by Ann Grech
Copyright © Ann Grech 2015
All rights reserved.
The author asserts her moral rights in this work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organisations, trademarks and incidents are either entirely fictional or, if they are real, are used in a fictional sense. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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With her fine arts degree achieved, Chloe Hollyoak begins her dream job in her hometown as a tattoo apprentice. Life is sweet, until the unimaginable happens, leaving Chloe and her two sisters alone and devastated.
In her loss, life spirals out of control, made even worse when she’s then pursued by Blade, a biker intent on owning Chloe. Running scared and with nowhere to turn, Timmy, the tall, dark and freaking perfect stranger rescues her.
Protective, possessive and dominant, Timmy tries to resist the much younger Chloe. But Timmy is fighting his own demons.
Can they navigate their way through the storm to find calm waters, or will past secrets, Blade or Timmy’s own insecurities destroy their chances?
Author’s note: Ink’d is part one of a three part series. Each book may be read as a standalone and in any order, however, to get the most out of the series it is best to read it in order. Please note that certain themes cross all three books and are not resolved until later books in the series.
I have so many people to thank for their help with this story. My biggest thank you goes to my boys for putting up with well… me in grumpy writer mode. Translate that to late dinners, housework not being done and me operating on a lack of sleep. Your unwavering encouragement means the world to me. I love you more than words can express.
Thank you to my amazing critique partner Kariss Stone and Sassie Lewis, my beta reader. Your input has made this story amazing and I love you both for it. Thank you for your time, suggestions and for making me laugh when I wanted to cry.
Willsin Rowe, you managed to turn my garbled ideas for a cover into an amazing design that was so much better than I pictured. You truly are a gem. Thank you so much.
Becky Johnson from Hot Tree Editing - love you babe, you rock! Your comments had me laughing my ass off and you’re an editing genius. Thank you.
Maci Dillon, you’re beautiful inside and out and I adore you. Thank you for all the pimping. Fingers crossed on this one xx
Layla Wolfe, thank you for your guidance and encouragement on self-publishing. For a newbie like me, your advice is priceless.
Tim Ebbles, you made my art more beautiful than I could have imagined. You asked for a character to be named after you, so here he is. I hope you love this story as much as I do.
And finally, to you my readers I can’t put into words the kick that I get when one of you posts a review saying that you enjoyed one of my books. Thank you for your support, for the time you take to post reviews and for holding your arms out wide to accept and help another book lover achieve her childhood dream.
Now seriously, I need to stop rambling… enjoy!
Ann xx
Chloe Hollyoak waved goodbye to her childhood friend, Joanne, as she began the fifteen-minute walk to her new home. She and Jo had just reconnected after not having spoken for years. Now that Chloe was back living in Rock Springs, a town built alongside its namesake, and a tributary of the Sacramento River, she was looking forward to getting in touch with all her old school friends. Chloe had grown up in the little village with her two older sisters, Claire and Cleo, and their parents. They’d all moved to Santa Rosa when Chloe was in grade school so her parents could run a pharmacy in one of the nearby malls. Now they were back. Three months in and they were happily settling into their new life.
She dialed Tristan, returning his earlier call and grinned when he picked up, faking a hideously posh accent. “Daaaarling, how are you?”
“I’m good, T,” Chloe replied. Tristan, without a doubt her bestie from college, was tall and gorgeous in a preppy kind of way. He shared all of her interests in art, music, food and movies. The fifteen-year age gap between them had never been an issue. From their first day studying fine art together at Berkley, they’d just clicked.
“Guess what I did today?” Chloe asked.
“Plowed a field? Cut some lumber? I don’t know. What do you do out in the boondocks?”
“Shut up. I live in a little town, not out in the middle of nowhere. You’d love it if you bothered to drive that piece-of-crap car you own out here. Anyway, I went horse riding. I have a whole sketchpad of flowers, butterflies, a few beetles, and a tree snake wrapped around a gnarly branch, fish, and a really cool arrow head that Jo and I found.”
“Email me copies. Might even choose one of the manly looking one’s for you to tattoo on me.”
“As if you’d let me near you with a needle.” She laughed. “And anyway, I don’t think my new boss will let me near a tattoo machine for a few months yet.”
“When do you start?”
“Couple of days. I had coffee with Rake yesterday. He’s great. He showed me some more of him and his partner’s work that isn’t online yet. It’s absolutely amazing. I can’t wait to start working for him.”
