Down & Dirty: Crow: Dirty Angels MC, book 10

by St. James, Jeanne

  She stared at him for a moment, her eyes heartbreakingly empty. Then something switched inside her, almost as if she mentally shook herself, and she nodded. Her hands reached for the buttons on her jeans and he made a noise before he could bite it back.

  She froze.

  “Hang on,” he muttered, walking quickly to the front door, locking it and flipping the “open” sign to “closed.”

  Then with measured steps, he took his time moving back to her as she stood in the center of his shop under the harsh fluorescent lights.

  He could hardly get the words out. “’Kay, baby. Show me.” He braced as her trembling hands unbuttoned her jeans. The zipper being lowered sounded way too harsh in the quiet shop.

  He could hear someone’s ragged breathing. Was it his?

  Fuck no. It was hers. He was holding his breath. Waiting.

  Fuck. He didn’t want to see what those bastards did to her. It was better if he didn’t.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  She shoved her jeans down slightly and he caught a glimpse of black panties, then her hand fisted her shirt and she slowly tugged it up.

  His heart thumped loudly in his ears, the lump in his throat went nowhere no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” slipped through his lips before he could stop it.

  Her whole body jerked, and she quickly released her shirt and covered herself back up.

  He needed a better look. He didn’t get a clear enough view of it. He needed to see what he was working with.

  Those fuckin’ motherfuckers.

  If he thought she was pale before, she was a ghost now. Her green eyes, rimmed with tears, appeared huge in her white face.

  “I... I know... it’s...”

  Crow shook his head. “No, Kachina. Whatever you’re thinkin’... Just no.”

  He approached her, and her wide eyes followed his every step. When he got toe to toe with her, he dropped to his knees at her feet. Moving slowly, he lifted her shirt carefully.

  He stared at her reminder. The one she had to see every fucking day of her life.

  “SWMC” had been carved with a blade into her lower belly. It had been cut deep into her tender, young skin.

  So deep that the letters that bastard Black Jack had marked her with were still visible along with the suture marks, even after a plastic surgeon had most likely done his best. The lines were thin and ragged, but they were still there.

  They’d never be gone. So he understood her need to cover it. But he wasn’t sure if what he could do would be good enough.

  “Doctor can’t do nothin’ more?” he asked softly. Because if he could, she needed to go that route first.

  “No. I waited to see you until they did everything they could. They’re done. But it’s still there.”

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “Gonna touch it, ‘kay, baby?”

  She didn’t answer him, but when he glanced up at her, she was nodding.

  “’Kay. Tell me to stop if you gotta. Need to see what I’m workin’ with here. Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed.

  With one hand holding her shirt up only to right above the top of the scar, he spread his fingers and gently touched her. He traced the tips over the marred skin, feeling the thickness, the toughness of the scar tissue. Wondering how the fuck he was going to do this for her.

  She was relying on him to make things better and he wasn’t sure what he could do would even be close to enough.

  How was he going to fix her?

  Fuck.

  What should be smooth skin, a perfect canvas for his art, was anything but.

  He kept talking slow and soothing. “Gonna be painful. Gonna have to trace it. Design it. Gonna take some time.”

  At least it was a good reason for her to stick around for a little while.

  “Ain’t gonna get it done in one sittin’. Gonna be crawlin’ out of your skin from the pain, Kachina. Just want you to know that. Gotta do it in short sessions. Got me?”

  “I would love to crawl out of my skin,” she whispered.

  He glanced up again. She was staring down at him, something haunted behind her eyes. “Not in this way, baby. Might be unbearable.”

  “I’m used to pain.”

  Crow winced at her soft words. “Wish I could take that from you but I fuckin’ can’t. Gonna do what I can, though. Promise you that.”

  She placed her hand over his, which was still splayed along the warm, but irregular, skin of her lower belly. “Just help me forget.”

  He wasn’t sure he could do that, but he’d damn well try.

  He nodded and pushed to his feet, tugging her hand and drawing her over to the tattoo chair. “Ain’t gonna do nothin’ tonight. Just gonna trace it. Start drawin’ tomorrow, yeah?”

  “I can’t stay here too long, Crow,” she said as she slid onto the reclined chair and laid back.

  He grabbed a marker and a large sheet of tracing paper and headed back to the chair. He glanced down at her as she laid there, her jade green eyes staring up at him. Trusting.

  With all that she went through, she trusted him.

  He couldn’t let her down.

  “Gonna place this over the area an’ trace it out, ‘kay? So I know how big of a design I need to make.”

  She nodded and pulled her shirt higher with one hand, while shoving her open jeans down lower with the other.

  He settled onto his stool and rolled closer. He carefully placed the tracing paper over her damaged skin and with the Sharpie made some marks. Where her protruding hip bones were. The top of her pubis bone. Her belly button. Mapping out his canvas.

  When he was done, he lifted it and put it on the tray next to him. As she started to tug her clothes back into place, he stopped her. “Wait.”

  She jerked when he lowered his head and placed his cheek over that area, facing away from her.

  I’m sorry, baby. So fuckin’ sorry.

