by Nicole James
He headed across the overpass to the other side of the interstate to a gas station and pulled to a pump. After he’d swiped his card and filled his tank, he reached in his pocket for his phone, thinking he’d text Rayne before he got on the road to tell her he already missed her.
His pocket was empty. He checked all his pockets, patting himself down. He searched the ground to see if he’d dropped it. It was nowhere. “Fuck!”
He glanced at the motel, thinking of when he’d had it last. Had he left it in the lobby? He climbed on the bike and roared off the lot.
Two minutes later, he walked back in the lobby. Thankfully, the raucous group of boys and their harried coach were long gone.
He searched the coffee area. It wasn’t on the table. He looked all around the floor under it. Nothing. Approaching the reception counter, he asked the clerk, “Hey, did anyone turn in a cell phone?”
“No, sir. Not this morning.”
“I just had it when that kid knocked into me, and I spilled my coffee. I think I may have left it on the table over there.”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t seen it.”
“Maybe those boys picked it up. Did they just check in?”
“No, sir. They needed four rooms and I only had two available. They went on down the road.”
Rory blew out a breath. “Fuck.”
“I’ll be glad to take your name and a contact number in case it turns up.”
Rory grabbed a pen off the counter and scribbled his name and the number for Brothers Ink down on a piece of paper. “Thanks.”
“Of course, sir. Anything else I can do to assist you? Do you need to make a call?”
Rory shook his head. He just needed to get to Denver. “Thanks anyway.”
He strode outside and stood next to his bike, searching the pavement, but didn’t spot his phone. His eyes drifted down the interstate to the west, and he thought of Rayne. He hadn’t called her number yet, so she wouldn’t have his in her phone. Damn it, why didn’t he do it immediately? Then he remembered the pickup truck splashing them and distracting him. Now how was he going to get ahold of her?
Fuck. What rotten luck.
He debated whether to chase after the girls. Could he catch up to Rayne and get her number again? Hell, he was more concerned with that than he was with losing his phone. But they had a good half hour head start on him now, and he knew he had to get on the road in the opposite direction. Damn. What the hell was the name of her bike shop? Shit. He’d search every shop in Denver if he had to.
Frustrated, he climbed on his bike and headed east.
Chapter Six
Rayne made a hand signal indicating she needed to make a fuel stop as the four motorcycles neared the Grand Junction exit. A few minutes later they all rolled up to the pumps in a gas station.
Jenna pulled off her helmet. “We should have had enough gas to last another fifty miles. Why’d you stop?”
“You know why she stopped. This is where Rory’s from,” Sasha informed her, smiling at Rayne whose fingers were busy on her phone. “Did he text you?”
She shook her head. “No. Not yet. I was looking to see where Brothers Ink was.”
“Brothers Ink? Why? You suddenly want a tattoo?” Carmen asked, flicking her blonde braid over her shoulder and unscrewing the gas cap on her tank.
Jenna looked over at her. “That’s Rory’s shop.”
“And you want to go there?” Carmen asked, shoving the nozzle into her gas tank.
“I was thinking about it. It’s not far. Please?”
“If his brothers are as cute as him, I’m in,” Sasha replied, winking at Rayne.
Fifteen minutes later, they parked their bikes in a specially designated space in front of the shop that said, Motorcycle Parking Only.
Climbing off and pulling her helmet free, Rayne looked up at the place. It was definitely more upscale than she expected.
The four of them walked inside. Rock music pulsed through the space.
“Wow, nice place,” Sasha murmured.
“It’s cool as shit,” Carmen replied.
Rayne had to agree as her eyes took in the modern contemporary vibe mixed with old industrial. Up front stood a long counter and under it a glass cabinet stocked with Brothers Ink merchandize, piercing jewelry, and other products.
Rayne’s eyes drifted to the wall where examples of the artists work were displayed as well as several framed magazine covers. She stepped closer and read the copy, realizing these must be some of Rory’s brothers. One cover proclaimed Jameson O’Rourke the new King of Ink; another cover showed a couple sitting on a couch in front of a brick wall. She recognized the background and knew the picture must have been taken right here in the shop. It proclaimed the man and woman as the new IT couple in the tattoo world. She bent and read the names under the photo. Liam O’Rourke and Velvet Jones.
“May I help you ladies?”
Rayne turned to see a man with large muscles standing behind the counter. He was big, but he had a beautiful smile and warm brown eyes.
The girls turned to look at her.
“This is all you, Rayne,” Sasha said and motioned her forward.
Rayne reluctantly stepped up to the counter. “Um, hi. We, ah, were just passing through town and heard about this place. You wouldn’t, um, by any chance have time to fit me in for a small tattoo, would you?”
His eyes dropped to the Brothers Ink shirt she wore, but he didn’t ask. Maybe a lot of people had them. “I’ve got a little time. Depends on how small we’re talking.”
“A small rose and under it the name, Daniel.”
“I could probably do that.”
She smiled. “Oh, thank you.”
He held out his hand. “I’m Max.”
She shook it. “Rayne.”
He swiveled a tablet mounted on a stand toward her and tapped the screen to bring up the digital document. “Read this and fill out the information. And I’ll need to see some ID.”