They continued their conversation as Chloe walked home, hanging up only as she rounded the corner onto her street. It was a mild evening, the afternoon spring-time sun warming her back as she walked past her neighbors’ houses. She had a family dinner to look forward to. Claire, her eldest sister was coming over to visit after she finished her shift at the hospital in nearby Crystal Springs, and her momma was making her favorite – chicken fried steak and mash. Chloe’s stomach rumbled as she thought about the supper waiting for her.
She’d enjoyed her day with Jo riding around the local fields and the springs. They’d had a picnic lunch and laid down amongst the wildflowers during the heat of the day, relaxing in the dappled sunlight that filtered in through the dense canopy of the old trees in the meadow. Jo had pulled out her book and Chloe her sketchpad and they’d unwound for a few hours while watering the horses before heading back. Chloe realized how much she’d missed living in the little town when they were galloping through the countryside surrounding Rock Springs. It was picturesque, and on top of the beauty of the area, she loved the people. Everyone in the town was so friendly. The Hollyoaks were welcomed back as if they’d never left.
Warmth filled Chloe when she’d walked down Main Street that first time a few months earlier. The baker had greeted her, remembering her childhood preference for vanilla cupcakes with lemon icing and pink sprinkles. When he found out they were still Chloe’s favorite, he’d started making them again especially for her. Carol from the diner also r
emembered Chloe and her sisters and had planted four chocolate shakes on the table when they’d met their momma on a girls’ luncheon like they’d done every Sunday as kids. It was nice knowing the people around her – safe, despite the increase in leather-clad bikers who seemed to pass through the town quite often. Chloe learned they had taken up there nearly eight years ago when they’d leased a clubhouse in the industrial area a few miles east of Rock Springs. They were often found at Twin Jesters, a bar on the opposite side of town which didn’t have the most flattering of reputations.
The community feel in Rock Springs and the new opportunities that presented themselves to Chloe’s family gave them hope when they were all in need of some. The fact that they’d settled back in so easily only made the transition smoother. Well, that and Mrs. Catter’s peach cobbler! The lovely old lady was one of Claire’s grade school teachers and now lived two houses down. Chloe, Cleo and their daddy had devoured the pie in one sitting with a pint of ice cream.
Chloe waved to Mr. Catter who was sitting on the rocking chair on his front porch as she passed him on her way home. She could almost taste dinner already. She was starving even though it was still only late afternoon. Chloe watched with a smile on her face when two more people, whom she guessed were her neighbors, slowed down their Harleys to wave to her daddy as they rode down the street. Chloe didn’t know who they were, but to be friendly she raised her hand in greeting anyway. Their speed dropped off even more. People usually wanted to get home to their families and start dinner at this time, but apparently, not in this town.
She stepped over her father’s work-in-progress garden heading toward the front steps just as her daddy dropped the wrench he was holding. He had been bent over the gas bottles on the side of the house but stood and started to run toward the front door.
In a slow motion horror movie-like scene, he screamed to Chloe, “Get down,” as a hail of bullets tore into his body, spraying his blood like a geyser. Bullets ricocheted into the house from the automatic weapons that were pointed at them as her daddy’s dying screams and momma’s scared cries rent the air. Air whooshed out of Chloe’s body as strong arms wrapped around her and she slammed face first against the ground. An immovable weight pinned her down as heat tore over her. Her screams for her momma to get clear of the hail of bullets were drowned by the sounds of the explosion incinerating her family home. She hadn’t seen her momma. Was she inside? The old house started to collapse in on itself; the sounds of shattering glass, splintering timber boards and fire licking through their home mingled with the squealing of tires and roars of bike engines. The loud sirens she heard scarcely minutes later barely pierced through the ringing in Chloe’s ears, which was in no way muffled by her face being pressed between the firm body and the hard ground.
Chloe struggled underneath the weight that pinned her down until it shifted. She turned her head and watched as the man who had tackled her to the ground rolled off and doused the embers that embedded themselves in the denim of his jeans and his soft cotton t-shirt. A beast-like dog tentatively sniffed his clothing before licking his master’s hand until he lifted it, petting it on the head in a small gesture of comfort.
The sirens stopped only a few feet away as the man sat up and ran his hands quickly over Chloe’s clothes, brushing away the stray leaves and one or two embers burning holes into the material. He effortlessly hauled her into his arms and carried her over to the shelter of a tree in the neighbor’s yard before smoothing her tangled hair away from her face. All the while his lips moved, yet Chloe heard nothing above the din of noise emanating from what was left of her home. Stunned into silence, she sat unmoving in his embrace as he wiped the tears tracking down her cheeks. He held her close, rocking gently as more sirens sounded and her sister, Cleo’s, screams penetrated her psyche.
