Wicked Ink

By Misty Simon

Garrett Blackwell is not a superhero, and his tattoos aren't just ink. They're the weapons he uses to hunt those who hurt the innocent as he tries to atone for his dark past of violence and crime. And he pays a price every time he uses his gift to summon the darkness around him.

Dory Miller has lived beside Garrett for two months and is torn by her feelings toward her sexy, reclusive neighbor. He's the hottest man she's ever met, but as more women in her building become targets of a stalker, she doesn't know who she can trust–especially after she finds Garrett bleeding from a knife wound. Despite her fears that Garrett might be the one responsible for the violence, she feels compelled to help heal his wounds.

Garrett reluctantly lets her, and is shocked to discover that she can heal not only his physical wounds, but also the darkness brought by his powers. But if letting her in means putting her in danger, Garrett may have to keep his distance to keep her safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jun 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781488742521

Misty Simon

Misty Simon is the author of the Tallie Graver Mystery series. She loves a good story and decided one day that she would try her hand at it. Eventually she got it right. There’s nothing better in the world than making someone laugh, and she hopes everyone at least snickers in the right places when reading her books. She lives with her husband, daughter and three insane dogs in Central Pennsylvania where she is hard at work on her next novel or three. She loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at [e-mail].

Book preview

Chapter One

Dark glass shot out from Garrett Blackwell’s palms as he ran down the alley behind his apartment building. The college student from 4A screamed at the top of her lungs, grappling with the man in the black ski mask who held her by the throat. Garrett’s shards of glass struck true as they bloodied the assailant’s hands, giving the girl a quick second of release.

Run, he yelled to her, but she was already sprinting down the narrow road without looking back.

You son of a bitch. The girl’s attacker shook his bloody hands in front of him, splattering crimson against the brown brick walls.

Truer words were never spoken, Garrett said.

Drawing from the darkness around him and in the man opposite him, he mentally called up a long, double-edged blade into his right hand. A black tribal tattoo from his right biceps slithered down his arm, wrapped around his wrist, and pooled in his palm, materializing as a dagger. He readjusted his shoulders to soothe the crawling sensation as the tattoo did what he’d asked of it. The blade shone midnight-black in the dim light of the quarter moon above them.

The perpetrator started to back away before Garrett had fully gripped the dagger. Oh no, you’re not getting away that easily, he said.

Garrett launched himself toward the man, and felt a surge of satisfaction as the dagger sliced through the man’s arm. His blood slicked the blade and was absorbed into it within seconds. The man feinted to the right, then lunged to the left. They had reached the end of the alleyway, where bright streetlights gleamed against the night sky, chasing away the shadows that fueled Garrett’s power.

A car came careening around the corner and glanced off the man in the tattered ski mask. He went down, but was back up faster than Garrett would have anticipated. He ran into the middle of the street, loping painfully and cradling his arm against his side.

Before Garrett could follow him and finish this thing, the same car screeched to a halt and the man jumped in, shouting obscenities while the car zoomed off in a heartbeat.

Leaning against the brick building, Garrett dragged in a deep breath and absorbed the dagger back into his body, his tattoos reforming around his biceps. Later, he would need to find the shards of glass he’d sent shooting into the assailant’s hands. He could live without them, but he didn’t like to leave pieces of himself lying around. There would be enough fallout from this brawl without the added complication of making a trip to Lissa for a new tat.

He dug his fingers into the bricks, trying to ground himself so he could find the strength to fight the darkness swirling through his blood. His head swam with nausea and his knees almost gave out. Somehow he had to get back upstairs so he could detox. Right about now, he wished he could fly like the mythical Superman. He’d take Kryptonite over the purging any day.

Each step was painful, though no one would be able to tell from his outward appearance. He might look slightly drunk to the casual observer, his dark hair tousled, his T-shirt untucked from his worn jeans, but that suited his purpose. Hopefully it would keep his neighbors from being too nosy.

