The loud bang behind makes the woman behind the counter shriek in alarm and drop her phone.

“Holy shit!” she yelps. Her eyes bug wide as they dart to me.

“Jesus, Beast!” she gasps. “You scared the living hell out of me!”

“Sorry about that,” I shrug. “You really need to get that screen door fixed.”

Hannah takes a deep breath and lets out a noisy sigh of relief. “Tell me about it.” The blood slowly begins to return to her face. “It’s been like that for over a week. Chance keeps saying he’ll do something about it. But clearly, it’s pretty low on his priority list.” She glances toward the back of the shop with an irritated frown. “Then again, he’s not out here listening to it day in and day out, like I am.”

“He around?” I ask. “I can bitch at him if you want.”

“Nah. He’s not coming in until later on today.” Hannah cocks her head at me. “Wait — your appointment wasn’t with him, was it?”

“Nope. With Dez.”

“Oh, good.” She looks relieved. “I was worried Chance fucked up.”

“Not on this front, at least.”

Chance Armstrong is the owner here at Rebel Ink. This shop is one of half a dozen tattoo places in the area, but it’s the only the Lords of Carnage will go to. The artists here are top notch, and they’ve been doing all our work for years.

I’ve known Chance since he was a little kid. He was a few years behind me in school. I can still remember him way back then: a geeky kid with stick-out ears and glasses. This was long before tattoos snarled the surface of his skin from the neck down. He’s come a long way since then. This place is known throughout the region as the best ink shop around.

I’m here to get some new ink on a faded tattoo. Normally, I don’t bother with touch-ups. But this one is special. It’s the first one I ever got. It’s the head of a snarling beast, with a mouth full of flame. The orange of the fire has dimmed, and it’s time to get it back in shape.

“Dez is in his room,” Hannah says, nodding toward the hall. “You can go on back.”

“Thanks.”

I head down to find him in his studio. He’s hunched over a sketch pad, busily working on a design. His dark beard covers the entire lower half of his face. An elastic band pulls his long hair back out of his way. Dez looks up at my footsteps, grunts a greeting, and sets the pad down without a word. He isn’t known for his sparkling conversation. It’s one of the things I like about him.

I lift my chin at him and sit down in the chair opposite him without preamble.

“Touching up today?” he murmurs.

I nod. “The flames,” I tell him. “Do what you want with the rest.”

I pull off my shirt to give him access to the tat, which is on my left pec. He peers at it for a few seconds, even though he knows it well. “I’ll touch up the outline, some of the details,” he tells me. “Keep the overall look of it. The blur of the old ink is actually an asset. Adds to the character.”

I settle in, watching silently as he preps his instruments. When he’s ready, I just lie back and let him work. For a long time, the only sound in the room the tattoo gun and the occasional rustle as he shifts position.

Dez works with a furrowed brow. Time passes. I mostly zone out, aware of the pain almost like a meditation.

“All done,” he eventually says. He pulls back and grabs a hand mirror for me so I can take a look.

The beast has recovered his snarl. I flex the muscle and grin. “Looks good.”

“Thanks, man.” Dez nods briefly. He’s not great at accepting compliments, but I can tell he appreciates it anyway.

“How’s the fam?” I ask as he grabs the ointment to put over the new ink.

He nods. “Okay. Stacey’s been sick a lot lately. Strep. Docs think she may need to get her tonsils out, but they’re holding off for now ‘cause she’s so young. Carrie’s been off work a lot to stay home with her.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “She’s takin’ it in stride. Luckily her boss is being cool about it. She’s trying to get a lot of work done at home while Stacey’s asleep.”

I watch Dez place the bandage and try to imagine him at home with a girlfriend and a kid. It’s not easy. But I guess most people would look at my brothers in the club and not believe that lots of them have kids as well. I’ve seen guys tough enough to make a grown man piss his pants, down on the floor playing horsey with a two year-old. So, I know dads come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. And some of the best ones I know are covered head to toe in ink.

Not me, of course. That’s never gonna happen.

I make a mental note to toss a few extra bucks in Dez’s direction by way of a tip, and shake his hand as I get up to leave. Then the two of us head back down the hall.

Hannah’s staring into space when we get to the reception area. Her phone is lying on the desk in front of her. Her face is pale, and her jaw is clenching and unclenching, like she’s trying to keep her emotions in check. When she notices us, she quickly sits up and flashes the two of us an unconvincing smile.

“All set?” she croaks, her eyes flickering from me to Dez.

“Yeah.” Dez gives her a quick nod and tells her what to charge me for, then lifts a finger at me and turns back toward his studio.

Hanna grabs my ticket to ring me up. She takes a ragged breath and sniffles, and I realize she’s either been crying or trying not to.

“Hey, you still freaked out about that door slamming?” I ask, a little alarmed. “Shit, if it’s getting to you that much, I can grab some tools and fix it for you.”

