face off against each other. “When will you be working again, then?”
He’s patient. It’s annoying. But he also seems very interested in this tattoo, which makes it less likely that he’s here to hurt me. I relax my grip on the wrench. “I won’t be. Not here, anyway. Black Rabbit is closed for good, or at least until it opens under new ownership.”
He pauses, his shrewd gaze weighing so heavily on me that I finally have to look away from him. I feel like a sophomore year science class dissection—the unfortunate amphibian donated in the name of education. “That’s a shame.”