Of course she had options, the problem was they all sucked. Call Arnie’s bluff and say no, which could lead to him going to the police. Find a lawyer, go to the police herself, and confess. Tell Cujo and Trent, and ask them to help her, talk to him even. Continue to give him money. A headache developed in her temples. Perhaps she’d start with telling Trent and Cujo that her step-dad was coming around again.
She entered the bank and joined the line of a teller she didn’t know very well—less questions that way. As she took her place at the front of the line, Cedro, her favorite teller arrived and switched places with the cashier.
“Hello, Miss. Pixie. You are looking delicious today. How may I be of assistance?” He fiddled with the brooch attached to his work shirt, revealing bright yellow nail polish.
“I need to withdraw . . .” She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t withdraw the money from Cedro. She’d come back. “I need fifty dollars, please.”
“You could have got that from the machine,” he said with a bright smile, taking her card.
Pixie thought quickly. “I know, but then I wouldn’t have seen your cheery face. When is that delicious boyfriend of yours coming back into the studio for some more ink?”
Cedro laughed. “I think he has enough already.”
They walked through the transaction and Cedro withdrew the cash from his tray. “How is the business planning coming along?” he asked.
The question hurt worse than a spear through her heart. “Starting to pull things together,” she answered vaguely.
Cedro counted the cash onto the counter. “I’m so excited for you, Pixie. Good luck.”
Pixie tucked the cash in her purse, and left the bank. Once outside she unzipped her coat and sat down on the bench on the sidewalk. She no longer felt like going shopping. She felt like crying. What was the end game of all this? Arnie wasn’t going to stop until he had everything he wanted, and hellishly, that seemed to include her. She’d rather go to prison than allow that to happen. She’d given him five hundred and fifty, and he came back for a thousand. If she gave him the thousand, he’d come back for more.
Even if she told Trent and Cujo, there was nothing they could do to resolve the situation. It would crush them to know they harbored someone capable of killing a person, even if it was self-defense, and it would kill her to see that look on their face. She knew they’d stand by her, but their relationship would be changed forever, and she couldn’t forgive herself if the news became public and ruined the reputation of Second Circle. They’d ploughed everything they had into growing the business. Would Trent lose his host job on Inked as part of the fallout?
Perhaps she should resign . . . put some distance between herself and the studio. Her stomach turned and she was grateful she’d not eaten breakfast.
And then there was Dred, the first man she’d ever had deep feelings for. What would he think of her when all was revealed?
* * *
With the help of a great checking agent at Galeão International Airport who also happened to be a hard-core metal fan pissed to be missing Rio’s biggest open-air concert of the year, Dred had secured himself a business-class seat on the last flight out of Brazil.
He’d walked off the stage, straight into a waiting limo, and rushed through the crazy nighttime traffic. The rest of the guys had been totally supportive of his detour on the way home. Thankfully, with the agent’s help, he’d managed to grab a quick shower in a VIP lounge and was able to change out of his concert gear into something way more comfortable for a thirteen-hour trip that included a quick stopover in Atlanta.
Dred stepped off the plane in Miami and looked at his watch. Ten a.m. He made his way to the exit and grabbed a taxi, telling the driver to go straight to Second Circle.
It was a week since he’d seen Pixie, and he was beginning to realize that a long-distance relationship was going to take a bit more planning than he’d done so far. They needed rules, like the maximum time they’d spend apart or that he’d always be responsible for buying tickets. He’d gone from having no family of his own, to having Petal and Pixie in less than a month, and he was determined to not let them down.
“You can pull up here,” he instructed the driver, indicating a spot a few feet away from the studio, hoping to prolong the surprise until the last possible second. Trent was in the window of the store, head down, focused on a tattoo. Cujo was standing near the desk. When he moved to the left, Dred could see he was talking to Pixie who was laughing at something. God, she had the best smile.
