by Jaci J
“Is speaking about, Ma,” Alek corrects her, rolling his eyes.
My mom just flaps her hand around. “Tell me about her.”
“Nothing to tell. She’s just an artist Alek hired to paint the bar.”
My brother whispers, “Bullshit,” under his breath at me.
If my mom weren’t in the kitchen with us, I’d knock my brother the fuck out for bringing up Shay. Just thinking about her, that asshole’s arms around her, makes me see fucking red.
“You’re mad, Nikolai. Who is this girl? She must be important.”
“Jesus, Ma, I’m fine, and she’s no one.” Just the bane of my existence at this moment. “Drop it, yeah?”
Grabbing the pot from the stove, she marches it over to the table and plunks it down loudly, giving me the evil eye over the rim. “I will not drop it. You need a wife and to settle down. I worry, son.”
Here the fuck we go. “I had a wife, and we all see how that shit worked out.”
“Mikayla was a crazy bitch. She doesn’t count,” Alek huffs, getting up to get bowls from the shelf next to the sink. “Ma wants you with a nice girl,” he adds smartly, looking at our mom sweetly for confirmation.
“I worry about my boys.” Ma pats my brother’s cheek.
“Well, worry about Alek and Andre. I’m fine.”
“So, is this girl your girlfriend? She is nice?” And she just keeps going, poking and prodding, asking questions about shit I don’t have answers to.
“Fuck, she’s not anything to me, okay? Just some girl who’s working in the bar for a few weeks.”
My mom smiles. “You don’t get so upset over nothing.”
“I’m not upset. Just hungry,” I growl, getting up and dishing myself some stew, as well as a hunk of bread from the basket on the table.
Shaking her head, my mom hands me a spoon. “Fine. We pray and we eat. Then we talk about your friend.”
I have nothing to say on that, so I sit my ass down and bow my head, listening to my mother recite the fisherman’s prayer, praying for my brother Andre and his crew out on the ocean. Praying for Alek and his foul mouth. And praying for me and my nonexistent girlfriend’s happiness.
Halfway through prayer, my phone vibrates. Pulling it out of my pocket, I see a text from an unknown number on my screen.
I’m home now. No need to worry.
Shay.
“Nikolai,” my mom snaps, glaring at me. “We pray now.”
“Yeah,” I agree, texting Shay back anyway. Good.
She’s home, safe. Now I can fucking relax.
8
Shay
“NIKO!”
I’ve never been angrier, more murderous. More stabby.
Paintbrush in hand—the only goddamn one I have left—I march through the bar and into the hall, just as Niko comes walking out of his room. “The fuck, Shay?”
“You threw away all my stuff! All my paint, brushes!” I accuse. I don’t even ask; I know it was him.
Niko shrugs, like he doesn’t know or care.
“Seriously?”
“You left your shit everywhere. I knocked over a fucking can of paint. That was fun to clean up at two in the goddamn morning.”
“What were you even doing in here at two in the fucking morning anyway?” I fire back, annoyed beyond belief.
“Whatever the fuck I want. You forget I own the place?” he asks, eyeing me.
Holding up my paintbrush, I point it at him. “You forget I’ll put this damn brush through your eye?”
We’re screaming at each other, and it’s not beyond my notice that everyone in the building is watching us, Niko’s client included.
“You won’t do shit.”
“Won’t I?” I growl, advancing on him, paintbrush raised and ready.
“Stab him in the eye and kick him in the balls,” someone shouts from the end the hall. I’m sure it was Alek.
I’m well aware that I’ve lost my mind. So far beyond knowing that I’m currently threatening my roundabout employer in my place of business, and at any moment I could be shit canned. But I just couldn’t give a shit less. Not right now anyway. Maybe tomorrow I’ll care. But right now, I want to bludgeon Niko to death.
Niko takes the opportunity while I’m pondering my possible lack of employment and homelessness from loss of said employment, and snatches me up, chucking me over his shoulder.
