5. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

L andry’s studio at the club was much nicer than his apartment. He had about as much room too. The studio smelled like ink and the cinnamon of so many dragon shifters in one place. He put his sketch pad and pencils into his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder before shutting off the lights and leaving the room.

The club cleared out around three in the morning. The music had shut off about an hour ago. His boots scuffing against the wooden floor was the only sound until he got into the main room and heard bottles clinking together.

Casper cleaned up every night.

He’d dressed in more than just his bikini underwear at some point. Probably after it had thinned out a bit, and he knew his ass wouldn’t gain him bigger tips. He wore leather pants and a tank top. His cut lay on top of the bar, waiting for him when he finished. His leather coat hung from the back of a stool.

Casper threw him a bottle of water, which Landry caught.

“Thanks.”

Every night it was the same routine. Landry waited for Casper to finish his nightly shutdown and dreaded going back to his depressing apartment.

“How was your night?”

“I made over three hundred in tips. Pretty good for a Wednesday.” Casper was one of Landry’s best friends. They were always the last ones left. Casper was small and waifish. It wasn’t safe to be alone in the club after hours so Landry stayed. “What about you?”

“Tattooed four people.” He needed the money to pay his rent. Unlike some of the other Dragon Skulls, Landry’s job was legal. Legal wasn’t always lucrative, especially when he was an artist. Sometimes he was a starving artist. No one knew how he struggled with money apart from Casper, and that was because it was something they had in common.

“Rent money.” Casper held up his fist for Landry to tap, which he did.

“Just in time too.”

Casper set his rag down on the bar and came around. He grabbed his cut on the way out the door and put it on. Casper locked up behind them.

He’d been inside the club all night, not leaving once since arriving that afternoon. He’d forgotten how cold it was, but the temperature hit him, making his breath turn to mist.

“Snow is coming soon. It’s in the forecast for tomorrow.” Casper pulled his coat around him. “Or today, I guess.”

Landry knew. He’d been paying attention because his car was a piece of crap that wasn’t much better in the snow than his motorcycle. The difference was his car had heat. He wouldn’t become hypothermic trying to get to the club. Or he wouldn’t, if the car ran, which it didn’t.

Landry didn’t have the money to fix it, although he knew what was wrong. It needed a new transmission, and those were expensive. On top of the garage space issue, he didn’t have the few hundred to get a used transmission from the junkyard. His car was a piece of shit, anyway. It always broke down. He’d replaced so much on it. There wasn’t much that was original, except for maybe the rusty metal body.

Snow meant he couldn’t ride his motorcycle, and he was out of time if he wanted to fix his car.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do for transportation. He had to get to the club. Tattooing was his livelihood.

Landry sighed.

He’d never asked for help from Daruss or any of the other guys, but he might need to. Either that or he’d have to find another way to make money.

Landry shuddered at the thought of what he’d have to do. He had no interest in running or selling drugs. He might be able to run moonshine for Ronin. That was lucrative enough.

“Can I use your garage?”

“You mean my landlord’s garage?” Casper shook his head. “Even if he said yes, which isn’t beyond the realm of possibility, it’s a hoarder’s wet dream.”

“Not even my car will fit?”

Casper shook his head. “I couldn’t even walk inside it.”

Landry cursed.

“You might have to ask Daruss for help.” Neither one of them wanted to do that. Pride impeded good sense, and they fueled each other’s fire where that was concerned because they justified being stubborn idiots, making it make sense when it really didn’t.

“I know.” Landry was already steeling himself for the plethora of questions that would accompany the help. He wasn’t ready to answer anything about his financial problems, not that they were abnormal. His was a typical story of everything being too expensive, and having to live off a single income. He embodied the starving artist’s role. In particular, the starving part of that equation. He didn’t want to tell any of the other guys about it. They all made more money than him and Casper because they got their money illegally. The only thing Landry did that might be illegal was help rescue people. People would consider it vigilante justice because they didn’t call the police. He wasn’t sure what the law stated regarding the missions they went on, but it didn’t matter. He’d still help. He knew what it was like to be a victim.

It hadn’t been that long ago. In the grand scheme of a dragon shifter’s life, Landry was still young. Hell, he was young by human standards, too. Twenty-four years wasn’t that long. But sometimes it was as though he’d lived ten lifetimes in the six years Montgomery Ellis had forced him into sexual slavery. Four years after getting rescued, he was still picking up the pieces of what the monsters had done to him. He’d probably never get better.

“I see Dr. London tomorrow.” He wasn’t sure who paid for his therapy. It was probably Daruss, but it could have been Izzy. At first, that had been once a week, but he’d accepted certain things about himself. He had lasting damage from his past. That was just the way it was.

“I go Wednesday.” Therapy was something else they had in common, but for different reasons. Casper went because his parents were assholes.

All Landry’s parents ever did was drown their sorrows in dragonshine and drugs. Hell, they weren’t even a blip on his trauma radar anymore. He would have rather lived with their neglect than what he had suffered with Ellis.

“Do you want to come to mine after my session and binge-watch something? I have a frozen pizza that might not be that terrible.” Sometimes Landry didn’t want to be alone after talking about his feelings with people. Therapy always drained him, and his stomach always felt as though it were a pit, as if he’d fold in on himself and never come out of the darkness.

“Sure.” Casper smiled and bumped shoulders with him. “I’ll bring some—”

A crack rang through the air and Landry felt a sting in his chest. Pain bloomed along his right arm and he fell to the ground. He pulled Casper down with him, although he wasn’t sure why he felt it was necessary. He wasn’t sure what was happening. Instinct told him to protect his friend.

Landry covered Casper with his body.

Another louder crack followed.

This time, the pain came in his leg.

Casper fumbled with his phone. When Casper called for help, Landry understood that someone was shooting at them.

Landry scrambled to get up. He ignored the pain in his leg. And shifted without taking his clothing off. His pants ripped, but shreds of denim clung to his dragon leg. His wings were free—that was what counted the most.

Casper climbed onto his back. He shook as he clung to Landry.

One more gunshot split the air. This time, the pain bloomed on his hip. He’d made himself a big target by shifting, but it was the only way they’d make it out alive.

Landry flew, using the wind to his advantage. He didn’t think about where he was heading. Going to Daruss was as instinctive as protecting Casper.

He made it three quarters of the way there before his vision blurred. He knew he had to land, or he’d plummet to the ground.

He set down in a field.

Casper, crying and begging for help, was the last thing Landry remembered.