As far as Violet Keller knew, no one had ever died while getting a miniature tattoo of a pink skull. The giant biker in the chair had obviously heard otherwise.

“Garg.” Spike squeezed his eyes shut. He dug his massive fingers into his thigh, making his leather chaps creak. Perspiration glistened on his bald head. “You’re trying to kill me, Magic. Admit it. You dulled them needles, didn’t you? This tattoo’s taking longer than a computer software update.”

Vi glanced up again from her sketchpad and bit her lip to keep from smirking. Ruby, aka Magic Mamba, leaned over the last client of the night, her favorite tattoo gun gripped expertly in a gloved hand. By the set line of her plum-stained lips, she was deciding whether to finish the tattoo or stab Spike in the eye.

“Keep talking, scumbag, and I’ll show you the definition of dull.” Ruby used her sugary-sweet voice, which meant violence was a single wrong move away.

With a sigh, Vi set aside her sketchpad. Since she owned the tattoo parlor, any lawsuit would be on her head. She preferred to keep her reputation pristine and the cash coming in.

“He’s kidding, Ruby.” Vi added a hint of warning to her tone. “Aren’t you, Spike?”

He drew his eyebrows down. “I may not be the smartest cracker in the package, but I’d never insult my tattoo artist while she’s holding iron to my skin.” Spike flashed his teeth at Ruby. “I love pink. It’s my favorite color.”

For a tense moment, Ruby held his gaze, her blue eyes glittering dangerously. The tattoo gun pressed against his flesh, ready to wound or finish the artwork already in motion. She suddenly grinned, wide and feral. “And there’s nothing sexier than a man with a pink skull on his arm, am I right?”

“You’re the artist, Mamba. I trust you.” By his goofy grin, he had a lot more than trust for Ruby. He looked at her as if she alone ruled the world, and her tattoo gun was a scepter of power, not a tool with needles.

“Awww.” Ruby pivoted, and her four-inch heels squeaked on the tile floor. “He trusts me, Vi. I think I’ll keep him.”

“Just don’t break anything.” Violet uncrossed her legs, stood from the couch, and stretched. A chill crept beneath her black sweater and jeans, a sign she’d have to drag out the Halloween decorations soon. Nothing was more fun than a few rubber spiders dangling from the rafters to scare jumpy customers. She swiped her sketchbook and colored pencils. No way was she sticking around to witness Ruby’s next tattoo victim turn romantic. “And clean up when you’re done.”

“You got it, boss.” Ruby wriggled her eyebrows and turned back to her work.

The buzz of the gun resumed as Vi shut the door behind her and strolled to the lobby, where Emma cleaned up for closing. Of all her employees, Emma was the most recent addition, attending the same tattoo artist program Vi had graduated from. When she’d shown up at the parlor looking for work, she’d reminded Vi so much of herself five years before, when she’d been the one desperately searching for a job, a purpose, a place to belong. Sponsoring Emma’s education hadn’t even been a question.

“Did you finish your latest design?” Emma paused from sweeping and glanced at Vi’s sketchbook. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Not yet.” Vi snapped the book shut. She never shared her designs until they were one hundred percent perfection. “Maybe tomorrow. Spike and Ruby were too distracting.”

Emma laughed and hooked a lock of eggplant-colored hair behind her ear. “You think talking is all they’re going to do tonight?”

“Please, I just ate.”

“You were in there so long, I thought maybe you finally let Ruby finish your tattoo. It’s better than imagining you doing the three-way tango with Spike and Ruby.”

“Again, ew. And I’ll wrap up my tattoo when I’m ready.” The incomplete design inked on Vi’s shoulder seemed to tingle, as if the mere mention of it activated some sort of voodoo. Vi rested one elbow on the front counter and bumped a large envelope resting askew between a design book and a box of temporary tattoos Ruby insisted they keep for the occasional wimp who decided needles were too scary. “What’s that?”

Emma shrugged and resumed sweeping, the sparkling polish of her ebony fingernails glittering like a night sky. “A courier dropped it off half an hour ago. Since it says ‘personal’ and ‘confidential’, I didn’t open it.”

“Maybe it’s a bomb.” Vi frowned at the label on the envelope and picked it up. No return address listed, and it felt no lighter than a letter.

“Then give me a minute to finish before you open it,” Emma said between sweeps. “I’m too young to die, and if I’m going to bite it, I want to be doing something exciting. Wielding a broom definitely won’t cut it.”

