Free Marks on My Skin (Love & Ink #1) by J A Howell Page A

play by their rules…for now. But remember what I said. I can’t do this much longer.”
    “Goodbye, mother.” Shayne pulled out of my grasp and turned for the car, saying nothing else. I looked from her back to her mother.
    Her mother flashed me a cruel, teasing grin and nodded. “Well, run along.”
    Ignoring her comment I hurried after Shayne, more concerned for her than her mother’s snide remarks. She already had the car started and the engine growled, only echoing the anger and hurt rolling off of her.
    She didn’t look at me when I got in the car, but shifted the car into gear. “Buckle up.”
    I did as I was told and she spun the car around, flooring it as soon we passed the gates and hit the dirt road. The car fishtailed and a cloud of dust ballooned up behind us. I gripped the door handle and stole a glance at her. Her fingernails were digging into the padding on the steering wheel again.
    “I’m sorry. I tried ta hold it.”
    She laughed, an uneasy, frantic laugh, and shook her head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
    “It’s fine. Ya don’t have anything ta apologize fer either.”
    “Look, I can drop you back at the shop, but I need to calm down. I don’t know if I can deal with working on people right now.”
    “I’m fine, Shayne. I don’t have anywhere ta be.” I told her. After what her mother said, and her current behavior, I was more concerned for her well-being than my brother not knowing my whereabouts.
    Shayne sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it back out. I reached a hand out as hers dropped onto the shifter.
    “Yer not like her.”
    “Yeah, well she’s right, Kieran. You don’t know me very well.”
    “Then tell me. Let me know ya.”
    Her hand slipped away and like that her wall was back up. Her darkness was pulled beneath once more but simmering just under the surface. She turned left as we reached the heart of Midtown and parallel parked in front of an aged brick apartment building.
    “Where are we?” I asked, following her up the stairs. The inside of the building was as aged as the outside, with fading white walls and worn blue-gray carpet that greeted us as we reached the fourth floor. She stopped in front of a black door with the brass numbers “433” under the peephole and looked back at me.
    “It’s my apartment.”
    “Oh.” I followed her in.
    “Will it bother you if I smoke?” She dropped her purse on the kitchen counter and looked toward me expectantly as her hand fumbled with a carved wooden box. I wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about smoking from the looks of it, but shrugged.
    “Go on.”
    Shayne pulled out a glass pipe and packed weed into the bowl, then pulled out a lighter and lit it, taking a deep inhale. She exhaled, closed her eyes, and leaned back against the counter, the tension flowing right out of her.
    “Want some?” She held the pipe out to me and I stepped toward her, carefully taking it from her hands. I hadn’t smoked pot since high school, but after the conversation with her mother, I could use something to calm my nerves as well. Shayne watched me as I took a hit. The light from the window caught her brown eyes and they glowed like sunlit honey.
    I started to speak, to say something comforting, but she grabbed the pipe out of my hand and pulled away, wandering toward her bed. I studied her belongings. The apartment was small. Nothing more than a studio with a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a couple closets, but the walls were a fresh shade of white. She had bright colored frames, holding black and white photos of places I’d seen around town and a large stereo system with a CD tower next to her bed. Her furniture was funky and unique like many of the items I’d seen at The Dirty Rich Hippie. They were kind of like her, I realized with a grin. Shayne kicked off her boots next to the bed, and I noted the knee-high Bambi socks she was wearing with amusement.
    “What? I