“Tyson?” A guy pokes his head into the room. His bright-green eyes go from mine to my husband’s. The man is covered in ink, from his jawline to his knuckles. He wears a long-sleeve T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, but you can tell there’s more under the material. I’ve never met him, but I know his name is Saint. “We’ve got an issue that needs your attention.”