My body lands with an “oomph.”
I would fight him, but what’s the damn point? He outweighs me by double, and has a mass of muscle I couldn’t even begin to rival.
Niko walks us into the bar and slams the door shut behind him.
“You gonna stab me or take a swing?” he asks, the hand on my thigh keeping me from slipping off his shoulder. “Just wanna be ready for either or.”
“You gonna replace all my shit?”
“You gonna stop leaving it every-fucking-where?”
“No.”
Niko pulls me off his shoulder, my body sliding along his until my feet hit the ground and I can see his face. His expression is hard, sharp, and serious.
“Then I’m not gonna tell you that your shit’s in the alley’s dumpster.”
“Why are you such an asshole?”
“Why are you such a pain in my fucking ass?” he fires back, brow quirked. I want to rip that fucker off his face and shove it down his throat.
“Why do I hate you so fucking much?”
I don’t say anything, and neither does he. We just stare at each other, both of us annoyed, until he grabs me. With one hand wrapped up in my hair, the other on my hip, he kisses me, violently. His lips are soft, but his kiss is hard and rough. The hand in my hair tugs, angling my head back to give him better access and control. I let him have both.
I let him own me for a second. A very long, very hot second. A fucking perfect second.
Until reality comes crashing down on me, and I remember I’m kissing Niko.
Pushing him away, I frown, desperate to keep the sexy smile off my face. “What the hell was that?”
Niko smirks. “That was me shutting that pretty ass mouth of yours for a fucking second so I could tell you your shit’s in a box by the sink in the back.”
Any panty-melting moments I had with Niko just went up in flames.
I’m back to feeling homicidal.
Making a fist, I haul off and hit him. It does nothing to him, but it makes me feel better. A little. “You’re a prick.”
“Called me an asshole and a prick. Got any other insults you wanna toss at me?”
“Hang on, let me grab a pen and paper and I’ll make you a list, fuckface.”
“You’re a sexy little savage.”
“And you’re a crazy fucking asshole.”
Niko smirks, and it’s a smirk that’d make the sanest woman lose just a bit of her sanity. He has dimples. Fucking dimples.
Taking a step away, he watches me. “Damn right I am, and this crazy asshole will chuck your shit if you leave it all over my bar again.”
“Chuck my shit and you’ll wake up with a paintbrush lodged in your throat.”
Niko just shakes his head, that smirk still firmly in place on his horribly handsome face. “Like I fucking said—savage. You’re a fucking animal.”
If he touches my shit again, I’ll show him an animal.
Fifteen minutes later, I find my paint supplies, plus a few new things, in a box outside the bar door, a note taped to the side.
For the savage.
Niko
“YOU GONNA STAND ON every table in this motherfucker?”
She’s standing on a table, on her tiptoes, her hand stretched out above her head. She’s also barefoot, wearing a pair of ripped up jean shorts and a tank. She looks crazy. Crazy, and so goddamn beautiful.
I hate how hard she makes my cock. I hate it even more how much I want her. I fucking hate her, and I fucking want her.
Shay turns to look at me. She doesn’t say anything, but she does toss a paintbrush at
me. “You’re lucky that shit wasn’t covered in paint,” she tells me. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”
She’s in a good mood? “What kind of good mood?”
“What kind of question is that? Just a good mood.”
I find myself hoping her mood doesn’t have anything to do with some asshole she met at that nasty fucking bar she went to the other night.
Pulling out a stool, I sit down and lean back against the bar. Asking her why she’s so goddamn happy, she smiles.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” I’m a fucking liar.
That sculpted brow raises, damn near hitting her hair before she laughs. “Buuulllllshit.”
“You really are a pain in the ass, baby.” But me saying that shit just makes her smile bigger.
“I sold a painting.”
“Yeah?”
There go those pretty ass lips of hers, her smile spreading even farther. She’s proud of herself, excited about her painting, and I fucking hate that I find myself excited for her too.
“Sold it for five hundred.”