Pushing the door open, he walked into Second Circle. It was the first time they’d really gone public with their relationship, and he wasn’t sure what her boundaries would be with regards to him greeting her exactly how he wanted. But he needn’t have worried. The moment she looked up, she squealed.
“Oh my God,” she ran around the counter, throwing herself into his arms so he had no choice but to catch her. “You’re actually here.” She showered kisses all over his face, and while he was aware that pretty much everybody in the studio was looking at them, he didn’t really give a fuck.
“Hey, Snowflake,” he said before capturing her lips and kissing her the way he wanted. She tasted fruity, like jelly beans. It was fun, and sweet, and so very Pixie.
“What did I tell you about hitting on the staff?” Trent asked, slapping him on the back.
Dred lowered Pixie to the floor but kept her tucked under his arm. He shook hands with Trent. “Good to see you too.”
“What are you doing here?” Pixie asked him, the huge grin on her face worth every uncomfortable moment of the shitty overnight flight.
Suddenly he didn’t feel tired at all. “I was in the vicinity, so I thought I’d drop by.” He kissed her again.
“I’m going to vomit. Or punch you. Can’t decide which.” Cujo shook his hand and slapped his shoulder, with enough force to send him a little off balance. It wasn’t so hard as to take offence, but it certainly wasn’t harmless.
Dred grinned. He understood where Cujo was coming from and was happy that Pixie had someone to look out for her when she was in Miami and he wasn’t.
“Four thousand miles is nowhere close to the vicinity,” Pixie said. She stood on her toes and kissed him quickly on the lips. “But I am very glad you came by.”
“What time are you off today?”
“Not until five, and Eric called in sick, so I really can’t bail today.” She took his hand and led him to the empty kitchen area.
Out of sight of the others, he let his hands to slide over her ass, and sucked the skin on the side of her neck. “Don’t worry about me. I came here to see you. Don’t care where that happens,” he murmured.
He smiled as she tilted her neck away from him, allowing him better access. Fuck. She was delicious. He stood up straight but kept his arm around her waist. There was no way he could do what he wanted with her while they were still here. His flight home wasn’t until quarter past nine, so he didn’t need to leave Pixie’s condo until seven. He needed to talk Trent into letting his girl go an hour early.
“It’s so good to see you, Dred. It’s been a crappy week, and I really missed you.”
“You were on my mind all the time too. Not sure what that says about us, but I like it.” He took in her pretty eyes. “Anyway, I have an idea for a new tattoo. You think Trent or Cujo can fit me in?”
“Sure, let’s go see the calendar. I think Trent’s good in another hour or so.”
Several hours and one tattoo later, Dred glanced over at Pixie. She was laughing at something Lia said.
“So what will it cost me for you to let Pix leave now?” he asked Trent, itching to get Pixie alone for as many hours as they could manage. It was three o’clock and he watched Trent tape the cover over the incredible rose he’d inked as a tribute to Petal on Dred’s lower forearm.
Trent looked around the shop, presumably calculating what needed to get done before the studio closed in a few hours. “Your timing sucks, man,” he said.
“Couldn’t you drop in like Superman on a Wednesday?”
Dred laughed. “If only I had that much control over my schedule. Was meant to fly straight back to Toronto but did a trade with the guys so I could fly through here today.”
“What was the trade?’ Trent asked as he turned the black baseball cap on his head around so it faced the right way.
“We were meant to pitch in to have the garden landscaped this summer at the group home we grew up in, now I’m footing the bill while they work on a new arrangement for one of our songs.”
“Was it worth it?” Trent asked seriously.
Dred looked over to where Pixie was laughing with a group of women at the desk. “Yeah,” he said. “Worth every nickel.”
“We’re friends now, right? So I can say shit that pisses you off and you’ll get over it, right?”
Dred had been waiting for this moment and knew what was coming. Pixie smiled at him from across the room and suddenly it didn’t matter what Trent needed to say. “Sure,” he replied.
