“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Laurel held her arms open, shocking both Nolan and Jace, whose open jaw gave Nolan lots of ideas for later. “Can I give you a hug?”
“Sure, I guess.” Mark’s words might have been hesitant, but he cuddled up to her and squeezed before he’d finished speaking. Given his upbringing and the fact that he was now living at Tom’s youth shelter when he wasn’t spending time with James, Nolan figured the kid would soak up affection like the crunchy toffee biscuits Laurel liked to dunk in her coffee, the ones he’d paid Devra to keep a constant supply of in the bakery case.
Nolan could attest that Laurel’s hugs were basically magic.
She ruffled his hair, then let him go slowly. “I heard you were part of the reason James got tipped off about where Jace and I ended up. Thank you. So much. I owe you everything.”
“Me?” Mark blinked up at her, clearly enamored.
Totally understand, kid, Nolan thought.
“Yeah. You were brave as hell,” James told him, squeezing his shoulder. “And the things you remembered helped us track down the people who hurt Laurel.”
“I didn’t do hardly anything.” Mark shrugged one bony shoulder. “But I’m glad some of the shit I’ve seen made a difference.” James cleared his throat and Mark grimaced. “Stuff. I meant stuff.”
Jace smothered a laugh at that. “You must have a lot of potential if James is showing you the ropes. Construction work is a decent job. You’re going to be okay now. On the right path to a better life with so many years left ahead of you to make something of it.”
“Thanks.” Mark shook his cascade of hair back as if he didn’t feel the need to hide behind it anymore. He smiled sheepishly up at James, who was obviously his hero. “I’m hoping that after we’re done with the Shields project I’ll be ready to join one of the other Powertools crews.”
“Part time.” James nodded. “You have to finish school before you can come on permanently, but if that’s what you still want after graduation, I know a foreman and a forewoman who owe me some favors…”
Nolan, Laurel, and Jace snickered at that.
A roar broke out from somewhere in the back where the giant family room took up a large chunk of the main floor along with the entry, dining room, and kitchen. Hoots and hollers, along with a few whistles, drew them—curious—in that direction.
16
“What’s going on back here?” Nolan heard a familiar buzz. He rubbed his forearms and the ink covering them as he remembered what it felt like to have the artwork permanently etched into his skin. Not so different from how he felt every day longer he spent with Jace and Laurel, who were indelibly imprinted on his heart and soul.
Wren filled them in. “Mike is building a tattoo shop downtown for our friend Blakely, but until it’s ready she’s been doing house visits with her mobile set up so we thought we’d hire her for the party. The Hot Rods are each getting matching tattoos tonight. Nothing elaborate. The garage logo, about the size of a quarter. Eli teased his dad about doing it too and Tom called his bluff. He’s sitting for his first ever tattoo tonight.”
Nolan grinned and Laurel clapped along with the rest of the gathered gangs. Tom was a father to most of them, not only Eli. It meant a lot for him to do this for his son. For all of them. It proved what he told them so often, that he was proud of what they’d built together both professionally, and more importantly, personally.
Tom whipped his black long-sleeved T-shirt over his head and everyone cheered again. Especially his wife, Ms. Brown, who fanned her face dramatically. Damn, that was no dad bod Tom was sporting either, even if the fur on his chest and flat stomach was silver instead of dark like his son’s.
He straddled the bench across from Blakely. Her own father, Giovanni, who had commissioned the tattoo parlor and tourist hub not too far from where James was breaking ground on the Shields headquarters, put his hand on the up-and-coming artist’s shoulder and squeezed.
Nolan wondered if his parents would have been even a fraction as supportive and proud of him if they’d survived long enough to see him become a hired assassin. He hoped they would have understood his purpose, but he was constantly weighing the terrible things he had to do against the good they resulted in to make sure he wasn’t becoming like the people he took out.
Laurel put her hand in his. “It must be nice to know someone loves you that unconditionally, huh?”
Jace shot her a look out of the corner of his eye. Did she seriously still not understand that she already had that, with Jace? Or was she referring to the unwavering support of a parental figure?
Either way, she must have tripped Jace’s instincts. He edged closer to the tattoo station, peering at the first bold swipes of Blakely’s gun over Tom’s chest. He didn’t so much as flinch, staring out at the roomful of people he’d inspired and damn near raised on his own.
From beside them, Nolan heard Mark whisper, “Badass.”
“Can anyone get a tat tonight?” Jace asked no one in particular.
Blakely glanced over at him when she paused to dip her gun in the miniature plastic inkpot. “Sure. I’m here the whole night.” She returned her attention to her work on Tom and asked, “Are you another virgin, like Tom?”
“Honey, it’s been a hell of a long time since Tommy was a virgin.” Only Ms. Brown could get away with calling him that. Her heated stare and the way she licked her lips as she studied his fresh markings made it clear she appreciated his experience and benefited from it regularly.
“LA LA LA. Not listening.” One of Ms. Brown’s grown daughters, Amber, stuck her fingers in her ears and rotated toward her husband, Gavyn, who owned the Hot Rides motorcycle shop—the sister garage to Hot Rods—burying her face in his chest to block out the steamy signals her mom was sending Eli’s dad.
Nolan boomed out a laugh. He’d never been part of a group where everyone was so accepting and open-minded, or—for that matter—so damn happy. Life goals.
His boss, Jordan, stood nearby with his husband, Kason, and their wife, Wren. When Nolan looked up, he caught Jordan’s raised brow. Yeah, it was probably pretty obvious Nolan had never been this content either. Shit.
“Jace has quite a few tats already,” Laurel answered Blakely as she raked her gaze down the sinew of his forearms.
“None as high quality as yours.” Jace practically drooled as he studied the rock-solid line work of the design Blakely drew on Tom. “Mine were mostly exchanges for bouncer work or because I signed up to be the guinea pig for artists starting their training. Never could afford that kind of talent.”
“We can now,” Laurel murmured to him. “I know you’ve been wanting to get a new piece.”
“They are addictive.” Jace cupped the back of his neck. “And there is something I’ve been thinking of a lot lately.”
“How big? How involved? Party tats are usually quick and small, one or two colors max.” The woman looked up again, her head tipped a bit. If her long ash-blonde hair hadn’t been wound into some sort of messy bun it would have cascaded over her shoulder. She was as beautiful and tough as the art she created.