“Goddamn. What was it, a nude?” I joke, but that joke lasts all of a fucking second before it turns into something darker. Shay smirks, giving me a look that makes me see red. “I hope like fuck you’re kidding,” I bark, getting up.
“And if I’m not?”
Then I’m burning down houses until I find the one with that picture on the fucking wall. “Shay...”
She rolls her big brown eyes at me, like I’m an idiot. Maybe I am. But I won’t lie and say that thinking some asshole out there has a naked picture of her doesn’t make me fucking sick, because it does. “Jesus, Niko, it’s not a nude. It’s a picture of you, dead.”
This fucking girl.
“You’re fucking full of it tonight, aren’t you?”
Putting her paintbrush down, she grabs her phone and tosses it to me.
I catch it and look down. On the screen is a picture of her painting.
The painting is done in blacks and reds, and it’s a skeleton with a paintbrush through the eye, flowers leaking from the socket like blood. “You’ve got to be shitting me?” I chuckle, looking up from the phone to her.
Shay laughs, her head shaking in disbelief. “Dead serious. The next picture is of the online invoice. I went home and painted it the other night, just because I wanted to poke your eyes out with my brush.” She gives me a pointed look. “The painting was a joke, but my friend convinced me to put it online, just for shits and giggles. Two hours later, it sold for double the price.”
“Where’s it at?”
“Where’s what?”
“My half. That’s my death on that motherfucker. I think I deserve a cut.” I say it just to make her smile, and it works.
“You’re an asshole,” she snorts, turning back toward the wall.
“You keep tellin’ me that like it bothers me.”
“It shouldn’t. I like you mean.”
She likes me mean. Thank fuck for that, because I ain’t changing, and she’s not getting rid of me.
9
Shay
I woke up inspired. Full of drive and imagination, my hand aching for a paintbrush. The need to paint and create stampeding through my veins pushing me.
After selling the painting of the skull, I’m itching for more of the same.
I’ve sketched. Sat on my porch, watching that stray cat play with a leaf, drawing him. I banged out a couple of tattoo ideas and finished a landscape I had sitting around. I’m still antsy, the need still there.
Pulling out my phone, I text Alek.
Alek, it’s Shay. Can I come down to the shop today and paint? Feeling very inspired.
I stare impatiently at my phone, my thumb tapping rhythmically on the back while I wait for a response.
The three little bubbles pop up. He’s typing, but slowly.
Sorry, Shay, I’m out of town and the shop’s closed on Mondays. Well shit. Tattoo shops close? Do people not get tattoos on a Monday? Before I can say anything, he adds, But you can grab the key from Niko and go in and paint if you want.
I more than want. I need. Sure! I reply, slipping on my shoes.
He’s down at Max’s gym. He shoots me the address, which I read as I’m walking out my front door, already googling it.
Patience has never been my thing.
MAX’S GYM IS A FEW blocks up from the tattoo shop, right in the heart of downtown. It looks like an old warehouse, with ancient, weathered cedar siding and a metal roof. Big bay doors and old single pane windows. It fits perfectly among the other old brick and stone buildings on the block around it.
Walking inside, I’m stopped by a small front desk with a perky blonde working behind it. “Hiya. How can I help you?” she beams, practically bouncing on her toes.
Looking at her, and then around her at the packed gym, I say, “Looking for Niko.”
She looks at me funny, eyes narrowed slightly. “Niko? You’re here for Niko?” I think I detect a hint of jealously in her voice, which has changed from bubbly to stiff in a matter of seconds.
“Yes,” I reply, plainly and slowly, not sure why she keeps saying his name.
Looking behind her and back at me, she frowns. “He’s in the back.” Her words are clipped and short.
I wait for more direction, but figure I’m getting none when she answers the ringing phone on her desk, giving me an impatient glare, like my presence is hindering her phone call.
“Thanks,” I mutter, walking around the desk and toward what I assume is the back. A big swinging door is my only indicator.
