Phoenix (The Colton Cousins Book 1)

by Rebecca Rennick

It’s okay, Nix. Loving someone will not kill them or you. That’s not what you have to fear.

  My little pep talk doesn’t do much for my racing heart, but it muffles and gags the unwanted panic attack sneaking up on me. There’s still fear, I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of it, but now the results are worth the risk. And I will protect Clover from what I truly fear.

  Releasing the leather-wrapped wheel, I climb out of my truck and head inside. Walking into the lobby, I spot, once again, the man I loathe with every fiber of my being. I would say he’s someone I fear, but fearing Braxton Shaw is like being afraid of my own reflection. His ruthlessness mirroring my own.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Braxton stands from his seat, setting down the magazine he was reading, and meets me at the counter.

  “I have additional work in town that I need you for. I figured I would come in person to inform you.” His smug fake grin is plastered to his creepy, well-groomed face.

  “I feel so honored.” Sarcasm soaks my words. I hate the man with every fiber of my being. Every time I see him, I have to physically restrain myself. It’s either vomit or choke him with my bare hands until his eyes run red from his burst blood vessels.

  He just smirks at me, all casual, calm, arrogant asshole, as he leans against the counter. I eyeball Arrow in warning. He knows to be alert while Braxton is here. He stands alert, watching our interaction. His hand most likely poised to draw the gun I know he keeps under the counter.

  “Come on, we can talk in the back.” I lead Braxton to my private tattooing room in the back and shut the door. No matter how much I do not want to be alone in a room with this man, we can’t talk business in the lobby.

  “Speak.” I bark at him. The less time we spend in here, the better. My patience dies a little with every passing second.

  “Oh, so demanding. No polite small talk?” Entering the room, he slowly paces and surveys my art on the walls. His condescending tone is fraying my last nerve.

  “Get to the fucking point, Braxton. I have other more important things to do today.”

  “Very well. I have an important delivery of a new pill—our own special blend of oxy. We need to make sure it goes smoothly without any issues. You and your cousins are our best security.”

  “And when is this delivery to take place?”

  “Five days from now.”

  “Where’s the drop-off?”

  “About thirty miles north.”

  “Pick up at the warehouse as usual?”

  “Yes. I’ll send you the exact details tomorrow.”

  “Fine,” I growl out. I really want this conversation to be over with. Keeping as much possible space between Braxton and me, I’ve placed myself on the opposite side of the room. Just in case I get the urge to maim him with no witnesses. Leaning against the wall with my arms crossed, creating a barrier against myself. Braxton hovers around the open door, fiddling with the things sitting on my counter.

  “Is that all?” I ask with as much derision in my tone as I can muster. Hoping he gets the hint that I am more than ready for him to get gone.

  “No. How’s my little Clover?” His eyes darken as he sides eyes me.

  “She’s not your Clover.” Standing from my leaning position, I straighten my arms at my sides, hands fisted. A silent warning to the man with the death wish standing across from me.

  “Not yet.”

  “Not fucking ever. She doesn’t want you, Braxton. Leave her be.”

  “Oh, and I suppose she wants you?” He chuckles. He’s going to regret that very soon.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, she does.”

  “Is that so? We’ll see about that.”

  “No, we won’t. She’s not yours, and you will leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with our business.” Stepping closer to Braxton, I assert my dominance. I will not let him drag her into this. I will protect her.

  “You’re right. She doesn’t. She is my personal concern,” He says as he cocks his eyebrow.

  Seeing his cocky arrogance, thinking he can just claim Clover like that snaps my self-control. Before he can flinch, I’m across the room and wrapping my fingers around his neck. From the wide-eyed look of horror on his face, he wasn’t expecting me to take any kind of action at his provocation. He was wrong.

  The tips of his well-manicured nails scratch at my much larger hand, holding his neck as I press Braxton into the door behind him. Gripping tighter, but not enough to do permanent damage. Yet.