He made it to the third landing without coming across anyone. Staggering down the hallway, he only hoped he could make the last three steps without attracting notice.

This was not his night, though, in more ways than one. He snapped to his full height a breath before 3A’s door opened.

Hey, Garrett, his next-door neighbor said. I’ve been working on a new recipe. Have you had dinner yet?

He stifled a groan, not knowing whether it was from the unwelcome promise of another meal cooked by someone who shouldn’t even have a kitchen, or from the pain coursing through his body as the darkness sank deeper into his cells.

Hi, Dory. Thanks for the offer, but I already ate. The urge to bolt into his apartment was nearly overwhelming. But running from Dory was not going to do him any good. He’d realized the hard way that the more fodder you gave people for speculation, the more questions they tended to ask.

Well, I’ll just bring some over in a container then. I’ve been trying out some new spices and I think you’ll like it.

If only she knew how her wild concoctions never sat well with him. Maybe he was a bland-food kind of guy and she a woman of differing tastes. But after he’d eaten—or attempted to eat—the first meal she’d brought over, he hadn’t known how to turn down the many offers that followed.

He laughed because she was expecting it. Sounds like a crowd pleaser. But you don’t need to send any over, I have plenty of food in my refrigerator.

Her smile fell quickly into a frown. You’ve liked everything else I’ve brought over, and this stew is supposed to freeze well. I bet you have plenty of room in your freezer.

Yeah, right next everything else she’d brought him over the past two months—things he couldn’t stomach but would have felt rotten about throwing away. Not a lot of room in there, either. Why don’t you freeze it for yourself? The pain was racing throughout his entire body, making his vision narrow to near pinpricks. He had to get into his apartment soon or the darkness inside would burst out. I have to go. I’ll see you later.

You need to eat something more nourishing than that fast food I see you carrying home all the time, she said with a smile.

Dory and her cooking were going to be the death of him. He clenched his fist against the door frame. When her gaze flew between his clenched hand and his face, he immediately opened his hand and drummed his fingers against the wood. You know what, go ahead and bring some over in about an hour. I need to take a shower and decompress from work, but then I’m sure I’ll be ready for some stew. He tried hard not to gag on the words and was rewarded with an even brighter smile.

She tucked a strand of honey-colored hair behind her ear, glancing up at him through the lenses of her rectangular glasses. If you’re sure.

Absolutely. Now I really have to go so I can wash this grime off. See you in an hour. She had the classic look of the good girl next door. If he had been anyone but the worst guy in the neighborhood, he might have entertained thoughts of pursuing her. But he would never taint anyone with all that he was and would always be.

Okay, Garrett, bye, she said, waving as she popped back into her apartment. He waved back and then stepped inside his own door, collapsing against it with an exhale that sounded more like choking.

He crawled up the secret staircase he’d built into the coat closet and climbed out onto the floor in apartment 4B. No one knew he owned this apartment, as well. He preferred to keep it that way. After a few deep breaths, he dragged himself over to the custom-made wooden chair that resembled an electric chair from old prison movies. He fought the urge to kill, maim, wreak havoc on this world he had spent the past eighteen years protecting. As he strapped himself in, his thoughts flashed to tearing out Dory’s throat, slicing up the college student he’d just saved and bathing in their fear and horror. He prepared to purge the darkness that was fast taking over his soul. Again.

* * *

Precisely an hour later, Dory Miller straightened her top and smoothed a hand down her pants. She hadn’t changed from work yet, but that was okay. She would much rather have Garrett see her pressed and presentable from work than in her comfy sweats that had lost all elasticity about two years ago. Impressions were everything to her now that she had turned her life around.

Her stew would warm him after the long day he’d put in at work on the construction site downtown. He’d looked more worn out than usual, and it definitely wasn’t like him to pass up a meal. Her own work had been stressful lately, and the more stressed she was, the more she cooked.