  Her stomach rose and fell under his cheek with each breath she took, and he closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way, but eventually her hand smoothed over his hair, down his long braid. Then he felt it, her fingers pulling off the band at the end, untwisting each plait.

  Normally, he didn’t want anyone touching his hair, but he didn’t stop her.

  He allowed her to do something he didn’t allow anyone else. Slowly, methodically, she worked at it until his hair fell free. She smoothed it across her exposed skin and began to lightly comb her fingers through it.

  “I love your hair. Always have. I’ve always wanted to do that,” she said softly. “The color is beautiful.”

  He turned until his left cheek laid along her belly and he faced her. “The color belongs on me. Doesn’t on you.”

  She nodded. “I needed a change.”

  “It’s not you, Kachina.”

  “I don’t know who I am.”

  Hearing that made it feel as if a knife stabbed him in the gut. A pain he wouldn’t soon forget. “She’s still in there. Maybe you can’t see her clearly, but I can. I see you, baby. And everyone else will remember who you are, too. Nobody’s forgotten. Gonna take a while for that tat. While you’re here, everyone will wanna see you.”

  “Not sure if I’m ready for that.”

  “At least Grizz an’ Momma. Yeah?”

  “I promise I’ll visit them before I go. But truth is...” Her words paused, but the movement of her fingers in his hair didn’t. “I didn’t come to see you just for ink. I was hoping...”

  “Hopin’ what?”

  Chapter Two

  She came to town with a purpose. Not just for ink, but for something else entirely. Something she wasn’t so sure, now that she was here in his shop and seeing Crow in person after all these years, that he’d be willing to give her.

  However, it was time.

  She didn’t know who els
e would be better than him to help her move on.

  Her past needed to stop controlling her future. She needed to do her best to fade those memories.

  She couldn’t do it at home in Buffalo. She needed to do it here. In Shadow Valley.

  She needed to do it with the man who had his cheek pressed gently to her belly, his warm breath sweeping across her skin. The area she always did her best to hide. No more bikinis. No more baby doll shirts. Nothing that would expose her outer scars to the world which, in turn, could expose her inner ones.

  She hid it so no one asked questions because she didn’t want to think about the answers.

  Now Crow was saying that the tattoo would take some time. That meant she’d have to stick around the Valley for a little bit.

  And while she promised to visit her grandparents, she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay with them. She didn’t want to be coddled or babied. It may make coming back even harder.

  But she also wasn’t ready to stay with anyone else, either. Hawk and Kiki would probably insist she stay with them. But then, they had Ashton now from what she’d been told by her grandmother. And Hawk’s house in town had only been a two bedroom.

  Again, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see Kiki yet. Or Hawk. She had only known Kiki for a short time before it happened.

  She tried to save Hawk’s woman, but she couldn’t. She failed.

  Jazz wasn’t sure if Hawk ever forgave her for that. She wouldn’t blame him if he hadn’t.

  No matter what, she was glad Hawk and Kiki’s relationship had endured everything his woman went through. From what Momma Bear said, they were perfect together.

  Perfect.

  Unlike her.

  She was imperfect. Unsure if she’d ever find what those two had.

  But one thing she was sure about, she never would if she didn’t move past the barriers that were holding her back.

  So, it was time. Coming to the Valley, coming to Crow for ink, was the perfect excuse to see the man who had always called her Kachina.

  Spirit.

  From the moment she spotted him in Hawk’s house as she danced across the living room, her earbuds in her ears, her body moving to every heart-pounding beat of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck.

  She had been belting out the lyrics at the top of her lungs, most likely out of tune. Alternating playing air guitar and air drums as she rocked out with her eyes squeezed shut. The music moved through her, shutting out the rest of the world.

  She’d barely been eighteen at the time. And when she opened her eyes, noticed him watching her, she screamed in surprise, her heart almost leaping from her chest, then she lost her breath.

  Not from fear, but from the beauty of the man who stood there, arms crossed over his chest.

  Dark almost-black eyes, perfect golden skin, that long black braid that would make any woman envious. His narrow hips, the ropy muscles of his arms and neck. And not a tattoo in sight.

  If Crow hadn’t been wearing a DAMC cut, she would’ve had no idea who he was or why he was in the house.

  She had foolishly left the front door unlocked. When she moved in not two weeks earlier, Hawk had insisted she always lock it. Especially when he wasn’t home.

  And he wasn’t home.

  No, she had been alone with the handsome stranger whose lips curled at the ends and the lines at the corners of his dark eyes crinkled as he watched her intently and with amusement.

  She remembered how hard her heart thumped in her chest that day, even after her initial surprise. How her pulse pounded in her throat and a warmth ran through her, settling in parts untouched by anyone but herself.

  She had never reacted to any boy—or man—like that before. At the time she chalked her irregular heartbeat up to being startled.

  Later she knew that wasn’t what it had been.

  Not even close.

  “If it’s going to take some time, then I’ll need somewhere to stay. Just temporarily. Just until... I know...” She shook her head. “You only have a room above church, so—”

  When he lifted his head and sat back, she felt that loss. She took his offered hand, his warm fingers wrapping around hers as he helped her sit up.