  “She is not your anything concern, and you will leave her the fuck alone,” My voice is a controlled, quiet threat. He is testing my patience, and my gun begs me to taste his flesh. Clearing his throat, gasping for air, he continues to goat me.

  “Perhaps. But I want Clover. And I always get what I want.” He spits out while trying to pry my fingers from his windpipe.

  “Not this time, Braxton. I will make sure of it.”

  Braxton says nothing and just shifts his gaze between my eyes. Reading me and deciding if he should push me farther. From what he reads in my expression and feels under my grasp, he chooses wisely to not say one more fucking word. He knows if he continues down this path, he’ll leave this room in two black duffle bags. Seeing that he doesn’t plan on pissing me off anymore, I release the weasel allowing him to breathe again. Once he finished gulping in a huge lungful of air, he stands tall, facing me.

  “Five days, Nix. Be ready. This is a very important assignment. Watch for my correspondence.” Rubbing the growing red finger marks around his neck, he turns to leave.

  “Remember what I told you before, Braxton,” I warn to his back. He may have decided to not continue baiting me, but I will not let him forget the delicate position he has put himself in. If he were to test me, I would not fail to uphold my threat and finish what I started.

  “I have not forgotten.” He calls back over his shoulder without looking back at me.

  On that last note, Braxton makes his exit from my shop, and I can finally release the tension that has built up inside me since he arrived.

  I meet Arrow back in the front lobby behind the main counter. He’s sitting on a bar stool with his eyes trained on the door Braxton just left through.

  “So, what did captain douchebag want?”

  “Work. There’s a new assignment for an important delivery in five days.”

  “You gonna need me, boss?” He asks.

  “No, I’ll take Zander or Magnus. I need you here.”

  “You got it, boss. You just let me know what you need.”

  I give him a firm nod and try to shake off Braxton’s visit. Clover will be coming in this afternoon. I have that to look forward to. She is mine, not his. No matter what he does or how much he wants her, he can’t have her. Not while I’m around.

  “What’s my schedule look like today?”

  “You got Blake Smith getting his family tattoo.”

  “And no one else?”

  “Nope. The rest of the day is clear.”

  “Good, keep it that way. Clover is coming in this afternoon. I’m going to be adding color to her sleeve.”

  “Nice. It’s gonna look sweet when you’re done with it.” Arrow side-eyes me and clears his throat.

  “So, you and Clover? Been spending more time with her, have you?” He grins wickedly.

  “In a manner of speaking.” I try to clear my head of her naked body and the time I spent with her this morning. But I can’t. It’s too nice a picture to not think about it. Especially the smile she gave me when I offered to color her flowers. The memory makes me smile, and all the tension from Braxton’s short and unwanted visit evaporates from my muscles.

  “Is that a smile on Phoenix Colton’s face? I don’t fucking believe it.” Arrow pushes me playfully. Laughing at me, of course. He doesn’t mean anything by it, though. He knows I smile. It’s just not usually in public or so often.

  “Haha, very funny. Get back to work, lazy ass. Let me know when Blake arrives.”
I punch him in the arm with a little more force than would be considered playful, just because. Then I return to my studio to prepare for Blake and for Clover.

  A few hours later, I’m finishing up Blake’s family tattoo on his upper bicep. The tattoo is good, nothing special since I’ve done it before, and I had no part in its design. That doesn’t mean I won’t apply it as well as any of my own pieces. When he leaves, he will have an immaculate tattoo.

  As I’m walking Blake out explaining tattoo aftercare, Clover greets us in the lobby. She’s fucking sexy and hot as shit as she leans against the counter, speaking to Arrow. Her smile is soft and easy. The deep red strands of her hair are tied up in a tight high ponytail, and the smooth hair whips as she turns to watch me enter. Damn, I want her to wear her hair like that the next time we fuck, with her, bent over my balcony and my hand twisted tight around that ponytail. Holding on tight like a professional wakeboarder. The light in her eyes only grows in my presence. Generating a swell of pride in my chest as my stomach knots from the acceptance in her smile.

  “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

  “That’s all right. I was just catching up with Arrow.”

