Inflict: A Novel

Chapter Nine

"So, you could do this one?"

Connor closed the front door of the brownstone quietly, unsure of what he was hearing just down the hall. A conversation, obviously. Evelyn's voice, though louder than what he'd heard her speak before.

Then, the reply came from Killian, ratcheting up the irritation Connor felt at hearing the two converse so easily. "It's a lot of shading, and it'll take me a while to copy it over to be able to transfer it, but I don't see why not."

It was entirely ridiculous of him to feel jealous over something so foolish, but he couldn't help it. He wanted Evelyn to talk to him; he wanted her to feel safe with him.

Even if he wasn't the safest person to be around.

That didn't matter, anyway.

It wasn't the damn point.

Connor dropped the bags he held, right there at the front door, and quickened his steps, heading towards the voices.

"And you could do it here, right?" Evelyn asked.

"Upper thigh is a great spot for something like this, lass."

Oh, feck no.

The sudden bloom of rage spreading within Connor's chest came out of practically nowhere. But the very moment it was there, he knew it wasn't going to go away until he knew exactly what was happening, and stopped it. He'd assumed Evelyn would keep to herself for the day while Killian watched her, because that seemed to be her nature.

Apparently not.

Apparently, she had made a friend.

Connor didn't like that at all.

He didn't exactly know why, but he did know that he didn't like the conversation he was hearing. It sounded like someone planned to tattoo someone else, and that meant things, like someone would need to put their hands on someone else.

Bare skin.

Bare thighs.

Hands—though gloved—touching ...

Hell no.

Connor rounded the entryway to the living room just in time to see Killian set a piece of paper down to the glass coffee table. Evelyn sat beside him, albeit with a good cushion of space between them. He was ready to break their party up, but his friend's next comment stopped him.

Just in time, too.

"Honestly, Connor has a better eye for this sort of thing," Killian said with a shrug, still looking over whatever was on the paper. "And unlike me, he could do this freehand, if he were in the mood, no transfer needed. Three hours, four max."

"Really?"

Killian nodded. "Also, it wouldn't be smart of me to be saying yes to something like this, lass. It's a delicate spot—I'd bet my arse he wouldn't be okay with it. Maybe somewhere else, but I don't even think he'd stand for that."

His old friend was entirely right about his assumptions. Just the thought of Killian—though Connor knew the man probably wouldn't do anything that might risk his life—tattooing Evelyn, made Connor's rage boil.

No one needed to be touching her.

Feckin' no one.

Evelyn's lips turned down into a frown. "He wouldn't care."

A dark, dry laugh escaped from Killian. "Yes, yes he would."

"But—"

"He would care very much," Connor said before he could stop himself.