“Be careful with her. It’s not my place to tell you what I know. But, well . . . it took her a long time to get over whatever happened before Cujo and I found her in that doorway one morning.”
Dred was momentarily confused. With the tilt of Trent’s head, he could have sworn Trent meant the doorway to Second Circle. “When you say found her? Like she was waiting for a tattoo one morning, or sleeping there?”
Trent’s easy demeanor changed. “Forget I said anything. It’s her story, not mine. Just don’t . . . don’t be that guy. She’s my kid sister in every way that counts. Everything about you is—fuck—up until meeting Harper—shit. Don’t hurt her.” Trent took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair before placing it back on.
Dred understood what Trent was saying and, more importantly, why he was saying it. He got what it meant to redefine family. He only had to look at his own living situation. “I hear you. If I could make you promises about where this is going, I would. But I can’t.”
The idea of Pixie sleeping not ten feet from where he was sitting rubbed up against his own memories. Nights he’d spent sleeping in friend’s garages or living rooms while his mom worked the streets and took strange men back to the tiny apartment they lived in. Why hadn’t Pixie told him any of that? In fact, he realized, she hadn’t shared much of her previous life with him beyond her real first name.
He looked at Trent who was eying him coolly. “Look,” he said, choosing his words carefully, because he could feel the weight of their importance, “I want this. And I think she does too. We’ve got to figure out how to be in a relationship with each other.”
Trent frowned for another moment before smiling again. “Fine. Go. We’ll manage. But next time we’re in L.A., you can take me to that sushi place again. Your treat.”
Dred walked to Pixie to pay. He handed her his credit card. “When you’ve run this through, we’re leaving.”
“We are?” She cocked her head and smiled flirtatiously.
“Yes, Snowflake. And you and I are going to take the fastest route between here and naked.”
Cujo groaned beside him. “Oh my God. You made my fucking ears bleed.”
Pixie laughed and settled Dred’s bill, and, with the help of a taxi, made that happen in what felt like no time at all.
* * *
Pixie placed her key in the door to the apartment, but it swung open, ripping the key from her fingers. She tripped forward, but Dred caught her before she crashed into Lia who looked as shocked as she felt.
Pixie felt the laughter bubble up inside her. “Oh my gosh, Lia. I’m sorry.”
Lia looked over Pixie’s shoulder and obviously seeing Dred there, grinned at her. “No worries, Pix. I popped home to change. I’m going to the studio to help them catch up. Hey, Dred.”
“I shouldn’t have bailed.” She turned to Dred. “I should go back.”
“No,” Lia said gently. “We got this . . . and you got this.” She gave Dred a playful look up and down. “I think you got the better end of the bargain. I won’t be back for hours. Toodles.”
Dred laughed. “Well, that was subtle.” He wrapped his hands around her waist and nuzzled her neck. They stepped into the apartment and Dred closed the door. “I have an idea, want to play a game?”
As playful as he sounded, self-preservation stopped her from jumping in with a resounding yes. “What kind of game?” she asked, turning in his arms.
His lips descended on hers, taking the breath from her body as they teased hers. She opened for him and swallowed his groan.
Dred pulled away from her, dropped the bag he’d been carrying, and took his leather jacket off. “For every article of clothing we take off each other, we get to ask a question.”
Pixie’s stomach sank a little. There was so much about her past she didn’t want to revisit because doing that with him would destroy her. She could feel the blood leave her face.
“Hey,” he said, pulling her into his arms, “I didn’t mean to freak you out. We don’t have to play.”
Pixie stood for a moment looking out beyond the glass panels of the balcony. Sunlight rippled across the water. She was safe here. With him. In her own home.
“No. Let’s try it,” she said resolutely. “But if I hate it, can we stop?”
Dred cocked his head to one side. “Hmm,” he said, running the tips of his fingers along her collarbone. “I think we should decide on a forfeit.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, we can decide at the time one of us wants to quit.” He took her hand and led her over to one of the large sofas that flanked the fireplace. They sat down facing each other, and Dred’s finger slipped inside the top button of her sheer black blouse, tracing the skin underneath lazily. “I have a question. Where were you born?”
