The Opposite Effect

by Shandi Boyes

I grit my teeth. Probably another bunch of gangbangers brawling in the side alley. Unfortunately, that’s a regular occurrence at Inked, even more so since it is Saturday night. Standing from my seat in the waiting area of the deli, I head to the far corner of the room to ensure I can hear Johnny over the hum of patrons enjoying their overpriced meals.

  My head cranks to the side when the restaurant hostess calls my name. Jennifer—the bunny who stuffed up my order of a cheesesteak months ago—jingles Clara’s order of salmon in her hand. I lift my chin in thanks before pointing to my ear, advising her I’ll be right there after my call. She nods before sauntering into the kitchen at the back of the deli. Her hips sway even faster than her words did when she thought I’d rocked up tonight for a replay of our rendezvous in the supply closet at Inked six months ago.

  I swear I let her down as gently as possible, but I’ll still be checking Clara’s salmon for spit before I serve it to her. No girl likes being told they’ll never take the leap from cock-sucker to sheet-warmer – no matter how polite you say it. Nothing against Jennifer, she's a nice girl and gives great head, but the instant she lost the interest of my cock, she also lost me.

  “Has Diesel got it handled? Or do you need me to call in Ryan?” I shift my focus back to Johnny.

  "Ryan's already on his way.” Johnny’s tone is still off-kilter. "Diesel said you'd usually want to keep this type of thing in-house, but considering Clara was involved, he told me you'd want the authorities called in. . ."

  Although he continues speaking, I don’t hear a fucking word he’s saying. His deep voice is nothing but white noise as I sling open the restaurant door and barrel onto the sidewalk.

  “I’m on my way.”

  Not giving him the chance to reply, I disconnect the call and house my cell back into my jeans. Since it is early on a Saturday night, the sidewalks are populated with heavy foot traffic. My heart thrashes my chest as I weave my way through the throng of people completely oblivious to the anger blackening my blood. Just the thought of any woman being hurt makes me furious, but since it is Clara, my anger is reaching levels I’ve never experienced. Reaching my bike parked half a block down, I throw my leg over it and shoot out of the car park not even thirty seconds later.

  Within minutes, I've reached Inked. My fists are balled, my jaw is clenched, and hot red fury is seething my veins, but nothing can slow me down – not even the close call with death I had on the way here. I'm running on pure adrenaline. As I guide my bike down the alleyway, I dart my eyes in all directions, both assessing the situation and seeking Clara. Diesel is on my left talking to three teens; Charity has her shoulder braced against the brickwork near the dumpster, and Johnny is manning the back door.

  I park my bike to the side, dismount and make my way to Diesel. My furious pace slows when in the corner of my eye, I spot a flurry of blonde. Clara is huddled on the stained concrete floor shaking like a leaf. The furious heat scorching my veins intensifies when my eyes run over her bloody, scraped knees.

  “Why the fuck is she still sitting in the alleyway?” I ask Charity, who is two paces up from Clara.

  “She won’t let anyone touch her.” Charity’s voice is as shaky as Clara’s composure. “I think she’s in shock.”

  I crouch down in front of Clara and lift her downcast face. The fiery spark that usually brightens her eyes has been snuffed, replaced with a haunted glint. Her lips are cracked and quivering, and her cheeks are stained with tears. Her defeated pose angers me even further.

  “What happened?” I shift my gaze to Charity.

  She shrugs her shoulders. “I didn’t get the full story, but from the marks on her neck and wrist, and the fact all her jewelry is missing, I’m assuming she got jumped.”

  "Fucking hell. I told her to take that shit off," I mumble under my breath.

  Even though my declaration was only meant for me, Clara must have heard it, as a painful whimper escapes her lips while a new flood of tears roll down her cheeks. Riddled with guilt at placing unwarranted blame on her shoulders, I seize Clara’s wrists and pull her into my arms. She must be suffering from shock as she doesn’t put up a single protest.

  I stand from my crouched position, draw her in close to my chest, and amble to the back entrance of Inked. "When Ryan arrives, send him into my office," I demand, not once taking my eyes off Clara gathered in my arms, staring up at me with a pair of bleak eyes.

