Tattoo Lust: A Tattoo Romance Collection
Page 50
“For your sake or hers?”
The cup clinks on the table as I lose my focus and nearly drop it when he says this.
“Whatever gets her home.”
Bonus Chapter Two
One year, six days, four hours and nine minutes
Holy shit, there she is.
I can’t believe Noah actually fucking found her.
I’d given up hope; a year has gone by, and I knew life was punishing me by keeping her hidden from me. Now, here she is: wafting around an upper-middle class suburban backyard with four too many flutes of champagne swimming around her veins.
She’s still as gorgeous as the last time I saw her.
I want to call out her name, but she won’t answer to it. Noah found out the truth, and Lacey has no fucking idea who she is or where she’s from. She doesn’t remember her fucked-up life, and she doesn’t remember what I did.
Look at her. She makes me fucking smile, and I’m sure I look like the biggest fucking creep here. That includes the guy with the buzzed head that’s hitting on her. Fuck that guy; I’ll pulverize him if he touches her in any way other than a nice one. How can I bump into her without freaking her out?
Shit. There’s Caitlyn. I fucking remember her, though we’ve only met once.
***
“Who the fuck are you?”
“You don’t know me.” The girl with the bleached hair stands at my doorstep. “My name is Caitlyn. I just wanted to tell you that Lacey is safe and we’re moving her tomorrow.”
I haven’t fucking slept in weeks. Is this girl even real? I reach out and poke her shoulder, and she looks surprised and scared. Her body is solid, and she sways backward a little, bouncing right back to her position only a few feet in front of me.
“Where the fuck is she?” My voice vibrates in my throat. I grab the girl’s arm, and she squeals, looking around the darkness for help. “Tell me where you took her.”
“I didn’t take her anywhere, please…it’s for her own good right now…”
Half of me wants to pull the girl inside and lock her away to exchange her for Lacey. I know I can’t do that without repercussions, and I’ve already become the biggest fucking monster I’ve ever been. Reality sets into my bones, and I fall to my knees, hugging the girl’s legs and pleading with her.
“Please bring her back to me…I need her…she’s everything…”
The girl pats my head and cries with me. “I’m so sorry, Jake. I shouldn’t even be here. I heard my mom talking to my grandpa about Lacey and how much you mean to her…I don’t know where we’re going, but I just wanted you to know she’s safe.”
“Is she okay?” I look up at her and see Lacey in her face a little.
“She’s with family. She’s fine. She’s having headaches a lot and can’t remember who she is or anyone around her. I asked her about you today, and she had no idea who you were.”
I want to fucking die.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Did you get the note I left you? The one explaining where she was?”
My legs allow me to stand; even though I’m much taller than her, I feel so fucking small. “I got it. I read it. I didn’t fucking like it.”
“I just wanted you to understand we’re not doing this to hurt you—we’re doing it to save her. She needs to be in a place where she can heal, and she can’t do that here.”
A car pulls up and honks the horn. “That’s my friend. He’s giving me a ride back to the hospital.” The girl puts her hand on my cheek and frowns. “You need to move on, Jake. I don’t know when, or if, she’ll be back. I know it hurts…” She looks back at the car and wipes a tear from her eye. “She’s not the only one leaving someone she loves behind. My life’s been uprooted too.”
“Then don’t do this,” I plead. “Don’t take her. Stay here with her and help her.”
“I can’t.” She shakes her head and takes a few steps backward. The man steps out of the car and crosses his arms over his chest—in a defensive stance in case she needs help.
That sorry fucking bastard.
He’s losing someone he loves, too.
“Just promise me one thing.”
I shake my head. “I can’t make any promises to someone who’s taking the very reason I fucking breathe from me.”
She sighs. “Don’t come looking for her, Jake. Don’t confuse her any more than she already is. All you’ll do is hurt her more, and if you do that, she may never recover.”
“You expect me to just…let her go?”
The girl looks into my eyes and nods. She backs away and joins the man in the car, and he speeds off, leaving me a broken fucking mess on my doorstep.
***
I can’t fucking let her see me. If Caitlyn sees me, it’s all over. She’ll pull Lacey from me and disappear with her again; I just found her after an entire year of searching.
One year, six days, four hours and nine minutes, actually.
Lacey looks disturbed by the buzzed-headed guy talking to her. I laugh to myself because even though she doesn’t remember me or what she felt for me…this guy doesn’t stand a fucking chance. It was one of the things I hated most about being in public with her…the countless number of eyes following her wherever she would go. She’s gorgeous—anyone can see that—but now she’s looks different, yet the same. I wonder why they didn’t change her looks when they changed her name?
Her long, dark hair is pinned up the best it can be; it’s so thick that she’s always had trouble keeping it up and out of her face. I never minded, though; I like brushing it back behind her ears.
Did he just fucking push her?
I put my bottle of craft beer on a table as I walk calmly to the guy who’s now joking around with his buddies and talking about Lacey. They pat him on the back and motivate him to touch her in ways that only I should be fucking touching her.