  “Were you now?” I sneak a look at Arrow, who is all flirtatious smiles. He better keep his damn hands to himself, or he’s not going to have a very prosperous future as a tattoo artist. He sees my warning and leans back, hands raised in mock surrender.

  Since Clover will be part of the family business, I introduce her to Blake, and they talk for a brief moment. Clover’s easy way with people allowing her and Blake to get along just fine, even when just meeting.

  “Take care, Blake. Tell your father I say hello.”

  “Will do, Nix. Thanks again.”

  We shake hands, and Blake leaves the shop. Opening up the rest of my day for Clover.

  “Come on back. I’m all set up for you.” Extending my hand, she takes it, easily threading her fingers through mine. I lead her to the back, shutting the door to my studio behind us.

  My studio isn’t enormous, but it has enough space for what I need. A folding black leather chair that can flatten out to a bed if needed, custom made by my uncle Charlie. A wall covered with small colorful bottles of ink, the inner wall lined with framed art, mainly mine. There are no windows in this room. Mainly because natural light and shadows could negatively affect the outcome of the tattoo. Secondly, for privacy. Some tattoos are in places most people wouldn’t want flashing to children walking by. Third, to conceal many of my patrons’ identities who may not want to be identified.

  Right now, I’m just happy for the privacy with Clover. Taking a risk, I reach out and cup her cheek, sliding my fingers around the nape of her neck and pulling her lips to mine. The kiss is soft and yet, still as arousing as a hard, forceful make-out session, stirring my cock in my jeans. But not as much as the stirring in my chest. Even with such a sweet, soft touch, she stirs my insides. Releasing her, I step over to my prep station. If I don’t stop now, I’m going to end up bending her over my chair and fucking her from behind. Which doesn’t sound like a half-bad plan. It’s not something I ever did. Always wanting to keep my sexual escapades out of the shop. My studio is sacred to me, and a quick insignificant fuck was not worth tainting it. Clover, however, is totally worth it. I will take her anywhere she will let me.

  Clearing my throat, I start choosing my needles and setting up my tattoo gun.

  “Are there any colors you specifically wanted? You can choose whichever you like from my inks.” Gesturing to the large array of colored ink lining the shelf in front of me. Walking over to me, her eyes light up, trying to decide which colors to pick.

  “There’s so many to choose from.”

  “Pick however many you like,” I say.

  “Okay. Well, ooh, this one is pretty. And this lavender is gorgeous. Maybe a blue,” She continues to chatter to herself about the colors she’s picking. Her enthusiasm is contagious. Although I was already excited to be tattooing her, now my heart just feels brighter watching her.

  In the end, she picks at least a dozen colors in ranges of blues, yellows, oranges, purples, pinks, reds, and varying shades in-between. They all compliment each other, and with the amount of flowers and insects she has on her that need color, I’ll easily use them all.

  “Is that too many?” She asks, looking up at me, a little embarrassed at her overzealous color-picking.

  “Not at all. It’s just enough. We have a lot of skin to cover, and we’ll need all of them.”

  “Oh. Should I pick more then?”

  “No, this is plenty. I can handle choosing any secondary colors needed to complement your choices.”

  “Oh, good.”

  As I stick the little plastic tops to the table with Vaseline, Clover wanders my studio. Casually inspecting my art and photos of larger tattoos I’ve done that hang on the wall.

  “Are these all yours?” She asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  I’ve never felt modesty when people inspect my art, but her small compliment has heat rushing to my cheeks and left me fumbling over my words.

  “Oh, well, thanks. They’re just things that inspired me. I wasn’t really trying to make a great work of art. It was just in my head, and I wanted to put it on paper.”

  “Well, it is a great work of art. You’re really talented.” Her voice is soft, and her eyes dart from me to my art on the wall.

  She refers to an oil painting with thick lines blending multiple colors in both long and short strokes. Up close, it just looks like random paint smeared together, creating a cacophony of colors, but the farther you step back from the painting, the more you realize it has a shape. It’s not anything complex or earth-shattering; a simple, lush pair of slightly parted female lips.