  By the time Johnny announces Ryan’s arrival, Clara’s tears have created two large wet patches in my shirt. She hasn’t spoken a word the past ten minutes, but the earth-shattering shakes havocking her body have simmered to a dull vibration. Ryan smirks an uneasy grin as he paces into my office. After removing a pile of invoices from the couch, he takes the spare seat next to Clara and me. When he locks his eyes with mine, I’m not shocked to see they're clouded with anger. Ryan has witnessed some bad shit no man should ever see. Unfortunately, not all of it has been from his service in the police force.

  It takes a bit of effort on Ryan’s part to get Clara to open up, but the cocky statement he made at the strip club months ago rings true. Ryan is a great detective. He's one of the best I’ve ever seen. So, with a little encouraging, he eventually gets Clara talking about what happened.

  I’m not going to lie, over the past thirty minutes, I formulated at least a dozen ways to kill a man with my bare hands. The desire grew even more potent when Clara mentioned her assailants were carrying guns. If it wasn’t bad enough she got jumped in the alleyway by three men while taking out the trash, two of them were wielding weapons. I’ve never been more ashamed of this part of Ravenshoe than I am right now.

  “Did any of the jewelry have distinguishable markings?” Ryan queries, his eyes lifting from the notepad in his hand to Clara.

  She runs a tissue under her nose before gently nodding. “My necklace pendant has an inscription on the back.” Fresh tears prick in her eyes before she quietly mutters, “To C, Happy 18th Birthday, Love Remy.”

  Ryan snags a few extra tissues out of the tissue box on my desk and hands them to Clara. “That’s all I need for now. But if you recall anything you believe may help my investigation, Brax has my number.”

  Clara nods while accepting the tissues.

  When Ryan gestures his head to the corridor, I turn my eyes down to Clara who is still sitting in my lap. “Will you be alright if I talk to Ryan for a minute?”

  Her massively dilated eyes bounce between mine for several heart-pounding seconds before she gently nods. I stand from the couch, taking her with me. It takes all my strength to pivot around and place her back on the sofa. The only reason I do is because I want to know who is responsible for doing this to her.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I advise Clara. I wait for her to acknowledge that she has heard me before stepping into the hallway.

  Ryan’s mouth opens, but I begin speaking before he gets the chance to say anything. “Was it the teens Diesel was talking to when I showed up who did this?”

  Ryan shakes his head. “No. They saw the assailants running out of the alley. When they discovered Clara, they were the ones who sounded the alarm.”

  His answer removes three names from my hit list.

  “Give me a chance to do my job before you step in, Brax,” Ryan requests, sensing I’m on the verge of dishing out my own form of punishment. Mine won’t be as pleasant as Ryan’s. Guaranteed.

  “She’s a member of my fucking crew, jumped in the alley of my fucking shop.” My loud voice bellows down the hall. “You know I can’t be disrespected like this without issuing some type of punishment. If I let it slide, you’d have to add Inked to your nightly drive by schedule as we’d become a mockery to the community.”

  “She's a member of your crew. . ." His words come out a little hazy like he doesn't fully believe my anger is solely based on Clara being a team member of Inked. ". . .so if you're genuinely worried about her well-being, the best thing you can do is take a step back from this investigation and look afte
r her. She's in shock, Brax. You need to convince her to let the medics take a look at her."

  I shake my head. Ryan suggested the same thing to Clara at the start of their interview. She blatantly refused his request. “She feels violated enough as it is; she doesn’t want any more people prodding her.”

  Ryan runs the back of his hand over his tired-looking eyes before nodding. He has been dealing with so much shit the past six months, his exhaustion can be physically seen. His eyes are plagued with dark circles; his skin is blotchy, and his hundred-dollar haircut is well overdue for a trim. "I get that. I do. But she can't be left alone like she is."

  I nod. “I know. I’ll look after her.”

  Deep down in my soul, I know Ryan won’t rest until he finds out who did this to Clara. He doesn’t understand the word defeat. But it doesn’t lessen the fervent rage pumping through my veins that someone messed with a member of my crew on my watch. Let alone someone as important to me as Clara.

