Page 21 of Cuckoo
Diablo chuckled. “Okay. Give me a minute.”
I watched his hand move over the paper as he created the image, shading and adding detail in less than five minutes. When he showed it to me, I nodded. “Her name is Katrina.” I spelled it out. “Cursive or script font.” I didn’t have to tell him to make it legible. Diablo was a professional. That would have been insulting.
He added Katrina’s name. “How’s this?”
Wow. “Fuck. That’s perfect.” He captured her innocence along with her beauty and wild, fierce personality without ever having a description or meeting her.
I shrugged off my cut, draped it over a nearby chair, then ripped off my shirt. Settling against the seat, I lay back as Diablo set the sketchbook in his work area. “Nearly ready. Just need to gather a few things.”
“Take your time.” My woman would be a few hours. I had plenty of time.
“Where do you want her?”
My angel? “Chest. Left side, close to my heart. There’s lots of ink, but you can place her above Poseidon.”
“Cool. Like she’s flying above the god of the sea.”
“Exactly.”
Technically, I had both Poseidon and Neptune inked on my skin. Poseidon stood over the sea, holding up his hands and calling forth a storm on my chest. On my left arm, a closeup of Neptune’s face with beard, tentacles, and cloudy, haunting eyes was struck through by a bolt of lightning that cut across my bicep. Sharks and other sea creatures floated in the ocean on my right arm. A beautiful siren opened her mouth in a seductive song.
All the ink was colorful, but my favorite one before this angel was Neptune. Well, other than the crow.
I relaxed as Diablo began to work, letting my thoughts drift to Katrina as the needle pressed into my skin. I could forgetabout the pain. That was easy. My childhood had been an excellent teacher.
But that wasn’t where my thoughts drifted as I closed my eyes. I slowly receded into the past, forgetting that the man who held the needle had mystical powers when he connected with blood. Diablo had already seen parts of my childhood, but he never saw Katrina.
Not until now.
She was only five years old when she entered the foster home I had the misfortune of being assigned to six months earlier. Whenever a new kid was dropped off, they arrived with a duffle bag of possessions that never held much value. The other kids who coveted nice clothes, jewelry, and new toys would confiscate or steal anything that did.
Katrina had come with a shiny suitcase, and every child in that home envied her pretty pink coat, clean clothes, the golden heart-shaped charm on her necklace, and the meat on her bones that proved she was loved and cared for.
I knew in an instant she needed me. Being three years older, bigger, and much smarter, I was wise in ways she’d never experienced. So when I shoved my way through the boys lining up to steal from her, daring any of them to touch the little angel with brown pigtails and big, fearful eyes, she never hesitated when I held out my hand.
That little girl’s chin wobbled right before she held up her suitcase. No words. No pleading. Not a single tear fell.
But oh, I could feel the sorrow in the depth of her eyes because I saw it in the mirror of her soul. And right then, I knew I would kill anyone who tried to hurt her. I’d drag them into hell before I let a single scratch mar her porcelain skin.
She blinked up at me, so doll-like with her innocence, so pure and broken and sad. My heart nearly punched a hole through my chest. For the first time since I set foot in this hellhole, I feltsomething stir in my chest. Emotion, but much more. A tingling sensation that ran the length of my body. The urge to shelter her nearly overwhelmed me.
I made a silent vow to protect her as I wrapped my hand around her suitcase and then took her empty palm in mine. She gasped as I clenched her hand and led her away from the others. I took her to my room upstairs, where the bullies couldn’t reach her.
She was so tiny. Her little arms were no bigger than twigs. I knew just the place to hide her. When the monsters hunted in the night, they wouldn’t find the little angel hidden by shadows. I’d make sure of that.
“What’s your name?” I asked as I brought her in and closed the door, setting her suitcase on the floor by my dresser.
“Katrina,” she whispered.
“Who’s that?” Tommy asked, reading a comic book he stole from a kid at school. He was a thief and a liar, but he didn’t hit girls, so I let him bunk with me.
“My friend,” I growled. “You don’t touch her.”
“I know. Geez.”
“If I’m not around, you protect her. Okay?”
He snorted. “What’s in it for me?”
