13. Lyla

I used to associate rainy days with peace. A calm that only comes when the sky is washing the earth clean. I"d stand outside and wonder if it could do the same for me. But rivers coating my skin never ran deep enough.

Maybe if this was Kansas, and the clouds weren't saturated in pollution and the sins of the city, it would be possible. Maybe then the rain would save me.

But even in the open fields at the Twisted Kings compound, there was never a strong enough storm to chase my demons away—especially after what happened to me and Ellie.

So I ran as far as I could. As long as I could.

I chased the rain.

Until the tornado of inevitability led me back here.

Looking up at the Twisted Roses sign, I realize it's no longer blinking like it used to. The windows to the shop are decorated with skeleton art and roses. I came here so many times when I was a teenager, but now it looks entirely different.

If I was smart, I'd turn around now.

I've managed to hide from the Twisted Kings for the past eight years, knowing my father's club brings nothing but death and pain. But even if the security cameras do catch me or give me away, I have no choice.

If I want revenge on the man who was responsible for Ellie's death, this is where I need to be. Nick might have died that night in the basement, but he wasn't working alone. And he wasn't in charge. Someone else pulled the strings for which she suffered and after years of searching for clues, I'm finally getting closer.

The rain is heavy, and I'm soaked. So I step under the overhang to pull out my phone and check my messages. There's been nothing new from the unknown number for the past twelve hours.

Not since they sent the cryptic message that led me here.

Unknown Number

Twisted Roses, tomorrow at 10 p.m. I have something of your sister's.

They could be lying but I don't care anymore. Being on the run isn't nearly as interesting as it was in the beginning. Always looking over my shoulder—wondering when the past was going to catch up. It's been years since I've slept well and even longer since I've felt safe.

Glancing up through the glass, I follow the path of the man sweeping the lobby. He's obnoxiously tall and makes the broom seem miniature in comparison. His dark blond hair is brushed back off his forehead, and even if he looks to be in his mid-twenties, his tattoos give him a hard edge that sends a shiver up my spine.

Although, I doubt my nerves are caused by him.

It's this place and how it's so different while still being exactly how I remember it. The once bare windows are decorated now, but I remember when they were sterile. I'm not sure what to make of the fact that the shop has the Twisted Roses name, but there's no hint to the club here like there used to be.

The Twisted Kings iron brand used to be the only decoration. It hung on the wall by the front door so anyone who walked in knew who owned it. The club must have moved on to other businesses, giving this one up, and I can't help wondering what happened to the guys who worked here.

Or at least one in particular.

Watching the guy sweep, I'm relieved I don't recognize him. If I'm wrong about the shop and the Twisted Kings do still own it, at least he isn't going to recognize me. And as long as I can slip in and out of the city quietly, Kane doesn't need to know.

Sage doesn't need to know.

If he's still here at all.

Did he find someone willing to give him all the things I couldn't? Did he move up the ranks in the club? Did he move on to another girl the second I left?

The moment he crosses my mind, I'm falling down the rabbit hole again.

Rolling my shoulders back, I push through the front door and the bell jingles.

Just like the outside, the lobby is nothing like I remember. While Twisted Roses has always been a tattoo parlor, the Twisted Kings only cared about it because they used it to launder money. They didn't take care of the building or do anything to draw too much attention to it.

But now, it's bursting with color and decorations.

Art and framed images of tattoos decorate one wall, and opposite that one, is a wall covered in cutouts of eyes. Its an equal measure of creepy and fascinating, giving the space some life.

Fake flowers and rib bones hang above an oversized couch, and it's almost comforting how decorated it is. I take in every new detail, stopping when something familiar freezes me in place.

My shadowbox of butterflies hangs on the inside of the door, and there's not a speck of dust on the frame. My stomach knots remembering how Ellie glowed when she gave that gift to me. When I think about hanging it in the clubhouse, and what happened with Sage almost immediately after.

Someone must have brought it here after I left, which means the Twisted Kings aren't as long gone as I hoped.

"Can I help you?"

I spin around to find the blond man standing directly in my path.

His eyebrows pinch when I jump, but he doesn't flinch, holding the broom and staring down at me.

"Um—no," I stumble. "I was just looking around."

He juts his chin up to the sign in the window. "We're closed."

Glancing over my shoulder, I spot the neon closed sign.

"Sorry." I bite my lip, knowing I can't leave until the person who texted me gets here. "Do you mind if I just stick around for a minute and wait out the rain? I promise not to bother you while you finish cleaning up."

His eyes drag down my body, where I'm already soaking. And I'm sure he's wondering why I'd care about the rain when I was standing in it moments ago, letting it wash over me. But thankfully, he nods.

"Sure thing." He goes back to sweeping, but his eyes don't leave me as he watches me circle the shop.

"What's your name?" I smile at him so he won't think too much about why I'm here.

And when he offers a flirty smile back, I relax.

"Mason."

The name isn't familiar, which I add to the list of reasons to hope Kane doesn't know I'm in town. "Nice to meet you, Mason. I'm Lyla. How long have you worked here?"

