Devils' Day Party: A High School Bully Romance - C.M. Stunich Page 0,135

up in his arms and lifts me clear off the back of the car. My legs go around him as his tongue slides between my lips, claiming me at the same time his hands cup my ass beneath my Crescent Prep skirt.

“Seriously, bro? What the actual fuck? I know you've got your dream girl and all that shit, but it's Devils' Day. Let's go.”

Raz pulls away from me, scowling, but he doesn't put me down as he moves over to the side of the car, and then simply hauls both himself and me over it and into the seat.

Jesus.

I hadn't realized how strong he was—physically or emotionally. Now I'm even more intrigued.

“Hit it,” Raz says, slapping the side of the convertible. I can see Luke roll her eyes in the rearview mirror, but she releases the parking brake and off we go.

To get some motherfucking illegal ink.

What a Devils’ Day this is turning out to be; I like it already.

The tattoo parlor sits on the outskirts of Devil Springs, but with a name like Kismet Ink and Design, it's gotta be good. Kismet means fate, after all. And karma, well, that's cosmic justice. Put the two together, and I'm certain that I'm exactly where I was meant to be.

“I am not letting you get Raz's name tattooed on your hip,” Luke hisses as I browse through fonts on my phone, trying to decide which one to use. It's illegal as fuck, us being here and doing this, but I don't care, not today.

Part of me realizes that this is my last hurrah, my last chance to dive in headfirst and see what the dark waters of the world hold. After today, it's not about me: it's about Pearl. Once I find a way to save her, I'll get to see tomorrow, I'm sure of it. But I can't spend time with Raz or Calix or Barron and still have enough hours left in the day to deal with Pearl.

“I appreciate your concern, and on a normal day, I'd heed your caution. But not today, Luke.” I find the font I want, and glance back to find Raz lounging on the red leather sofa at the front of the store. He taps the cushion next to him with his palm as Luke gives me the stink eye.

“You can't just wipe a tattoo off, Karma. Once it's there, it's there until you get some very expensive laser treatments. This is as permanent as permanent can really get. And Raz, of all of people? Really?”

“I'm in love with him,” I tell her, looking up from my phone to find her frowning at me. “Even if we don't end up together in the end, I love him right now. Besides, it's Devils' Day. There's magic in the air.”

“Don't blame me when you wake up tomorrow and find it's no longer Devils' Day, and you're stuck with a hideous tattoo you never really wanted in the first place.” She rolls her eyes and then points to a gay pride flag tattoo on one of the iPads near the front counter; each one is set up with the individual artist's portfolio, to help customers gauge their style. We don't exactly have a lot of choices as far as tattoo artists go—no choice at all, in fact—so it doesn't help us much. At least the tattoo that Luke is pointing to belongs to the shop's owner, some hot young chick whose name really doesn’t suit her. Abigail Grantham, I believe it was.

The green-haired woman stands behind the counter, covered in tattoos and piercings, and watching us with a carefully calculated sense of boredom that reminds me of Sonja. Maybe they really are related? Although I have to wonder how Sonja ended up with a cousin in the backwoods of Arkansas.

Another dirty, little secret, perhaps?

“This one,” Luke declares, lifting her chin. “I want this one.”

“Let me get it sketched up,” the woman says, nodding her chin to the chair behind the counter. “And have a seat.” Luke exhales sharply and moves to follow her instructions as I give her a thumbs-up and head back over to sit with Raz. Once the design is ready, I’ll join her. No way is she getting the first needle of the day without me holding her hand.

April is sipping on a Slurpee from the gas station and scrolling the shop's Instagram account while Sonja follows Luke behind the counter like a puppy. A very angry, very bitchy puppy, but a puppy, nonetheless.

“Are