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column upward, revealing a hidden
socket. He reached out his hand, silently offering to plug in her machine but
she ignored him and did it herself. Chad stayed out of her way, waiting until
she was ready for him. When she had her mobile tattooing station arranged the
way she wanted, she turned toward him.
    “Which one?” she asked, opening a folder.
    Last night they had talked about the three designs she came
up with but he’d yet to see them. He studied all three, once again blown away
by her creativity and skill. A Celtic knot. The single Chinese character for
balance. And a gnarled root of a grape vine.
    They each had merit, and they each held meaning. He’d been
shocked when she’d told him the three designs. Shocked that she’d paid enough
attention when he rambled to recognize the things in his life that held
significance. He’d been engaged two years and his fiancée hadn’t bothered to
find out half of what Becca gleaned in just eight months.
    “This.” He pointed to the intricately twisted knot, a
fitting choice for his Irish heritage and his new acceptance of life and death.
She nodded in return and picked up the transfers, clearing off the table. He
knew the drill. Same one he’d gone through when she’d done his first and only
ink, the memorial tattoo of his nephew that graced his right pec. All she had
to do was pick the exact spot on the inside of his upper left arm she thought
would be easiest to work on.
    “Should I be concerned that you don’t have any visible
tattoos, Miss Wiley?” Herzog asked.
    “I’ve got plenty of ink,” Becca’s reply was short. To the
point.
    “I can’t see a thing showing. In my experience, most people
get the outer extremities done firsthand then move on to the more private
areas. I’ve never met a tattoo artist who wasn’t nearly covered from head toe.
That says something about your level of comfort where nudity—”
    His words were cut off when Chad reached behind his head and
pulled his T-shirt off his body.
    “I’m an anomaly,” Becca interjected.
    The silence stretched and Chad eased onto the table. He
worked hard to keep in shape. He wasn’t usually uncomfortable being shirtless
but both of the other men were staring at him as if his abs held the secret to
world peace. Or more than likely, world domination. The latter took on a whole
new meaning when Chad thought about the metal rings attached to the pillars.
    Chad looked his way and Herzog cleared his throat. “I
assumed ten thousand dollars would give me carte blanche to choose where—”
    “Think again,” Chad interrupted. “Unless you have another
ten Gs at your disposal. If you do, then we can discuss.” He raised his arm
over his head and watched Becca roll her stool to the top of the table. It
would be easier for her to work that way than him trying to keep his arm turned
at an outward angle.
    The man gave him another slow once-over and Chad forced his
features to remain neutral.
    “You’re a delicious specimen, but not worth that price, I’m
sorry to say. That’s a rather odd place for the tattoo, don’t you think? When
you’ve got two strong healthy biceps. Bare and available.”
    Herzog’s words dripped with innuendo. It made Chad want to
laugh at the insipidity, but he remained quiet.
    “The skin on his inner arm is very similar to neck tissue.
It’s the closest to exact that we can get without actually doing a neck
tattoo,” Becca explained. She’d gone over all that with Chad the night before.
    “And why doesn’t he want a real neck tat?” Troy asked.
    Chad felt her tense. She hated when people used that word.
It showed what posers they were.
    “Customer’s choice,” Becca replied. She shot Herzog a
sidelong glance. “Most of the time.”
    Chad didn’t think she was looking for a response and Herzog
didn’t give one.
    “Maybe he thinks you’re not good enough to do his neck?”
Troy needled.
    “Maybe he thinks you’re a fucking asshole,” Becca