  “I’ll give you twenty-four hours, but if one of my guys finds them before you do, I can’t guarantee they will call in the authorities.”

  “Fuck, Brax, you can’t say shit like that to me,” Ryan replies, his eyes drifting up and down the corridor, ensuring none of his fellow officers are listening.

  Happy we haven't caught the attention of any unwanted ears, Ryan pulls me deeper down the hallway. "I'm asking friend to friend. Give me forty-eight hours before you send out your guys."

  I shake my head. “That’s forty-eight hours she will stay panicked like that.” I hook my thumb to Clara. “I can’t erase what happened to her, but I can ease her fear that the men who did this to her aren’t still walking the streets.”

  Ryan peers over my shoulder to look at Clara. His composure alludes to the general confidence he exudes in bucket loads, but his eyes are giving away his true feelings. He's as angry as I am. "Thirty-six hours and I'll give you ten minutes with them when I bring them in," he negotiates, drifting his eyes away from Clara and locking them with me. "Alone."

  I take a moment to consider his request. Although I'm sure Diesel and Johnny will locate the men responsible for jumping Clara, there's no guarantee it will happen within thirty-six hours. And although I hate entrusting the care of my crew to an outsider, I've known Ryan most of my life. He's like family to me. So I can trust he has me and my crew's best interests at heart.

  Exhaling a deep breath, I hold out my hand. “I’ll still send my guys out. If they find them first, I’ll instruct them to call you.”

  Ryan looks like he wants to push the issue further, but thankfully, he leaves it as it is and accepts my handshake. “In her condition, please don’t put her on the back of your bike,” is the only request he makes as I walk him to the front door.

  “I may have skipped the line for brains, but even I’m not that stupid.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a brief hug.

  “When you’re out seeking your revenge, stop and think about who will keep an eye on Clara when you’re rotting in jail for defending her,” he mutters in my ear before pulling away and strolling down the sidewalk.

  I should have known Ryan wouldn't leave the conversation as it was. Not only does he love having the last word, but he also knows how to play my weaknesses. My biggest weakness is the people left behind to fend for themselves.

  After taking a few moments to ponder Ryan’s statement, I return to my position on the couch next to Clara. Not even thinking, I pull her back into my arms. She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t do a damn thing. That worries me even more than the frightened expression on her face.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “If you need anything, I’m only a phone call away,” Charity offers from her crouched down position in front of Clara.

  After giving Clara's forearm a final rub, Charity heads to the door.

  “Wait up; I’ll walk you out,” I shout, not wanting another incident on my conscience.

  Usually, one of the crew walks Charity to her car each night. Considering I'm the only remaining male member of Inked here, it’s my responsibility to ensure she arrives at her car safely.

  Diesel and Johnny left not long after Ryan, and the rest of my crew dwindled out of Inked the past thirty minutes.

  Although none of them are to blame for what happened to Clara, their shoulders were still weighed down with guilt. What I said to Clara weeks ago is true. What happens to one of us, happens to us all. We’re family. And whether she likes it or not, Clara is now one of us.

  Clara’s massively dilated eyes lift to mine before she gently nods, acknowledging my silent question if she's okay with me walking Charity to her car.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Standing from the couch, I place her down. It isn’t any easier the second time.

  A humid mid-June wind greets us when we exit the back entrance of Inked. Surprisingly, the parking lot is void of the bunnies who usually frequent the space this time on a Saturday night. Perhaps they heard of the earlier incident?

  My lengthened strides slow when Charity mutters, “Diesel called an hour ago. He’s got a solid lead on the guys who jumped Clara.”

  I arch my brow, wordlessly demanding why I’m only being informed of this now.

  “We figured if you were the only one left to watch Clara, you might actually stay put,” she mutters as her skittish eyes dart around the lot.

  Her eyes snap to mine when a furious growl rumbles from my throat. “We?” My words are rough.

  “Diesel, Johnny and I.” She turns her eyes to the back door of Inked. “She’s not from this side of town, Brax. But even if she were, this still wouldn’t have been a pleasurable experience. You need to focus on Clara and let the boys have your back for a change.”

