Chapter Two

“There’s nothing to do around here. Why on earth did you come to this one horse town again?”

Zac Byron, although his second name was as fake as his ID, glanced at his long-time assistant, Rat, and then went back to checking over his tattoo guns. “You know why. I wanted somewhere quiet, and this place had a shop that met my specifications. You don’t have to stay. You can go back down below any time you like, and it won’t bother me none.”

“It’d bother you, all right,” Rat grumbled. Rat wasn’t the name he was born with. One of Zac’s brothers had started calling the man that because Rat had a thin, pinched face and a knack for getting in and out of tight places. The name had stuck. “Who else can make your coffee the way I can? And I run messages to and from the Underworld, so you don’t have to show your face down there.”

Zac frowned but kept working. Rat wasn’t wrong, but Zac didn’t need the reminder. In a realm where demons were built handsome enough to tempt an angel, Zac had drawn the short straw.

I’m my own work of art, and there ain’t any other demon who can say the same. “This is a good, solid town. The folks are friendly. Appleton is located on three main transport routes, and the national airport is only half an hour away. Plus there’s enough tourists coming through here that there are hotels, motels, and camping grounds where any of my clients can stay if the work they want done requires a stayover. But it’s quiet enough that any celebrity clients aren’t going to be mobbed if they grab a burger.”

“This place gives me the shivers.” Rat’s whole body shook as he proved his point. “The people around here all smile like they know your darkest secrets and are still prepared to talk to you. They even say hello. It’s like they expect you to kiss babies and sit and chat to the elderly.”

“Not bad habits to get into.” Not that Zac would do anything like that. “I was in the local store earlier and not one person commented on my tattoos. That’s good people right there.”

“They would’ve been talking about you as soon as your back was turned,” Rat warned. “I don’t get it. You’d get far more work in a big city. Vegas wasn’t so bad, was it?”

It was Zac’s turn to shiver. “Every single person I came across in that town was fake. They were either hustling for money or looking for what they could take from you. Asking for free tattoos to help me get exposure – freaking influencers.”

“Hey, those are classic demon traits.” Rat actually grinned.

“Not this demon. If I wanted to live among my own kind, I’d still be trading ridiculous favors with my family down below.” Reaching up, Zac picked up the large custom-made briefcase that housed his favorite tattoo gun from the rack of shelves. The case was big enough to hold a real gun and had caused him some problems the one time he’d gone through airport security. It wasn’t a situation he’d ever repeat.

Opening it, he felt the familiar warmth that seeing it always gave him. The tattoo gun was a present from an old friend – one long dead, as is what typically happened when demons befriended humans. Gideon had been tough, unfeeling by all accounts, but a master at his craft. Zac had gone to him for his first design, and stayed with the man for ten years until shaky hands and failing eyesight forced Gideon’s retirement.

Even then, Zac remembered, the old man had just handed him the papers to his shop and the gun case. “Don’t fuck up what I’ve spent a lifetime building,” he said before he was bundled off by his daughter to spend the rest of his days in a retirement village in Florida. Apart from the message from the daughter, alerting Zac of Gideon’s death, the man never contacted him again.

Now, stroking over the worn handle of the gun, Zac checked it was all in working order. He rarely used it on paying clients, although much of his own skin art was done with that gun. A gun that still held pride of place on his workbench, and he put it there, his lips twitching.

“So, we’re staying then?” Rat appeared beside him looking at the gun. He’d been promised eternal torture if he ever touched it.

“I paid for this building. The furniture has arrived back at the house, also paid for. The local store is stocking my favorite brew, and has promised weekly food deliveries.” Zac glanced at his companion. “I guess that means we’re staying.”

Rat grimaced. “And you’re seriously going to be living as a human here?”

“Paranormals aren’t out.” Zac wondered if someone had spooked the lesser demon because the guy’s brain didn’t seem to be working right. “We’ve lived human in most of the cities we’ve been in.”

“Bullshit.” Rat shook his head. “When we were in Vegas, you took up with that wolf pack – drinking large every Friday and Saturday night and howling at the freaking moon every time it was full. In Detroit, you spent most of your time with that demented vampire coven leader who was only plying you with booze and food every night because he wanted to sample the blood from your dick. And then there was the witch’s coven in…”

“Shut it.” Zac didn’t need a reminder of how badly he’d tried to fit in with clans, covens, and packs. He was a misfit demon adrift in a human world. He’d decided to accept it, determined to change his ways, and Rat would, too. Either that or the lesser demon would head back down below and be happy enough gossiping about Zac with Zac’s family. It didn’t matter, in Zac’s opinion. He wasn’t changing his mind.

“That’s why we’re in Appleton. No paranormals. No covens. No wolf packs and no weird mages running around in their fancy robes trying to summon me every five minutes. Just me, running my business, which I’m very good at, in a quiet, family friendly, human town. I don’t want or need anything else.”

Rat didn’t look convinced. “What will you do when your dick gets hard, which is like every five fucking minutes?”

“I’ll ignore it. I’m an artiste.” Zac inhaled sharply. “Apparently we’re meant to suffer for our art. My dick can do my suffering for me.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that when your balls are so blue, your hands are shaking, and you can’t tattoo a straight line because all you can think about is tugging yourself off.”

“This is a family-friendly town,” Zac snapped. “I’m going to work. I might take up a wholesome hobby or two… and for your information, I never howled at the fucking moon, all right? Now, go and check at the post office and find out if our new inks have come in.”

“That’s not what Grizzy told me,” Rat mumbled as he headed out the door.

“Grizzy never could keep his fucking mouth shut.” But Rat was already gone, and Zac focused on his breathing. I’m doing the right thing, he thought as he took in the clean, friendly, and professional looking space. No more chasing connections. No more fighting, drinking to excess, or behaving like an idiot.

Zac spared a thought for Grizzy, the wolf enforcer he’d run with a time or two. The man had a very talented mouth and not just for talking. Zac nudged his semi-hard length into a more comfortable position. I might have to invest in a looser cut of pants. Because the one thing Zac was determined about was that he wasn’t going to have anything to do with a paranormal group of any kind ever again.

He had paranormals as clients – he was one of the few tattooists in the country who had the inks necessary to stay permanently on paranormal skin. If they want me, they’ll have to chase me for a change, he thought as he went over to his appointment book, which was already half-filled with clients coming in from out of town. This is going to be… Zac’s mind couldn’t come up with a suitable word, so he settled for okay. He was determined it would be.