Tattered Love (Needle's Kiss)

 
    First and foremost, I’d like to say a big thank you to my family for putting up with my crap, missing meals, having to do extra chores around the house and for loving me even when I was a nominee for World’s Crappy Mummy Awards. My husband thank you for letting me ignore you, and I might have been wrong that time I called you an asshole wrapped in tinfoil; you’re definitely my “Tony Stark knight in shining armor” type.
    To my bitches—in no particular order, without you girls, I would still be a sobbing, shaking, thumb-sucking mess rocking in the corner. Bec , my bush pig, keep that voxer hand strong and keep that elephant toe alive baby! You are my go to girl, my sista from another mista. I heart you big and I would have been lost without you. Melody , my wifey, I love your face, woman. You kicked me in the ass and pushed me to keep going when I was ready to give up. You will forever be my fluff bunny. Sali , my best beta bitch! For all the brainstorms, the giggles and rewrites. You may have tried to kill me with plot holes, development and strange voxer messages, but I love you and your banana lounger ass all the same. Here’s to blue moons and one handed reading. Bella , you rock my world on a daily basis. When I grow up I wanna be just like you, bipolar and crazy as fuck. Love ya guts out snatchgrab ! Caitlin , for getting excited over my crap and letting me send you creepy messages. I’ll fan girl on you from now until the booze runs out. Becky , my editor, you rock hard core. I’ll forever be in your debt. You worked just as hard on my rotten editing as I did on this book. I’m thankful for not getting stabby photos from you. Love your guts out forever. Jenny , for keepin me laughing with your cute ass pm’s.
    To all the people who had a hand in making this book what it is, you know who you are, I am forever grateful for your help. A special mention to Miss Renee and her missing nose—did you ever find that sneaky bastard? Thanks for your help, buttery! Bloggers, Readers, Triple M, Mel and My Kiss It street team , I might have written Tattered Love , but it’s your hard work, reviews and reading that will keep it strong. You are the pillar of the book community and deserve all the praise you get. Lisa for keeping me knee deep in swag. Rock Wat rocks!
    Right so now, I’ve gone and got dust in my eyes and they’re watering and crap. Enough of this soppy squishy shit, turn the damn page and get to reading.

 
    This book is dedicated to my son
    We were blessed with almost three beautiful years with you before you were called home to God. Every day without you is a struggle. In the weeks, months and years aft er we lost you. I found myself in reading, being able to escape my personal hell and dive into the fantasy land of books. With the courage and strength I built after realizing my life wasn’t a nightmare, I was going to wake up from, I decided to write, and here it is. This is for you. You helped me to breathe again, baby boy.
    To the world you were one, but to us you were the world .

 
     

    Climbing out of my cherry-red 1967 Shelby Cobra GT500, I locked the doors and ran my hand down the hood as I headed toward another day of work. She was beautiful: all soft black leather interior, a deep rumble under the hood when you’d start her up, and a purr when she idled: pure panty-melting power all wrapped up in one muscle car. In case it wasn’t obvious, I was in love with my baby.
    Throwing one last look over my shoulder, I stepped in through the back door of my store and relief settled through me. It was good to be here. It was my haven. My happy place. It was home. I owned a small tattoo parlor right in the middle of town. I’d received a small inheritance after my dad died just a year before I opened Needle’s Kiss.
    After tying up all the loose ends and paying funeral costs, I was left with enough in the bank that I only needed a small loan to set up the shop just the way I dreamed. I always wanted to do something with my hands; great things could be created with just a set of hands. That was my life’s plan, to create masterpieces, maybe not the conventional type, but I most definitely did what I loved.
    The smell of antiseptic wafted through the air as I walked through the shop flicking on the lights. Home. A large open space at the front of my shop acted as a waiting room, complete with two large black leather sofas separated with a chunky distressed wooden chest that acted