“No, no.” She shakes her head and sniffles again, then looks up at me apologetically. “It’s not that. I’m just… I just got a text from my aunt. My little cousin has been missing for a few days.” Her voice begins to quaver on the last word, and she swallows and tries again. “She… just kind of disappeared into thin air. Didn’t come home from school last Thursday. We have no idea where she could be.” Her chin trembles. “She’s only fifteen,” she whispers.

“Shit, Hannah. I’m sorry.” Fuck, no wonder she looks like hell. She must be worried sick.

I cast about in my stupid lizard brain for something to say that won’t just make her feel even worse. “Have you, uh, talked to the cops?” I finally ask.

I’m pretty sure it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever asked that question.

Hannah snorts wetly. “Yeah,” she says in disgust. “My aunt has been down to the station a couple of times. They just ask how she knows Zoe didn’t just run away?” Hannah fixes me with an angry, intense stare. “She didn’t run away!” she cries. “But even so, what if she did? She’s still missing, and she’s still only fifteen! How can they not even care enough to look for her?”

I hold her gaze and don’t look away. She’s right, of course. It’s fucking bullshit. But I know enough about cops — especially the cops in fuckin’ Tanner Springs — to know they pick and choose what they respond to. They’re not about to give a family like Hannah’s, from the wrong side of the tracks, the time of day. They’re too busy kissing the ass of our piece of shit mayor, Jarred Holloway. The patrol cars in our city spend a shitload of time cruising around and ticketing loitering teenagers in the tony part of town during the daylight, so the rich folks can see them Keeping Crime Off the Streets. They don’t touch the real shit with a ten-foot pole. The domestic violence calls at 3 a.m. The petty drug dealers who sell to poor kids who’ve got nothing in their lives and are just looking for an escape.

And Hannah Crescent’s little cousin? I’m sure as shit she isn’t even on the Tanner Springs P.D.’s radar. Their family hasn’t given enough campaign money to Mayor Holloway for them to rate.

I wish I had something positive to say, but I don’t. So I don’t say anything at all. She seems to realize the information she’s revealed is too personal, and her eyes quickly flick down toward the desk. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “It’s not your concern.”

“Don’t be sorry, Hannah.” I cast about again some more. “She’ll turn up.” I find myself saying. Which is probably true.

One way or another.

Hannah gives me the saddest fucking look I’ve ever seen. “I hope so. She’s like a little sister to me, Beast. And my poor aunt…” She shakes her head. “She’s going out of her mind. Zoe’s her only child.”

“I can imagine.” Fuck, I sound like a goddamn moron. I lean on the counter and give her my money, with a generous tip for Dez. Straightening, I say, “I’m sorry. I hope she turns up soon.”

“Thanks, Beast.” She gives me a tremulous smile.

I walk out of Rebel Ink feeling pissed off and unsettled. I’ve known Hannah for years. Even though she’s only an acquaintance, the thought of her little cousin, or any fifteen year-old girl for that matter — out there somewhere, lost and alone — gets to me more than I’d like. I didn’t say this to Hannah, but I wonder if she’s even in the area anymore. The possibilities are endless. She could have run away, like the cops said. She could have been taken. Hell, she could have just gone wandering around out in the country somewhere and gotten lost, though I can’t imagine a kid that age wouldn’t have a cell phone nowadays.

Shaking the thoughts from my head, I cross the parking lot to my bike and straddle the seat. It’s early afternoon, and I’m on my way to Twisted Pipes, my club’s custom bike and auto shop. Hawk’s got a few projects on deadline and a couple of the guys are out sick, so I said I’d come help him out.

I’m just getting ready to fire up the bike when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Thinking it might be Hawk, I grab it and glance at the screen. It’s a call, not a text, and it’s Gunner.

“Hey,” I bark into the phone.

“Hey, brother.” Gunner’s voice is tinny on the other end. “You got time to do me a favor?”

“What’s up?”

I hear him take a drag on a cigarette and blow it out. That must mean he’s stressed. He’s mostly quit the cancer sticks since his old lady, Alix, got pregnant. “I got a problem. A Lemmy problem.”

I suppress a laugh. “I see. What’s up?”

Gunner sighs. “Apparently he’s out causing trouble downtown. I got a call from Zeb over at the Lion’s Tap saying Lemmy’s bein’ drunk and disorderly outside. I don’t want him to get hauled in, but I don’t have time to go get him. I’m on my way to take Alix for her doctor’s appointment.”

I nod at the phone. Alix is eight months along, and big enough that she looks ready to pop at any moment.

“Okay, I’ll take care of it. I’m just coming out of Rebel Ink. I’ll head over there right now.”

“Thanks, brother. I owe you one.”

“As long as that ‘one’ is a bottle of my favorite whiskey, you’re on.”

Gunner chuckles. “I don’t owe you that much.”

I smirk. “Let’s see how much damage control I have to do. Talk to ya. Say hi to Alix.”

“Will do.”

I end the call and fire up the bike. Then I head out of the parking lot toward downtown, wondering what kind of scene I’ll find when I get there.