“Got a problem?” the buzzed-headed guy snickers.
A smart-ass smirk forms on my lips. “Yeah, I do. See that girl over there?” My head bobs towards Lacey, who’s taking two more champagne flutes from a waiter’s tray and guzzling them down.
“Olivia? Yeah, what’s it to you?”
My hand wraps around his wrist, and I squeeze so hard his eyes bug from his skull. None of his pansy-ass friends help him as he writhes beneath the pain I’m inflicting purposely on his skin. “Leave her the fuck alone, you hear me? She doesn’t want you—don’t fucking talk to her like that again.”
The buzzed-headed guy laughs. “I’ll do what I fucking please. Now let go of me or you won’t like what happens to you.”
I pull the guy until he’s inches from my face; the fear in his eyes brightens, and his friends disperse around the backyard, not wanting any part of this confrontation. “You definitely won’t like what happens to you if you don’t leave her alone. Take this as your first and only warning, jackass.”
I release him a little too hard, and he falls into the bushes like he tried to do to Lacey before. He sputters as I walk away, threatening me and causing a scene, but I’m already inside the house looking for where she’s run off to.
“Jake!” a man’s voice booms in my direction. “Nice of you to make it, son!”
Stan Burrows—the man I invested money with so I could attend this party—motions me over to his group to introduce me. I make nice and shake hands and let the others get bored of the shiny new guy before averting my attention to Caitlyn and Lacey as they have a small argument in the foyer. Caitlyn leaves her and returns to her own group of friends, leaving Lacey alone with another glass of champagne. She teeters a bit once she’s outside, and the dress she’s wearing—that tight little black dress that makes my fucking mouth water because I know what’s underneath—slides up her thighs as she falls down in to the grass with her head in her hands.
This is my chance.
I’ll walk up to her, and if she doesn’t know me, I’ll put on the charm and win her over.
The only way this
is going to work is if I make her fall in love with me again.
How did I do it the first time?
Several old men are staring at her from the bottom of the lawn; they nudge each other and point at her slightly open legs. I snarl at them and rush to her side, ready to defend her.
I stand in silence, inches from the person I love most in the world, and she doesn’t have a clue who I am or why I’m hovering over her.
She needs me, though. She needs me to wipe the sadness away from her heart.
I need her to come home.
Taking a deep breath, I sort out what I’m going to say to her, but the way she sways lets me know that all that champagne has gone to her head and she’s drunk. She always has been a lightweight.
Speak, Jake! Talk to her! Don’t let her go away!
I clear my throat softly and take a deep breath.
Here goes nothing…
About the Author
I live in Kansas City with my husband and our son, Ryker. I have been writing for over a decade, I started out writing songs and music and then realized that those stories were too short for the tales I wanted to tell, so I switched to writing books and articles, which then blossomed into writing contemporary romance and fantasy novels. I am in indecisive person at heart, I love coffee more than a Gilmore girl and my most favorite time to write and create is during a rainstorm (with coffee!).
I love hearing from those who read my stories, I love to hear how much people relate to each character and how they are rooting for their favorites to succeed! I don’t only create stories, I create entirely new worlds and people that come to life
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Tattoo Killer
By A.J. Norris
CHAPTER ONE
Mikey
Why is this happening?
The question was the only thing Mikey could think about as the metal door of the Webster City lock-up cell slammed shut and closed him inside. The arrest surprised him. He had a clean record apart from the drunk driving conviction from five years ago. Murder though? Not him. So not him. Sure, he had tattoos, but come on.
He looked around the holding cell. The walls, ceiling, and floor were painted a pale institutional green. A stainless steel toilet and sink combo was mounted to the cinderblock wall out in plain sight. Good thing he didn't need to take a dump. He sat down on the built-in bench and thought about how best to use the phone which was mounted on the wall opposite the toilet. Unfortunately, he couldn’t place a call his parents, not unless the thing had a direct line to heaven.
Lying back on the bench, he ran his hands through his hair, leaving it spiked down the middle. His shoulders and wrists ached from having been cuffed for hours.
A deputy cleared his throat outside his cell. Mikey flipped his eyelids open. Two other officers flanked him. He dropped his legs over the side of the bench and planted his feet on the floor.
“Hardin, ah…Mikey?” the deputy in the middle said.
“Yeah. That's me,” Mikey said. Who else could it be? He was the only one in the cell. He stood and puffed his chest, ready to defend his name. Most people couldn't believe that was his actual first name. And at six foot four, not many had the nerve to question why a grown man would go by a child's nickname. Growing up, he'd been teased, and constantly asked if he liked things. Any things, not only cereal.
“'Kay, you know the drill,” the deputy said.
“Um, what drill?”
“Listen, asshole, stick your hands through the slot in the door, so I can cuff you.”
Mikey couldn't understand why this guy assumed he'd done what he was accused of, and further to the point, clearly he'd not read his non-violent criminal record. He put his hands through the space in the door not much bigger than a mail slot. The deputy cranked the cuffs around his wrists. Mikey winced and stepped backward. The door swung wide with a grating squeal.