I'm slowly circling, still taking in every detail of the shop, but trying not to draw attention to it.

"Not long, a few months."

"Newbie."

"You could say that." He shrugs. "Just moved to town from Vegas and got lucky they were looking for an apprentice."

"Don't most tattoo shops have apprenticeships?"

"Not ones like Twisted Roses." He shakes his head.

Once more, I pause, glancing around. My focus moves to the display case filled to the brim with body jewelry. And I get the impression the shop is a bigger deal than it was back when I hung around here.

A phone ringing in the back pulls Mason's attention.

"I'm going to grab that."

I nod, smiling as Mason disappears into the back.

It's strange how places change just as much as people do. The last time I was here the shop was as different as I am. The unease of unfamiliarity washes through me as I walk around and absorb the changes.

Even if I didn't like the sterile blank walls, they were what I was used to. A cold shop filled with bikers. Jude stomping around every time Rachel said he wasn't ready for a particular piercing yet. The buzzing of needles and the chatter of people.

But most of all, I miss—

No.

I can't go down that rabbit hole again.

Glancing up, I catch sight of my reflection in a large mirror that hangs behind the front counter. My black hair is soaked and stringy, and what little makeup I was wearing washed off in the rain, putting my pale cheeks on full display. Stepping behind the counter, I brush my hair off my face, but it does nothing for my appearance. So I lean closer and try to wipe clean the smeared dark lines under my lashes.

My phone falls from my pocket onto the floor. And when I lean down to get it, something on the shelf catches my attention.

My tarot cards.

I wasn't sure where I lost them. But like everything else from that part of my life, they disappeared.

Picking up the tarot deck, I run my hand over the black box, tracing the purple velvet letters swirled across the surface. They feel like the past in my hands. An old friend I never thought I'd see again.

A sign.

And for the first time since I saw my fate at eighteen, it might not be a bad one.

"Sorry about that." Mason's voice comes back down the hallway, and I quickly tuck the tarot deck into my purse, spinning before he can catch me.

"No problem."

His gaze lands on where I'm standing behind the front counter, so I step back out into the open lobby. "Just fixing my hair. Not that it helped."

That comment has his posture relaxing, and he shrugs. "Looks pretty to me."

I can't tell if he's flirting or just friendly. Either way, I'm not looking for a friend and the last thing I'll ever do is entertain a relationship.

"So, you new in town too?" Mason asks, holding the broom again but not sweeping.

"I grew up here. It's just been a while." I cross my arms over my chest. "How do you like working at the shop?"

"It's fine." Mason shrugs. "Better than Vegas."

Something about his comment—about the dark storm that coats his expression—has me wondering what he left behind.

"Did you tattoo back home?"

He nods. "Yeah, but I'm still learning. I've only been doing it a few years."

"I'm sure you're good." I'm not, but it sounds nice, and his smile says he appreciates it.

"Good enough." Mason grabs the broom, and once more starts sweeping. "According to Sage and the rest of the guys at least."

"Sage." My mouth turns to sandpaper as that name scrapes across my tongue.

A name I've tried not to hear with every beat of my heart over the past eight years. A name that has me instantly torn down the middle.

"Yeah, he's been mentoring me. Showing me the ropes." Mason's eyebrows pinch as he catches my reaction. "You know him?"

I nod, trying to steady my breath. "You could say that."

A buzzer goes off in the back, and Mason glances down the hallway. "Sorry, I've got to get that."

I'm nodding as he walks away. At least, I think I am. I can't feel my legs—my skin. My heart races and a lump forms in my throat.

I should have never come back here.

I don't realize I'm walking in reverse until my back hits the front door, shaking it and jingling the bell that rattles when it opens.

It doesn't matter if it's still pouring rain or if the person I'm supposed to meet isn't here yet. If Sage works at the shop, I can't stay.

Not after what happened.

Spinning to the door, I pull it open, but a large man stands in my path. It only takes me a moment to put together that face.

"Kane."

His arms are crossed over his chest as he looks down at me. Beads of rain run down his leather cut. His dark hair is grayer than I remember, and his forehead is deep with wrinkles. But those same hard eyes stare back at me.

"I've told you, honey, you can call me Dad."

I back up, step by step, and Kane follows me into the shop.

This can't be happening. Even if he heard I was in town, how would he find me so fast? I swallow the lump in my throat.

Unless he's the one who lured me out.

My father watches me, stopping when he's inside the door, but not moving any closer. And even if I keep walking backward, I know I'm cornered unless I can make it to the back door.

Is it possible he'd leave the alley unguarded?

There's only one way to find out.

But the moment I spin around, I run directly into a solid chest. Rock-hard muscle covered in a simple black T-shirt. And when I meet his eyes, those dark pits that locked me in purgatory years ago, summon me deeper.

"Sage."

He tilts his head, and I don't know if the smile inching up in the corner of his lips is sadness, fascination, or triumph. Just that it hurts to even look at him.

"Welcome home, butterfly."

A pinprick stings my neck, and the last thing I feel are Sage's arms wrapping around me as everything fades out.