“It’s probably just laced with poison.” Vi ripped open the manila envelope. “Nothing you need to worry about. I prefer to be cremated—you know, just in case I fall to the floor and start frothing at the mouth.”

“You got it.” Emma set the broom aside and leaned one hip against the counter as Vi pulled a plain white envelope free. “Do you think it’s a love letter from that guy you sketched a Gothic castle scene for? He freakin’ adores you, especially since Ruby inked it perfectly on his twin brother’s back.”

Vi snorted. “If I could figure out what a man might do, I wouldn’t have to worry about charging people for tattoos. I’d already be insanely rich.”

She turned the envelope over and paused. A single, purple violet had been drawn on the back flap…familiar, unmistakable. Her heart surged into race-car speed. Only one person drew that bloom on every birthday card, on her bedroom dresser, once on her face while she’d been sleeping.

Dahlia. The sister she hadn’t seen in five years.

“Vi, you okay?” Emma lightly gripped her wrist, her forehead lined. “Do you need some water?”

An entire ice bath sounded great. “No, I’m fine. It’s fine.” Ignoring how her hands trembled, she gently peeled the envelope open, careful not to rip the paper. “It’s from my sister.”

“Oh, boy.” Emma’s eyebrows lifted. “I wonder how she found you?”

How Dahlia had found her didn’t matter so much as why. Her throat dry, Violet slid the folded letter from the envelope and set it on the black marble counter. She opened it and smoothed the paper with her palm. Dahlia’s delicate handwriting flowed over the white, her words filling from margin to margin.

Vi shoved the letter at Emma and turned away. “You read it. Tell me the important parts.”

“Are you sure?”

Not at all. “Absolutely.”

Blood pounding in her head, Vi paced the lobby as Emma scanned the letter. She paused at the glass door and stared out into the night, unseeing. She’d known one of her family members would eventually track her down, and even though five years stretched between now and when she’d left, seeing her sister’s penmanship erased those days and made her feel like the same, vulnerable teenager who’d ditched the only life she’d known. She’d fled the father whose expectations killed her dreams, the sister she loved better than any best friend, the small, quirky town that never felt like home…

And Max.

She rested her forehead against the cool glass pane and closed her eyes. Max, her first kiss, first heartbreak, first everything. He’d been too good for her in every way, deserved a girl who wouldn’t tear him from the home and life he adored. Leaving and never looking back had been the greatest gift she could offer to both Max and Dahlia, the two best people she knew, a chance to find love together without her there, muddying the waters.

Whatever she could do to make her sister happy, she’d do it, no questions asked, even if losing Max still felt like a knife in her chest. Her heart had simply grown over the blade, claiming the pain as a permanent part of her being.

“Vi, you need to go home.” Emma’s voice held a sympathy that jerked her straight up and around, like a puppet on strings. Tears shone in her progeny’s eyes as she lifted the letter to her. “You should read this.”

She shook her head and shoved her hands into her back pockets to keep from reaching for it, her ribs tightening, making it hard to breathe. “Just tell me the highlights, Em.”

“The letter is from your sister. She hired a private investigator to find you.”

That Dahlia had resorted to using a PI wasn’t surprising. Beyond the yearly Christmas card and no return address letter to assure her mom that she still breathed, Violet had done her best to lie low and stay out of the spotlight. Going home had never been on the agenda. Direct contact would open the door to some serious guilt trips, so like any good daughter and sister who’d slithered away, she’d severed all other communication. Kicking ass behind the scenes and letting Ruby steal the show as Magic Mamba worked perfectly. Together, they’d made the tattoo parlor wildly successful.

“She’s begging you to come home to help out at the café during the October swarm. They’re down a cook and three waitresses, and with your dad being sick—”

Her stomach twisted into a hundred knotted waterweeds, dragging her back to Devils Hollow. “Dad’s sick?”

“Vi.” Emma took her hand and squeezed hard, her fingers graveyard cold. “You need to go home.”

The image of her sweet, kind sister, handling the family business all alone came to stark life. Vi didn’t need to hear more, didn’t need to make her usual checklist to figure out her next steps. If Dahlia needed her, she wouldn’t refuse. The dreaded day had finally come to face her disquieting past in Devils Hollow.

Even if it slowly killed her to see the man she loved happily attached to her little sister.

* * * *

A bouquet of wildflowers in his hand, Max strode across the packed café parking lot. Only the first day of October and already the tourists poured in for the month-long Halloween festivities. As much as he appreciated the enthusiasm of both visitors and citizens of Devils Hollow, it interfered with his weekly cherry pie fix. Dahlia may not like it, but he preferred to eat his pie in quiet, only the sound of his own fork scraping the plate, his moment of personal contemplation for the days behind and ahead.

