As I turned to flick my cigarette across the back parking lot, a camera went off, one that was pointed right at me. I blew smoke and curled my lip, the camera still clicking away.

I took a step, ready to unleash hell on her. Probably some fucking chick looking to break my balls for throwing a cigarette butt to the ground. Of all the problems in the damn world…

She looked at me.

I froze.

I realized then how fucking beautiful she was. This really dark hair and these bright green eyes. A face almost like porcelain except for a scar on her right eye that was visible, running down her cheek, almost like a dimple out of place.

She stared at me, swallowed hard, and then turned to leave.

“Hey!” I yelled.

She lowered her head and was on the move. She disappeared around the building.

What the fuck was that?

I took a few more steps and then heard the back door to St. Skin open.

“Maddox,” a voice boomed.

I turned. It was Tate. He owned the tattoo shop.

“What?”

“Gotta chat with you,” he said. “Important.”

I pointed to where the woman had run but didn’t say a word. The last thing I needed was the guys to ride my ass just for seeing a beautiful woman.

I growled in my throat and gave a nod. “Be right there, Tate.”

He shut the door.

I looked up and stretched my neck. The night before was still rolling around in my head. There was probably glitter still on me, along with the sweet smell of cheap body spray and perfume that cost just a little bit more. Everyone in town, and well across the world, thought we were nothing but rock stars, so I figured why not live up to that notion? I had nothing to lose in life and it was sometimes easier to bury the truth in a bottle or between the sheets because it just fucking felt good.

What didn’t feel good? Someone taking my picture without my permission.

The whole idea of having fans and becoming famous was not my intention in life when I started tattooing. It was for the art, the story, and the money. Mostly the money. The other guys took their shit super seriously and that was good for them. For me, I knew what I wanted and I knew how to get it. And I appreciated those who came to see me with the same mindset. I give you ink. You give me cash. And if you’re a pretty enough woman, you give me your number, too.

The problem now was that everyone wanted a piece of me. A piece of the others. A piece of St. Skin. Tate had somehow turned the little shop into a viral thing to the point that we were constantly featured online, in newspapers, in magazines. It helped the business to explode, though, which in turn helped our bank accounts to do the same.

I ripped open the back door and Prick was walking out of his room. He threw his hands up.

“Whoa. Angry? What did that door ever do to you?”

“What’s this meeting about?” I asked.

“Guess we have to check with the boss,” Prick said.

He winked and flicked his tongue against the loop that was through his bottom lip. I had visions of sometimes grabbing that fucking thing and yanking it right out, like ripping the top off a fresh carton of orange juice.

Prick winked and strutted away. He had a cocky swagger about him but he definitely could back it up.

I walked to the front of the shop to find Tate standing in his office, the door open. I hung back near the counter, leaning against the glass case. I heard the wet pop! of a bubble and glanced over my shoulder to see Danielle chomping on some neon pink gum. She looked at me, blue eyes bright, then looked away. With just the curl of my lip she eased back off the counter and sat down in her chair.

I put an elbow on the glass and waited for Tate to speak.

These meetings, sometimes they were just…

Tate pointed to Danny. He was our bitch in St. Skin. Nice guy, forever wanting a piece of the bad-boy tattooing life. Danny quickly opened the door and held it open.

“That’s why we’re here,” Tate said. “That door. Every time that door opens. That’s what we’re here for: to see who comes through that door. To figure out their story, what they want, what they need. Coming through those doors with a broken heart that only ink can help fix. Needing a permanent memory, a visual memory, something they can carry for the rest of their lives. That’s why we’re here.”

I stood tall. Tate officially had my attention.

The entire shop was quiet, and even Danielle wasn’t chomping on her gum or blowing annoying bubbles. She was listening intently. It almost sounded like Tate was about to shut the shop down or do something crazy.

Crazy was just in our nature.

“We tell stories. We make money. There’s no shame in that. But what about our story? The story of St. Skin. This little shop that’s taken over the world. Right?”

Everyone started to nod.

I didn’t give two shits about telling my story.

“It’s no secret we’ve been approached several times about a reality show,” Tate said. “We’ve done features. We’ve done a lot. I would never force you all to sign a TV contract, but I would like to get our story told.”

“Shit,” I whispered.

Tate pointed to me. “Maddox, easy now, man. We’re not signing a TV deal.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Last thing we need is unwanted…”

My voice trailed off and someone came through the open door to St. Skin. A woman with a camera around her neck. It was the same woman who snapped a picture of me outside. The unwanted picture. Snapped a picture and then took off.

I stepped forward, already angry.

“This,” Tate said, “is Hazel.”

I stopped walking. She looked at me.

Hazel. With bright green eyes. Dark hair. Damn near breathtaking, even though she was on my shit list already.

“I hired her to take pictures,” Tate said. “We’re going to capture St. Skin through pictures. The same thing we give to those who walk through the door. She’s got full access to this entire place. So, don’t be shocked if she shows up in the strangest places and snaps a picture. I want this to be intimate. I want this to be real.”

“What’s this for?” Cass asked. “I’m not sure how I feel about Diem and Paisley getting their pictures taken.”

“Nothing will be posted or published or bought or sold without full disclosure and agreement. I will also be making sure that everyone gets their pictures. So, Cass, nobody is going to take a picture of Paisley and throw it on the internet. But imagine having those moments that you don’t even know are happening?”

I started to walk away.

“Maddox,” Tate said.

I stopped and looked back. “Yeah?”

“This is a no-option thing,” Tate said. “This is for the growth of the business. Trust me. You’re going to get a lot out of this.”

I stood without saying a word.

Then to my shock, Hazel lifted her camera.

Just as she was about to take the picture, I put my fist out and lifted my middle finger.