The inside of the gym doesn’t match the outside. Everything is new and high-tech. Fancy gadgets and a new equipment. Everything state of the art.
It smells faintly of new rubber, disinfectant, and sweat. Wrinkling my nose, I breathe through my mouth, trying to avoid the pungent smell.
Walking by the weight benches, I stare at a guy squatting, his face red with a slight blue-ish tint around the edges, as he goes up and down slowly, watching himself in the mirror. His muscles are bulging and veiny. It’s a little gross.
On the other side of the little aisle are rows of treadmills. Women of all shapes and sizes jogging, running, and walking, all at various speeds and wearing all forms of spandex.
I know little to nothing about gym life, and I’m not even going to pretend I do or care.
Pushing through the big swinging door, I’m inside another large room that resembles the one I just left. But this one is setup with a few rings in the middle, punching bags, speedballs, and black mats on the floor around the edges of the room.
Looking around, my eyes going everywhere, I’m stopped by a guy in shorts and a tank top. “Can I help you with something?” he asks, looking at my street clothes and back at my face.
About to tell him Niko is who I’m looking for, I see him in the middle of the room. In a ring. Shirtless and sweaty. Looking delicious.
“Found what I was looking for,” I tell the guy, walking around him and toward the large red and black ring.
In the middle, sweating and breathing hard, is Niko. Wearing a pair of black shorts and tape on his knuckles, he swings on a guy, hitting him in the stomach with a powerful blow.
They’re both light on their feet, circling each other, fists up and ready.
Hypnotized, I walk right up to the ring.
Niko is sex personified. Lean and muscular. Tall. I’m transfixed, my eyes glazing over. Hearing or seeing nothing else, I stare, watching him fight with his bare hands.
Powerful hits and solid kicks, Niko is a monster in the ring, and I’m sickeningly fascinated.
Niko
“SHAY?” I PANT, DUCKING a fist as I side step my opponent.
I’m shocked as fuck to see her here.
She’s standing at the edge of the ring, her hands on the mat, just staring up at me with some goddamn look in her eye that makes my brain liquify and drain straight to my cock.
Jesus Christ.
My sparring partner throws a right hook. Catching it with my hand, I wrap his own arm around his neck, using his forearm as a vise, cutting off his air. It only takes a second before he taps out.
I let him go and he gasps, breathing hard.
It takes him a minute, but he recovers.
“Fuck, Niko, you’re fast.”
“Nice try, asshole,” I tell him, shaking his hand. He looks at me, and then at Shay. I just shake my head, not interested in explaining her or the look on her face to anyone.
She’s wearing shredded jeans, more holes than fucking material, and some cut-off sweatshirt that says Dirty Hippie across her chest. I have to fight a laugh, because her shirt says it all. Her hair is in a messy, tangled braid, and she has a pair of giant rimmed sunglasses nestled in the mess. But fuck, she’s beautiful. Looking out of place and right at home at the same time.
“God dammit. Shay, will you fucking look at me? Answer me?”
Her head snaps up and she blinks slowly. There’s a moment she says nothing, pulling it together, until she asks, “Can I have the key to Custom?” with her hand out. The glazed look in her eyes melts away into something a little less like a sex starved woman.
“Hey, Shay,” I chuckle, hopping down from the ring, making her back up and away from me a few steps.
She purses her lips and rolls her eyes. “Hey, Niko. Can I please have the key to Custom? I’d like to paint today, and your brother’s out of town.”
Dragging the towel down my face, I wipe away the sweat. “He’s in Portland.”
“I know.”
“Then why you here?” I ask, giving her a hard time.
“For the keys to the bar.”
“You mean, the keys to Custom?” Sitting down on a bench against the back wall, I watch her.
She’s still staring at me, and if I didn’t know any better, I might think the woman wants me to fuck her. Bend her over the mat, tear off those beat-up jeans and fuck her sideways.
“The keys to whatever. I’d just like to paint. I really don’t care how I get into the building, I’d just like to get in.”
