Where Good Girls Go To Die (Good Girls #1)

“He’s my only grandson,” Papa mock-whispered to Livy.

“Don’t get jealous, boy. You know I love you, but it’s not every day that I get to see my Livy. Plus, she’s much prettier than you to look at.” Papa winked at her, and I groaned. “Don’t groan at me. I saw you holding her hand when you walked in. What’s going on there?”

Livy started to pull her hand from Papa’s, but Papa’s grip held firm. I saw him give her hand a squeeze for reassurance as they waited for me to reply.

“Papa.” I ran my hand over my face. “We’re hanging out.” My eyes met hers.

“What the hell does that mean? You two always hang out.”

“Well now we’re hanging out without Mason around.” I looked at my grandfather trying to get him to read between the lines.

“Oh, so you like my Livy.” Papa wagged his eyebrows at me, and Livy snorted out a laugh.

“Yes, Papa. I like her.” My voice was soft, and Livy looked up at me with a soft smile on her face.

I more than liked her.

“It’s about damn time.” Papa stood from his chair pulling Livy with him. “Well come on, lovebirds. Bingo starts in five minutes.”

I followed them down the hall. He stopped every few feet to introduce Livy to anyone he saw, bragging on how beautiful she was, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

We spent the next few hours playing bingo with Papa, him winning every time, and laughter filling the air.

“I’m sorry I had to beat you Livy,” he whispered in her ear, “but I couldn’t let George think I was getting soft.”

“It’s okay, Papa. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

He winked at her before turning back to his bingo board. It was so easy to see how much he loved Livy, and it made me wonder if everyone could see through me so easily.

I pulled her into me and kissed her softly against her lips.

“Thank you,” I said against her neck.

“For what?” she said breathlessly.

“For being you.”





L I V





Present



Broken hearts aren’t the worst thing in the world. Having a broken heart and getting a reminder of how broken it was daily? That fucking sucked.

I thought I could handle it. I didn’t think I would be so affected after all this time, but every day when his phone rang, I held my breath to see if he would say I love you before hanging up.

As much as it hurt me, I needed to get closer to him. I needed some sort of connection. I knew how bad of an idea that was. I didn’t need someone to tell me how idiotic I was being. I had already told myself. But a broken heart was the worst listener in the world, and all that bitch could see was him. She didn’t care about anything else. It is easy to swallow down the lies when your heart is hungry.

It had been three days since the incident with Brandon. I was so pissed off when he refused to allow Brandon to tattoo me. He acted like he was my father. He acted like he had some right to tell me what to do.

But as pissed as I was, the thought that kept running through my brain on repeat was that he cared. That little bloom of, I don’t know, hope maybe? Poison? Either way, it weaseled its way into my chest and sank its teeth into me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

I knew that it shouldn’t have mattered if he cared, but no matter how much I tried to lie to myself, it did.

Parker had just finished tattooing a portrait of a man’s daughter on his arm. It was beautiful, life-like, and so damn impressive. I knew from our past that he was talented. I had spent many hours sitting around watching him draw. But what he did now? It was beyond anything that I could imagine.

I looked at the clock. Four fifty-six. Fuck. My fingers tapped against the desk, and I tried to keep my foot from bouncing against my chair.

Parker walked out from his workspace. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, and it was unfair how damn hot he was. The crisp white of his shirt seemed to make the colors of his tattoos pop even more than normal, and his eyes. God. His eyes.

“Is my next appointment here yet?” He leaned against my desk, his arms crossed below him.

“Yep.” I avoided his eyes.

He turned his head to look out in the waiting room then looked back at me.

“Are they in the bathroom?” he asked curiously.

“Nope.”

“Okay,” he said hesitantly. “Want to clue me in?” He chuckled softly.

I set his drawing down in front of him. The one I loved. The one he refused to tattoo on anyone.

He looked down at the drawing, stared at it for a moment before his gaze returned to mine. He didn’t say anything. He just watched me. He watched me in a way that I knew he saw too much. He always had.

“I’ll make you a deal.” I put my face on my fist, leaning in for dramatic affect. “I’ll let you do my first tattoo if you do this.” I pointed down at the drawing that lay between us.

He continued to stare at me, but his gaze dropped from my eyes to my lips. My breath caught in my throat, and it seemed to snap him out of it.

“Deal.” He stood to his full height and held the drawing in his hand.

“Really?” I squeaked. I had expected him to put up at least a bit of a fight after the things Brandon and Staci had told me about the drawing.

“Yes, really. Now come on.” He started walking toward his workspace, and I hopped out of my chair to follow him.

I climbed into his chair while he started pulling things out of drawers and setting everything up. I didn’t know what half the crap was, but I trusted him. By the time he rolled his stool up next to me with black gloves covering his hands, the only thought that was crossing my mind was that he was about to touch me.

“Where are we doing it?” He held a stencil in his hand. The drawing ready to transfer to my skin.

“I was thinking over my ribs.” I pointed to the right side of my body.

“Bold choice. You know they are one of the most painful spots, right?”

“I can handle it.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Okay.” He grinned. “But I don’t want to hear any bitching.”

I smacked him on his arm, and he laughed softly before he started rolling up my shirt. The muscles of my stomach tightened under his touch. He leaned my chair back until I was completely stretched out in front of him. He finished rolling my shirt up and tucked it precariously under my bra.

Chill bumps covered my skin as he cleaned it with his damp paper towel. When his fingers pressed the stencil against my skin, I held my breath and tried not to squirm under his touch.

“Do you want to make sure it’s right?” he asked as he leaned back to look at the stencil. He examined it from several different angles, making sure it was perfect.

“No. I trust you.” I didn’t think about the words until after I said them, but I couldn’t take them back. I watched Parker swallow down my words, the movement of his throat mesmerizing.

“You ready?”

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