The tattoo shack sat crooked at the edge of the ridge, half-hidden by pine trees and cloud mist. There were no neighbors. No traffic. Just the creak of old wood, the buzz of bees, and the rumble of thunder rolling through the mountain.

Ella stepped onto the porch, her heart pounding.

This was her third solo trip since the breakup. The first two had been all hikes, hammocks, and herbal tea. This one was different. This time she wanted something permanent. Something painful. Something that ...