  His now loose hair fell like a black, silky waterfall around his shoulders, rippling as he shook his head. “No. Moved out. Got a house. Safe. Secure.”

  “You got a house? Where? In town?”

  “Club built a place not far from church. For any of us with families.”

  Her stomach churned, and she worked hard to keep the disappointment from her words. “You have a family now?”

  He shook his head again and Jazz wanted to touch his hair one more time. To resist, she curled her fingers into her palms since his hair was sacred to him and he never let anyone touch it. She was surprised he didn’t stop her a few moments before. “No. But I’m forty now, Kachina. Was time to move the fuck outta church.”

  And that might be another issue he’d have. Their age difference.

  The same problem he had all those years ago. When she was barely eighteen and he was well into his thirtieth year.

  However... what she wanted from him... needed from him... wasn’t long term. It was just something to get her moving in the right direction. Which was forward. Because she was tired of being stagnant.

  Stuck.

  Frozen.

  She needed a gentle flame, not a roaring bonfire, to melt the ice crystals that had settled in her veins.

  And now with her at twenty-eight and him at forty, the age shouldn’t be such an issue. Unless he still saw it as such. If so, she hoped to convince him otherwise.

  “How long will it all take?”

  “How long you got?” he asked, his onyx eyes searching her face.

  She lifted a shoulder. She had been hoping only to be in the Valley a day or two at the most. Now...

  She was willing to stay as long as she had to in order to get what she needed. Ink or otherwise.

  “Scar tissue’s tough. Doesn’t hold ink like...”

  “Normal skin?” she finished for him.

  “Not as porous. Gonna have to go over it several times. Let it heal, go over it again. Wanna make it right.”

  “That sounds like a long process.”

  “Could be. Won’t know for sure ‘til I start an’ the first round heals. Then I’ll have to do touchups.”

  “Sounds like months,” she murmured.

  “Yeah. Might be best to drive down here once a month, maybe. Do some, let it heal, come back, let me do the next round. You up for that?”

  “It took me about four hours to get here.” Four hours wasn’t bad. It was doable once a month. But she wasn’t sure she was willing to do it. It would delay both of her goals. And she’d waited long enough for both already.

  “Or you could stay—”

  “I don’t want to be a burden on Grizz and Momma Bear.” Or smothered.

  “With me.”

  Her mouth gaped and her breathing shallowed.

  Before she could answer, he continued, “Gotta bigger house than I need. Could use the help.”

  The help. The excitement of his initial invitation was dampened. “A house mouse,” came out sounding flatter than she wanted it to.

  “Yeah, but you probably got a fuckin’ job. College grad an’ all that shit.”

  The only job she had waiting for her was one at a guitar store that paid her minimum wage. She never did anything with her Business Management degree. It was just a piece of paper hanging on the wall in a cheap plastic frame in her parents’ house.

  She only finished school because of their insistence and the DAMC paying for her final year. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe Z eventually wanted her help with the club businesses. But if he did, he never insisted on it once she graduated.

  But a house mouse was worse than minimum wage. It was for young women without a job. Someone going through school. Or whatever.

  Not for a twenty-eight-year-old with her Bachelor’s.

  Being
a house mouse paid nothing. You lived for free. You ate for free. You cooked. You cleaned. You grocery shopped. You ran the household. All for fucking free.

  Your “payment” was having a roof over your head and food in your belly. You had protection. For the most part.

  She loved every minute of it when she lived with Hawk. She could do what she wanted and got the house to herself most of the time.

  And when Hawk was home, he was fun to be around. Not hard on the eyes, either. Especially when he walked around the house with just a towel hanging off his hips.

  Hell, the few times she had her girlfriends over, she’d have to close their mouths for them since they’d be gaping at him, sometimes drool catching at the corner of their lips.

  But as fucking hot as Hawk was, he wasn’t for Jazz. Not that he would have made a move if he was.

  No.

  Nope.

  That moment Crow caught her dancing and singing in the living room, after being totally oblivious to him watching her...

  That moment she knew.

  Though things didn’t quite turn out the way she’d hoped.

  “...Just a thought,” he was saying.

  What?

  She missed something. “My job’s just temporary,” she murmured. Yeah, temporary for the past four years. “Just until I find something better.” Not that she ever made an effort to look.

  Though it paid shit, she loved working in the guitar store. She loved being surrounded by the instruments that took her away from reality.

  With a guitar in her hands and lyrics on her lips, she was transported elsewhere. She lost herself when she played. She forgot about the past. She ignored the future. She lived for the now, as her fingers moved over the strings, playing the next note. Singing the next line in a song.

  It filled her emptiness.

  The store owner loved her. She’d sit in the corner and play, oblivious to the customers coming and going when she should be selling instead.

  No, Jake never bitched because her playing drew people in. He’d prop the door open in nice weather. People visiting the strip mall and walking by would stop, enter and stay awhile.

  Whenever she worked, he sold guitars and accessories, and booked more lessons than ever.

  People would actually slip her tips, too. Jake saw it and said nothing. She was good for business.