Through the line of windows, Dahlia fluttered through Keller’s Killer Café like a bright butterfly, balancing a tray of dishes in each hand. Nearly every table was taken. Worse, a trio of pale-skinned, black-haired girls wearing red cowls huddled at his favorite corner spot in back.

Tourists—a necessary evil. Tomorrow, he’d drop off the special carving Gramps had whittled last season. Shaped into a graveyard cross, the ‘reserved’ sign had been engraved with a dire warning to trespassers. A man needed to at least have a place to briefly take a load off while scarfing down his treats, and by God, he wasn’t above pushing tourists out of the way for his one fleeting moment of bliss.

A cheery sign painted with sunflowers dripping blood held the door open and announced the daily special. As he approached, Dahlia flashed him a smile. He didn’t take it personal. No matter how busy she may be, she always made sure each customer felt special the second they stepped inside. She laughed at something a customer said before heading for the kitchen. For a blinding moment, with her hair up, she looked exactly like her sister.

Violet. His traitorous heart skipped a beat, and he scowled. Five long years had passed since she’d abandoned him, and she still infected his thoughts like an immortal venom.

He reached the café entrance as the kitchen door swung open. A woman pressed her back to the wall to let Dahlia and her trays pass. She swiped her golden hair back, offering a glimpse of winding, blood-red roses tattooed on her forearm, and turned his way. Their gazes met, and they both froze. Her dark eyes widened.

His heart stopped beating altogether. The world came to a complete halt.

Vi. Violet.

Over the last five years, Max had fantasized about running into Vi again. He’d carefully prepared hundreds of speeches, some meant to blister her skin with shame, others to make her beg for forgiveness, a few to hurt her as deeply and permanently as she’d hurt him. In his spun dreams of vengeance, her reactions ranged anywhere from pleading on her knees for him to stay while he walked away to hot, punishing makeup sex and vows of forever.

None of those imaginings had prepared him for reality.

Her thick, blonde hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, long bangs swiped to the side. Though she only came up to his collarbone in boots with heels, she maintained the impression that she’d kick in his teeth if he smarted off. The tattooed sleeves in rich, deep colors added a vibrant touch to that wildcat effect. Burning hell. Why did she still have to be so damn cute with an unreasonable shot of sexy?

A shiver of longing crashed through him like a tidal wave, fierce and unstoppable. Violet. She was finally home.

A customer stopped to speak to Violet, blocking his view, and time began ticking again.

Max drew a deep breath. His damaged wrist ached from the stranglehold on Dahlia’s half-crushed flowers, and he forced his fingers to relax. Devils Hollow was a small town, and even with the influx of tourists, the odds of running into Vi often were high if she planned to stick around for longer than a day. Avoiding her would be nearly impossible—and glaringly obvious. Then she’d know the secret he kept, that even after what she did all those years ago, she alone colored his dreams.

He wiped his moist palm on his jeans. He’d never been a coward and had no intention of starting down that road today. No matter her reasons for being back in Devils Hollow, he wouldn’t go out of his way to avoid her, wouldn’t allow her to have that power over him again. In fact…

A tiny smile worked its way onto his mouth as the perfect plan wove to life. He wouldn’t avoid Vi at all. If she was back in town, it must be because she had nowhere else to go. This was the chance he’d been waiting for, to show her what she’d missed out on by leaving him behind. He’d charm her socks off, enthusiastically share every one of his triumphs, pretend her absence had been the best possible outcome for his incredibly happy, amazingly successful life.

So what if the adjectives leaned toward exaggeration? He had more than enough to be happy about, and Vi had relinquished the right to the full, unadulterated truth the second she’d left town without a goodbye, taking his heart with her. He wouldn’t waste this opportunity to get over her once and for all…to finally forget her throaty laugh, the nimble glide of her fingers as she drew her latest designs, how her hair had felt like silk in his hands.

He shook the details off, fantasies inspired by no closure. All old news, just like the Max plus Vi heart carved on their rock by Lake Forsaken.

The customer occupying Violet moved away, and Max forced himself to hold her gaze. Straightening, he widened his smile and headed into the café, his violent pulse a war hammer against his T-shirt collar. By the time he was through with her, Violet Keller would know the full meaning of remorse.

And maybe then his heart would finally mend.