  The anger bubbling my blood with furious heat simmers to a slow boil. Not only is everything Charity saying true, I also need to remember my own advice. Clara is just as much family to Diesel and Johnny as she is to me. This ensures they will handle this situation to the same degree I would.

  “Did Diesel call Ryan?” My words aren’t as scratchy as earlier.

  Charity shakes her head. “He said he would, just not until after he has a talk with them.”

  My right shoulder lifts into a shrug. “Fair enough.”

  I rub a kink in the back of my neck as my earlier conversation with Ryan runs through my head. Fuck, why did I give him my word? Because you’re a soft cock when it comes to Ryan, that’s why.

  “Can you do me a favor and call Diesel? If he hasn’t already had a solid word with them, request for him to lower the severity and contact Ryan. I gave Ryan my word I’d call him if we found them in the first thirty-six hours. Considering its only been a few hours, I don’t want to break my word.”

  Charity nods. “Alright. I’ll call Diesel on my way home.”

  She wraps one of her tiny arms around my torso and squeezes me tightly. “Look after Clara for me.”

  A brief chuckle spills from my lips spurred on by the hidden innuendo laced in her words.

  I wait for Charity’s taillights to become a blur in the heavy flow of traffic before making my way back to Clara. I’m surprised to find her standing near the window of my office. From behind, you wouldn’t have a clue about the seriousness of the situation she just went through. She looks the same as she has every day she’s stared out that window the past four months. It is only when she spins around does the reality of the situation slam back into me. She smiles to put on a brave front, but her eyes show she’s still sitting in the very deep, dark pit.

  “Is everyone gone?”

  I nod while pacing deeper into the space. Before I can comprehend what is happening, Clara jumps. One of her hands pushes me hard in the chest, sending me sprawling onto the two-seater couch, while the other moves to the buckle on my belt.

  "Whoa, Princess. What the fuck are you doing?" I don't mean to yell at her, but I'm so beyond shocked by her reaction that my first response is anger. />
  Her icy blue eyes rocket to mine. “What does it look like I’m doing, Brax?”

  “It looks like you’re about to suck my cock.”

  She winks before muttering, “Bingo.”

  What the fuck?

  I stop her frantic movements with my hands. If I weren't a man who liked my women feisty, the fierce glare she scorches me with would have made quick work of the hard-on her eagerness has triggered.

  “People handle shock differently, but sucking my cock isn’t the way to go.”

  “How do you know? Have you actually tried it?”

  “No, I haven’t. But sucking cock isn’t really my thing, so I’ve got nothing to go off.” I keep my tone cheeky with the hope of diffusing the seriousness of our confrontation with humor.

  My optimism doesn’t last long. A heaviness slams into my chest when Clara slumps to the floor and burst into tears.

  Fuck!

  Crouching down, I scoop her into my arms and flop back into the couch. I run my hand down her back as the heavy shaking hampering her body earlier returns full force, as do the wet patches on my shirt.

  “It’s okay, Princess. You’re okay. Nothing like this will ever happen to you again. I promise you,” I assure her.

  “You can’t guarantee that,” she hiccups through tears.

  “Like hell I can’t.”

  She lifts her tear-stained face off my chest before her watering eyes bounce between mine. “How?”

  I remove a strand of hair stuck to her tear-drenched cheek before locking my eyes with hers. “By never letting you out of my sight. That’s how.”

  Clara inhales a sharp, quick breath but remains as quiet as a baby sleeping. I draw her in close to my body and stand from the couch. After gathering her purse from the filing cabinet at the side of my office, I head to the back door of Inked. Clara's eyes drift between mine as I stride down the hallway, but not a word spills from her lips. By the time we make it into the parking lot, the tears flooding from her eyes have dampened to a slight trickle, and her shakes have dulled. I adjust her position, so she's being held by one arm, before digging my hand into her purse to search for her keys. A growl of frustration rolls up my chest when I fail to find them. My excavation is hampered by the mass amount of makeup and girly shit she carries in her oversized purse.