An easy question to start, one that wouldn’t give too much away. “On the outskirts of The Muck. Also known as Pahokee, Florida.”
“Sounds like a real must-see kind of place,” he said, making short work of the rest of her buttons. She was glad she’d worn the somewhat sexy camisole underneath. Dred slipped the sleeves down her arms and threw the shirt on the sofa behind her. “My turn. Ask me.”
She tried to ignore the way Dred’s fingers slid under the thin strap of her camisole and focused on what question to ask. It would set the tone for the kinds of questions he would ask her. And while she desperately wanted to know why the band still lived together and what Dred’s life was like in foster care, she played it safe. “What would you be if you weren’t a rock star?”
Dred nudged the camisole strap off her shoulder.
“That’s cheating,” she said, pulling it back up.
“Spoil sport.” Dred laughed. “Hmm. What would I be? I don’t know. Can I say songwriter for other people? Because I love lyrics. Writing the songs is as important to me as performing them.”
It was an easy answer, but she let it fly in the hope he wouldn’t press her too hard later. “Your T-shirt,” she said, dipping her fingers under the hem, feeling the tight clench of his abs as she rubbed against them. He let her pull it over his head, then leaned back against the sofa, draping his arm along the back of it. He was obviously way more comfortable half-naked than she was.
“My turn,” Dred said with too much excitement for her liking. “Why did you move to Miami?”
Pixie forced the smile to remain on her face as she floundered for an answer. Because I killed a man. But she couldn’t say that. She wasn’t ready to explain what she ran away from. It was too soon. Too early. She’d never told Cujo and Trent in all the years they’d known her. It felt odd to fight the urge to share everything with Dred. “I think you need to visit Pahokee to understand that,” she said with a tight smile.
Dred frowned and held her gaze until she had to turn away and pretend to look out over the water. The look told her he knew she was avoiding answering. He took hold of her hand.
“On a scale of one to ten, how high is
your panic right now, Pix?”
She turned to face him. “My what?”
“You know . . . the churning inside, your heart rate. How high is it? My psychologist told me to give it a number and embrace it before I dealt with it.”
“Eight.” Because nine was reserved for her stepdad, and ten was reserved for the man she killed. She breathed deeply. “Why did you have a psychologist?”
“Wait. You can ask me that next. But can you give me some kind of real answer? It doesn’t have to be everything, then take off that top before I get inspired and rip it?”
She looked into his eyes. He wasn’t making fun of her. Wasn’t even blowing it off. He was giving them both a way through it.
“I did something I shouldn’t have done and I needed to get away.”
Dred nodded, and with a quick look down to the camisole and back to her eyes, he encouraged her to strip.
“Don’t you want to know what I did?”
“Not today. We should build up to that, right?”
Pixie nodded and whipped the camisole over her head before she could second-guess herself.
Dred’s hand gripped her waist, before sliding upward until his thumbs brushed her nipples. He bent forward and sucked one into his mouth. Pixie placed her hands on his head and weaved her fingers though his hair.
His mouth was warm on her skin; the way his tongue moved against her felt like heaven. He let her nipple go with a pop. “I could do that all day,” he said, sitting back against the sofa. “You asked why I saw a psychologist. I had issues as a kid. My mom . . . she had . . . problems. I lived through some frightening shit. As a result, I could never control my temper. So when shit got tough, I would deal with it the only way I knew how. Fighting or destroying stuff.”
“Oh, Dred, that sounds—”
“No. Don’t feel sorry for me. It is what it is.” Dred removed his boots. “Okay. Why haven’t you told Cujo and Trent you don’t want to be a tattoo artist?”
This question felt safer. “Because I don’t want to let them down. They’ve been my only family for years. It’s hard to explain. They’re all I have.”
The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos) Page 17
