TJ had left the apartment and now sat alone in his shop, the after-hours silence humming like a warning.
The machine was still warm from the last tattoo he’d finished, something forgettable on someone forgettable. A lotus or a name or whatever. It didn’t matter.
He lit a cigarette.
Didn’t smoke it.
Just let it burn between his fingers as he leaned back in the leather chair, staring at the corner where she’d sat just a few nights ago. Laughing. Letting him mark her. Trusting him.
A f*****g thigh tattoo.
His flowers on her body.
TJ could handle pain.
He could handle blood.
He could handle being left behind.
But he could not handle being replaced.
Especially not by the man whose shadow he’d been born under without ever even knowing it.
"f**k," he muttered, dragging a hand through