  Most people look at it, and if they do see the lips, they just assume it’s because I’m a horny perv. They would never know my true feelings while painting them. Obviously, I don’t have any issues getting laid, and I purposely keep women at a distance. Not getting involved or attached. But sometimes, even I get lonely, wanting something more, something deeper. Wanting that special someone to hold and share quiet moments with. Always knowing I would never have it, I painted. I painted the lips. The lips I pictured kissing every night, the lips I pictured whispering dirty nothings in my ear every morning. Among other things, one can do with perfect lips.

  Clover has perfect lips. Actually, they look really fucking similar. Taking a step back, I place myself across the room. Clover’s head turns to watch me, intrigued by my movement. Most likely, it’s the contemplative stare I have shifting between her and the lips. Getting in line perfectly to see the lips in the painting and her lips, I compare the two. The resemblance is uncanny, almost perfect. How in the hell did I manage to paint Clover’s lips almost two years before meeting her?

  Slack-jawed, I can’t rectify it in my mind—the pure coincidence. Or perhaps it isn’t a coincidence? There’s no way I could have known. Could I? Reaching my hand up, I rub the stubble on my jaw.

  “What are you staring at?”

  “Hmm?” Shaking my head to clear my shock, I try to refocus on her and not the meaning of my painting.

  “You looked like you were deep in thought. And staring intensely at your painting.”

  “Oh well, I…” Should I tell her? If I point it out to her, would she think it’s weird? Probably not. I don’t think she’ll read into it as much as I am. Since she doesn’t know my reasons for painting it.

  “I was just noticing the similarities between you and my painting.”

  “Excuse me? Similarities with this painting?” She points to the lips on the wall, scowling.

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “Stand back here. It’ll make more sense.”

  She walks around the large leather chair and stands next to me. Pressing into my side to see the painting from my point of view.

  “What am I looking at?” Squinting, she tries to figure out what’s
so similar to her.

  “The painting isn’t just random color smudges. When you step back and look, they’re.”

  “Lips.”

  “Yes, and I noticed that they are very similar to your lips.”

  Turning to face her, she keeps her gaze trained on the painting. Squinting and turning her head side to side, trying to ascertain if my observation is correct. She’s so goddamn cute scrunching up her face in contemplative confusion.

  “I’ll have to take your word on it because I really can’t tell.” Smiling softly, she looks up at me, realizing I’ve been watching her the entire time. A rosy pink blush heats her cheeks. It’s so easy to make her blush. I wonder if I can deepen that blush. Running the pad of my thumb along her parted bottom lip, I hear her suck in a small breath, and I get what I want, the blush spreading down her soft, elegant throat. Leaning in close, I brush my lips against hers without pressing into a full kiss. Clover sways under my touch, wanting to lean in and complete the kiss, but I don’t let her. Speaking into her lips, I brush against them as I speak, low and deep.

  “They most definitely are an exact match. And now, every time I look at them, I’ll think of your lips and how soft they feel against mine and how delicious they taste. And the dirty, dirty things they say when I have your other lips in my mouth.”

  I can feel her smile against my mouth. She likes the idea of me thinking of her pussy every time I see the painting—dirty girl.

  “Good,” She whispers into my lips before pressing hers to mine and giving me a sample of her delectable taste.

  “So, are you going to tattoo me, or are we just going to stand here and make out?” She asks without moving away.

  “As much as I would love to stand here making out with you, I want to tattoo you more.” Scooping her up by her ass, I turn us and set her down on my chair.

  “So, how much of you do I get to ink today?” I ask while I mentally plan where to place the colors she’s picked out.

  “As much of my arm as you can. I’d like to wait on the sternum piece until after the sleeve is complete. Since I have to go braless while it heals.”

  “Mmm, braless, I like that idea. Maybe we should do that one first.” I run my finger across the top of her exposed breast. Down the center of her cleavage, pulling at the top of her black tank top. She swats my hand away playfully.