She had every quality a good tattoo artist needed - she was friendly, she was patient, and she was an amazing goddamn artist. She was surprised to find that, even though it was the sort of place where she was paid in cold, hard cash, and she knew the biker gang had som...
He’d patiently borne my parents grilling him about his occupation - mechanic - family - mostly deceased - age - twenty two - religion - “Private, ma’am,” - and so on. Finally, he’d leaned forward on the couch and looked earnestly at them. “Loo...
I was trapped below this boy, this… this asshole. The bile rose in my throat and I could not seem to say anything or do anything. I could feel myself retreat into my own mind. If I pretended it wasn’t happening, maybe I...
I was listening. Really. I was listening really, really hard. I knew what he wanted me to say. He'd been excruciatingly clear on that front. I knew exactly what information he wanted from me. There was only one trouble. ...
Merle asked, totally businesslike. He hardly seemed to register the blood on his friend’s face. “I was doing some rounds, checking up on some of our guys on the street, and I got jumped,” Jackson said. “Three guys, maybe about twenty, maybe younger. &nb...
All I could think about was the diary I’d hidden in the attic when I was ten. There was no way that they could have given me that, was there? No way that I could get that memory back, that moment back? I’d been so proud of her hiding spot, too...