She pulled her small wallet from the zip pocket on her thigh and showed him her driver’s license.
“I’ll need to make a copy.”
“Of course.” She pulled it out and gave it to him. He quickly scanned and returned it. She finished with the form, and he escorted her back. When she went around the wall behind the register, she saw four tattoo stations. There were artists working on customers at two of them.
Max led her to his station, and that left only one station open—the one next to her. She glanced over at it as she sat in the chair. It must be Rory’s. It was neat and clean and appeared no one was using it today.
“So, Rayne, where did you want this tattoo?”
She indicated the back of her shoulder. “Here.”
“And how big?”
She held her fingers apart. “About like this, three or four inches I guess.”
Max nodded. “Okay. Give me a minute to sketch something out.” He began working. “So tell me, who’s Daniel?”
Rayne watched him sketch. “My brother. He passed away a few months ago.”
The pencil in Max’s hand paused, and he glanced up. “I’m so sorry. You were close?”
“Yes, very.”
“Was he your older or younger brother?”
“Older.”
Max stared at her, and when she said no more, he got the hint and returned to his sketch. While he worked, Rayne studied the three men. They had to be Rory’s brothers. They were all good looking, but they didn’t look all that much alike. She knew from the framed magazine covers in the lobby that the blonde was Jameson, the one Rory had said had opened this shop and supported the family. The other brother she recognized from the covers as Liam.
“How’s this?” Max asked, turning the sketch for her to see.
It was lovely; much more delicate and detailed than she’d expected. She felt her eyes start to gloss over as she read Daniel’s name below the flower. “Yes, that’s perfect.”
Max lowered the sketch slowly. “Is this yo
ur first tattoo, Rayne?”
“Yes. Why?”
“How are you with needles and pain?”
She’d never liked getting shots, so she really couldn’t say how she’d be with the tattoo needles, but she couldn’t help thinking about all the pain and tests her brother had endured. She knew if he could do it, she could manage to survive a small tattoo. “I’ll be fine.”
Max nodded. “Okay. Let’s get started.”
It didn’t take long because the man was skilled at what he did, even she could see that. He was professional and sweet, and he chatted her up to keep her mind off the needle punching in and out of her tender skin.
When Max was finished, and the tattoo machine was finally shut off, Rayne blew out a breath of relief. Even though it hadn’t been that bad, she was happy he was through. “Can I see?”
Max grinned as he wiped it off. “So eager. Give me a second.”
She smiled and tried to wait patiently. He tossed the wipes in the trash and helped her to stand, then nodded to the large mirror on the wall and gave her a hand mirror.
She took it and looked. “Oh, wow. It’s beautiful.”
“The redness and puffiness will fade soon, and it’s going to look lovely.”
“You do wonderful work.”
“You have beautiful skin.”
She blushed. “Thank you.”
“I mean that. If you get more ink, get the best. Don’t go letting just anybody tattoo it, you hear?”
“I promise.”
He grinned. “Mind if I take a picture of it for my portfolio?”
“Not at all.”
“Come here.”
She moved to stand in front of his station and turned away from him so he could get the shot.
“There, got it. Thanks.” He lifted his chin toward the front. “You want to show the girls before I bandage it?”
“Yes, please.”
They walked to the front, and she turned her back to them, excited with her new ink. “Look!”
“That’s beautiful.” Sasha leaned in.
“Gorgeous!” Jenna gave her a smile.
“Oh, honey, I love it.” Carmen praised.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” Rayne asked.
They all nodded.
“Glad you all like it. Now I need to take her back and bandage it up. She’ll be back in a minute.”
While Max put ointment on her fresh ink and covered it with a square of gauze, Rayne thought about telling him she’d met Rory but decided against it. She wasn’t even sure he’d call her.
When Max rang her up, he gave her some free ointment, instructions, and a business card. “If you have any problems, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?”
She took the card and slid it into her slim wallet for safekeeping. “I will. Thank you.”
“It was a pleasure. You want more ink, you know where to come,” Max said with a smile.
As the girls walked out to their bikes, Rayne stopped. “Let’s take a picture together in front of the place. Please.”
“Might as well; we spent an hour here,” Jenna said, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t be snarky,” Sasha said to her. “You meet a guy, you may want to make a detour, too.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a girls trip, not a lets-find-boys trip,” Jenna said.
“Oh, quit complaining,” Carmen snapped, then turned on a bright smile as she approached a young hipster guy walking past. “Would you mind taking a picture of my friends and I?”
“Sure thing.”
“Use my phone,” Rayne said, extending it to him.
They moved in close, their arms around each other.
“Smile, ladies.” He took a few shots and handed Rayne her phone.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She looked at the photo and smiled. It was a great shot with Brothers Ink behind them.
“Come on, let’s get back on the road,” Jenna said
Chapter Seven
Rory turned into the parking garage under the high-rise condominium called Westwood Tower. He parked in Jameson’s reserved spot for unit #4100. Climbing off his bike, he grabbed his duffle bag and headed toward the garage elevator that took him up to the lobby, then crossed to the swank unit elevators and pressed the call button. The doors slid open, and he walked inside. He inserted the key card Jameson had given him to operate the elevator and gain access to his unit.
