Page 32 of Playboy’s Purgatory

It’s not an excuse and it doesn’t change a damn thing, but I’m trying to figure it the fuck out and learn to be better.

There’s not much I’m all that good at. I’m a damn good enforcer for the club. I’m a good brother. I take care of my family and what’s mine.

The thing I do best is tattooing.

My art has gotten me through the darkest days of my life and helped me find some sort of hope. Since I don’t know what you like or what I can do for you, one thing I know I can offer and deliver on is a tattoo.

You can get anything you want. Whatever size you want. Wherever you want it.

Maybe it’s not something you’d like? Do you have any tattoos? Would you even want one if you don’t have one?

I have no idea. I’ve spent so fucking long looking at you through a skewed lens, but I have no idea who you really are. Not really. Nothing beyond the surface things I’ve picked up and can’t be ignored.

Like the way you love Vanessa.

A tattoo isn’t much, not really in the grand scheme of things. But it’s something I can offer that’s part of me and something I can do really well. At the end of the day—cake eating aside—tattooing is all I really have.

Even the club was handed to me by being a legacy kid. I could have chosen a different path, but the one I was on wasn’t difficult to walk either. And they helped me pursue my dreams with my own shop and they’re always there to support me.

If getting a tattoo isn’t something you want, how else can I support you?

Please. Let me make this right. Not for me. For you.

J

I read it a second time, all the way through. Then I scan a few parts. Where he opens up about his mom. The self-awareness he’s put out there, that he knows his mommy issues are at the core of the problem, is surprising.

Damn it if my heart doesn’t soften just slightly.

And then he offers to tattoo me. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.

I’ve always wanted another tattoo. How does he know that?

But then I remember him saying shit to me about loyalty and family, as if I haven’t devoted my life to both. My eyes slide closed and I shake my head slowly.

When I look up, Opal and Lorraine are looking at me. Even though I expect Lorraine to say something snarky or even encourage me to forgive the ‘poor boy’, she takes a breath and studies my face before getting up and stepping up to the counter.

Since I’m leaning against the edge and holding the letter in front of me like I’m about to recite it aloud, she easily wraps her cold fingers around my wrist and gives a gentle squeeze. It feels maternal adjacent.

“I don’t know what he said in that letter, but if he told you anything about his past then you know Lola picked the right guy to con. It was a perfect storm, and he lapped up all of her bullshit.” Lorraine makes a face and advises, with complete seriousness, “Don’t kiss him too soon.”

I bark out an unexpected laugh before blurting out, “He says he never touched Lola.”

“He told me the same,” Opal chimes in.

“It tracks from what I’ve seen,” Lorraine agrees. “She certainly wanted to make it seem like they were together,” she pauses, “biblically.” She shakes her head and purses her lips. “That woman performs in all sorts of ways.”

I’m not entirely sure what to do with all of that. So, I ignore it.

It’s for the best really.

“Just be true to yourself,” Lorraine advises, “and don’t do anything that’ll make you have some sort of breakdown and change the recipe for your cinnamon buns. That would be a tragedy, and I would be the first in line to have you committed,” she lays her threat at my feet with a completely straight, and serious, face.

I’m a little dazed as she pats my wrist and then turns to leave.

“I’d never change that recipe,” I assure her, the words automatic. Because I won’t.

And not just because this isn’t the first threat she’s made about it.