Toronto, Canada, 2006. A few months after the worst year of the Iraq war. Gabriel Navarro splits his time between his job slinging ink at the Atlantis Ink tattoo parlor, and working on his master’s degree in fine art. Gabe is twenty-two, sure of his beliefs and his artistic integrity, and na?ve enough to think he’ll never have to compromise. And then one night Jake MacLean walks into the shop and changes everything. Jake Maclean is twenty-eight and a veteran American Army pilot. He's been staying with his ex-pat sister in Toronto while he tries to get his life in order. The problem is, he can't. After his disastrous final mission in Iraq, he's overcome with anger and survivor’s guilt, trapped in a losing battle to atone for a failure he’s sure can never be forgiven. Left without hope, he decides to have his memory of the mission tattooed on his back, with the condemning words: God Will Judge Me. He doesn't expect to fall for the tattoo artist. Gabe falls just as quickly and deeply for Jake, though Jake's reluctance to talk about what happened frustrates and worries him. Gabe knows Jake isn't doing well, but accepting Jake’s claims that he's "fine" is far easier than dealing with the frightening truth. But soon it’s horribly clear Jake can’t control his panic attacks or flashes of violence, and he's getting worse. If Gabe can’t help him face his demons, Jake is headed for a crash -- and there’s every chance he’ll take Gabriel down with him.

Black Hawk Tattoo

Alice snorted out a nasty, disbelieving laugh behind him. “Seriously? You’re bitching me out about smoking, Jake? How much did you have to drink tonight?”


Jake gritted his teeth, ignoring her. He toed off his sneakers next to Molly’s purple Barbie shoes and went into the kitchen. The lights were on in every room of the ground floor and Jake reached for the dimmer switch automatically, lowering the brightness until it didn’t feel so much like it was stabbing into his eyes.


Alice followed him into the kitchen, still reeking of cigarettes. “And what the hell do you mean, ‘out’?” She was carrying the makeshift ashtray in one hand with the other stuffed deep into a pocket of her bathrobe. Thin tendrils of hair had slipped out of her ponytail, framing her face and softening her features. Alice didn’t do soft very well.


“Out,” Jake said again. He wiped his face on the shoulder of his T-shirt. “I’m going to take a shower.”


Chapter 9