As the doors slid closed, he leaned back, exhausted, and stared at himself in the mirrored walls. He could kick himself for losing his phone and Rayne’s damn number. He blew out a slow frustrated breath.
The elevator climbed quickly, and a soft ding indicated he’d arrived at the 41st floor. The doors glided open, and he walked down the exquisite hall of marbled tile and modern art toward Jameson’s unit on the left. At this level, there were only two apartments per floor. Jameson’s unit faced the west and the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains.
Rory unlocked the door and entered.
The place was exquisitely appointed with luxury at every turn. Jameson leased it out for swank events from time to time, and that covered part of its cost to maintain. Since he’d bought the place, it had increased in value tremendously.
Travertine floors were polished to a glossy shine. Rich wood walls held amazing artwork. Floor-to-ceiling windows highlighted the best feature in the place as far as Rory was concerned, the view. This high up they gave an unobstructed panorama of the mountains. He’d made a couple of stops on the way into town and now the sun was beginning its long, slow decent behind them.
Rory dropped his duffle bag and made his way to the sliding doors that opened to the huge balcony. Stepping outside, he moved to the rail, resting his hands on it and gazing at the sight. God, he could never get tired of this view.
He leaned on his elbows and again thought of Rayne, her smile, her beautiful eyes, and that crazy gorgeous hair. He grinned. With just the thought of her, he was flooded with happiness. Last night had been nothing short of amazing. They’d connected on a level he hadn’t with a woman… well, ever.
He thought about the rough year she’d had and all that she had been through. It was enough to break a person, but she was tough; there was strength in her, strength she probably hadn’t even known she possessed until life had thrown her into a situation that required it from her.
Rory didn’t know if he could have done what Rayne had done: nurse someone terminally ill, care for their every need, try to maintain their spirits all the while knowing the situation was hopeless. She’d been sucked down into the depths of despair and somehow made it through to the other side before it took her spirit too. All the while knowing she was about to lose someone as monumentally important as a sibling was, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. It must make a person want to curse God and give up. But she hadn’t.
Rory gazed at the Front Range. It began to change colors in the darkening sky, and as he watched, a melody began to play in his head. Words floated through his brain, and he knew if he didn’t get them down quickly, they would be fleeting, drifting away like a wisp of smoke, and he’d never be able to call them back.
He turned and moved through the sliders, dashing to the kitchen and digging through drawer after drawer, looking for something to write with; every drawer he pulled open was perfectly organized as if someone had measured the space between the items, getting them exactingly correct. For God’s sake, didn’t this place have a junk drawer? Of course not, who puts a junk drawer in a million dollar condo?
Rory moved down the hall to the room Jameson used for a study and found paper and pen on a contemporary desk. The pen was made of polished wood, and if he had to guess, he’d bet it cost more than his guitar.
Sinking into the butter soft leather of the Scandinavian design desk chair, he began to scribble the words that were flying through his head as quickly as he could.
He tapped the pen, bit his lip, and scratched out a line to
rewrite it.
Twenty minutes later he stared down at the paper. Goddamn. It was good.
Pushing out of the chair, he moved to the gorgeous, modern kitchen and grabbed the cordless phone on the wall, the only one in the unit. Jameson had it only because it was required for the concierge to be able to call up to the residence.
He punched in a number and leaned on the granite island until the call was picked up.
“Tommy? It’s Rory. I need you to do something for me.”
An hour later, the phone rang. Rory answered. “Yes?”
“Mr. O’Rourke, you have a visitor,” the concierge on duty advised.
“Thank you. Send him up.”
“Of course. My pleasure, sir.”
Rory got up and moved to the bar. He took down two glasses and pulled the stopper from Jameson’s bottle of bourbon. Pouring two fingers full in each glass, he returned the bottle just as a knock sounded on the door. He went and answered it.
Tommy stood there, a guitar case in one hand and holding up a white takeout bag in the other. “I brought tamales.”
“Awesome, dude.”
“The doorman asked where I got them. Told me there’s a place on Tejon Street and 36th with better ones.”
“I like Moreno’s.”
“Good, cause that’s what I got.”
Rory passed him a glass.
Tommy looked down at it. “Bourbon? What’s the occasion?”
“I just wrote a song.”
His bassist clinked glasses with him. “Congratulations, man. Is it any good?”
“I’ve got most of the lyrics down, I just need help with the music. That’s why I needed my guitar.”
Tommy held it up. “Guitar delivery, at your service, Mr. Big-shot-got-a-doorman.” He handed it to Rory, downed his drink, then wandered to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “You got any beer in this joint? We’ve got tamales. Gotta drink beer with tamales.”
“I don’t know. Jameson usually keeps the place stocked.”
“Bingo.” Tommy reached in and grabbed two bottles with the fingers of each hand. “The good stuff. Dos Equis.”
“Bring ‘em and follow me.” Rory led him outside. Off the living room of the corner unit was an expansive balcony with a fantastic set of furniture grouped around a gas fireplace set in one wall. Rory flipped it on.