“Hands,” the guard barked at him. Mikey thrust his hands toward the deputy who un-cuffed one of Mikey’s hands, spun him around by the arm, and hooked his hands behind his back. The officers led him out of the cell.
“Where are you taking me?” Mikey asked.
“For some reason, Detective Hunter wants a word with you. Let's go.”
“I already made my statement. What's he want?”
“How should I know?” The vocal deputy deposited him in a chair and locked him inside an interrogation room at the end of a hallway.
Mikey looked at his reflection in the two-way mirror and rolled his bloodshot eyes. Was someone lurking on the other side? He tapped his toes on the floor. His shoes had been removed and replaced with orange booties not much thicker than paper. He put his forehead down on the table in front of him. After what felt like hours, the door opened and someone in an ill-fitting suit carrying two cups of coffee and a folder under his arm walked in and stood opposite him.
“Mr. Hardin, I’m detective Hunter,” Cheap Suit said, placing the steaming paper cups on the table. He slapped the thin brown folder down. The man’s hair was grayed at the temples. He took a sip of the coffee on the right. His eyes rose to Mikey’s. “Your record’s clean. Mostly.” The detective smirked on the last word.
“I know. So?” Mikey asked, sitting up straighter.
Hunter narrowed his eyes at Mikey and took a sip of coffee, this time from the cup on the left. “So you indicated that you knew the victim, Felicia Potts, but only went on a few dates. Banged her, once.”
“Yeah, that's right,” Mikey said, looking the detective in the eye. He had a nagging feeling he knew the guy from somewhere.
“Why?” the detective asked, folding his arms over his chest.
“Why what? You mean why did I bang her or why did I only go out with her a few times?”
“Both.” Hunter picked up one of the cups.
“Decided I didn't like her. Not my type. But that doesn't prove I killed her. Hey listen, if we're going to be here a while, can you at least cuff my hands in front of me? My shoulders are killing me.”
Hunter chuckled without humor. “You’re something else.”
“Do you know me?” When the detective didn't respond Mikey sighed. He rolled a shoulder and muttered, “Shoulders are really killing me.”
“Sorry to hear that.” The detective leaned his hands on the table and grinned.
Mikey breathed deeply. The cuffs clanked against the metal chair. Detective Hunter opened the folder and spread some pictures out on the table. One glance and Mikey averted his eyes.
“Bothers you?”
“Yeah. What the fuck is that?” He turned his head back to look at the detective and immediately regretted it.
Hunter was holding one of the photos up. “That is the victim after we pulled her out of the lake.”
“Jesus. How long had she been in there?” He coughed and swallowed rising bile.
“Three, maybe four days. Some kids on a fishing trip with their ol’ man spotted her floating near the shore of Lake Webster.” Hunter sifted through the photos and picked up another. “This was taken where the body was found and this,” he held up a picture taken with the victim lying on an autopsy table, “is what her parents get to bury.”
Mikey needed to get out of this room. The images nauseated him. His stomach churned. “Can you put those away?” He swallowed hard again. “I can't stand seeing them.”
Hunter looked up at him with an inquisitive brow raised. “Wouldn't've pegged you for a weak stomach.”
“Well, you were wrong. And it's not just the pictures, it's the thought someone would've done that to her. How did she die anyway?” Maybe this was an obvious
question. He looked down at the table, focusing on a scratch in the metal.
The detective inhaled and let the breath out slowly. “Hmm.” He sipped his coffee, alternating between the cups.
“What?” Mikey said.
“You don't read the papers? Watch T.V.?”
Mikey shook his head.
“No?”
“Nope. Surprised?” Mikey asked.
The detective put the photos away. “Blow to the back of the head. Likely while she was in the water, considering she had on a swimsuit.”
Mikey wondered why no one had seen anything during the murder but didn’t ask. He wanted to get the hell out of there, not take up residency.
Cheap Suit cleared his throat. “I'll tell you what, you sit tight and—”
Mikey snorted. “Where am I going to go?” He splayed his hands behind his back as much as he could with his wrists shackled.
“Humph. Funny guy.”
***
Three hours passed before Mikey was released with neither an apology, nor an explanation as to how they had gotten his name in the first place. Although he knew it had been his ex-wife Cynthia. That crazy woman needed to get a life. He literally had only been on three dates with the murdered girl, hardly knew her.
Mikey called a cab service for a ride home; he'd get his car later. His jaw dropped when he walked inside the house. He was shocked but not surprised his place had been turned over. He'd given permission for the cops to search his place. Probably a bone- headed move without consulting a lawyer first.
He stepped over the living room couch cushions on the way to the kitchen. His place was a small ranch with the kitchen situated in the back of the house. He swore under his breath at the state of the cabinets and their contents, which were spilled all over the table and onto the tiled floor. He picked up one the drawers off the floor. A crack ran along several tiles. The new tile had been laid only last week. He guessed he knew what he would be doing next weekend.