And somehow my thoughts kept circling back to a tattoo artist I’d known for less than seventy-two hours.
The irritating part wasn’t that I found her attractive.
The irritating part was that I couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation.
Most people spent forty minutes making small talk.
JJ had told me about being fifteen and pregnant.
About being thrown out by her parents.
About sleeping rough in North Town.
About meeting Havoc.
Hell, she’d told me more about herself in a single consultation than most people volunteered after months of knowing them.
That wasn’t normal.
Not for someone living the kind of life I suspected she was living.
People carrying that much damage usually learned to keep their mouths shut.
Which left me with two possibilities.
Either she was desperate fo