When Chloe tried to move toward her sister, the thickly muscled arms banding around her closed tighter. “No, stay, it’s not safe.”
Detached from the reality of the situation, Chloe watched as chaos ensued; firefighters hosing down the flames licking at the building as another few carried axes into it, and yet another crouched on the ground hovering over a motionless form. It was too close to where Chloe last saw her father standing before the explosion, but her mind rebelled, refusing to accept that it was her daddy lying dead under the white sheet. Chloe observed with a shocked calmness as the fireman spoke with another man who seemed to be coordinating the battle against the fire. Cleo screamed louder, crumpling to the ground as the same firefighter rushed over to her. It was like watching an action flick on the big screen. Everyone played their roles, the heroes were obvious: the firefighters, the police, the man holding her in his arms and the dog guarding them, standing on his haunches and growling as another man approached them.
The ringing in Chloe’s ears lessened enough that she could hear a muffled, “Mo, down,” growled at the dog. Instantly, the beast sat, the raised hairs along his back still standing high.
Flashing his badge, the man identified himself. “My name’s Sheriff Colin Peterson. Did you witness what happened here?”
“Yes, we both did. The lady’s a bit shocked and my ears are ringing so I can’t really hear anything, but I can give a statement once the paramedics have checked her out.”
“Okay, stay close. We’ll need you to accompany us to the station. What are your names?”
“I’m Timmy D’Aristotle. What’s your name, pretty girl?”
Chloe knew the man was talking to her, could see his lips moving as his hand cupped her chin, getting her to focus on his face. His words were starting to penetrate the fog, but neither her body nor her mind would cooperate. She couldn’t form the words that she needed to speak.
“It’s okay, take your time. I won’t leave you,” Timmy murmured against her temple as he gently brushed his lips against her face. After what seemed like an age, she managed to rasp out, “Chloe. I’m Chloe.”
“Good girl. Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly, wincing at the pain zinging through her skull from the fireworks display going off behind her eyelids.
When a second ambulance arrived, Timmy carried Chloe over to it. Cleo had apparently been taken to the hospital by the first paramedics. She didn’t see her middle sister being wheeled into the ambulance, but Timmy assured her that one of the firefighters had helped her into it. Reluctantly, Chloe let her savior go and laid down on the gurney as he kissed her forehead once more and whispered, “Take care, pretty girl. Stay strong.”
* * * *
Chloe sat in the emergency room hospital bed. Barely talking and completely numb, she waited for her eldest sister, Claire, to finish signing some paperwork so she could drive the three of them to her house. Her middle sister faced away from Chloe, quietly looking out of the window as she laid on the bed next to her. The sedatives had calmed Cleo from a hysterical state earlier, but she wasn’t asleep yet. Hopefully, she stayed awake long enough to get her home.
A doctor visited a few minutes earlier checking all Chloe’s vitals while she replayed the scene at their house over in her mind’s eye. She’d watched her daddy get shot, and as far as she knew, her momma was inside when the house had exploded. No one could tell her anything, but she knew in her heart of hearts that both her parents had died a few hours earlier.
They were dead yet she couldn’t cry.
Chloe’s ears rang and she shook, the tremor in her hands distracting her from the gaping chasm that had just been ripped into her heart. They were dead. How would the sisters make it through intact? Their momma was the glue that had held their family together throughout the tough times they’d experienced. But now… now it was just the three of them.
Once discharged from hospital a few hours later, Chloe was still reeling; her brain still trying to come to terms with the nightmare that her reality had turned into. Her bed was calling, well, her sister’s spare bed, but it wasn’t going to happen yet. Sheriff Peterson had summoned them do
wn to the police station to answer whatever questions they could. But any information that she, Cleo and Claire could give was limited at best. Her family lived boring lives. Her parents were good people; they worked hard, and loved their girls. Her momma had the odd glass of red wine and her daddy liked a cigar at Thanksgiving, but that was the extent of crazy in their family. Her parents didn’t have enemies; they were given Christmas cards each year from their regular customers and suppliers when they’d operated their pharmacy. Her parents even took baked goods as payment from some of their less fortunate clients. The only explanation any of them could give was that it was a case of mistaken identity with the people who used to live there. Could the previous tenants have gotten them into this trouble?
When Sheriff Peterson asked her about the explosion, she was clueless. But Chloe told the sheriff and his uniformed deputy everything she could about the only oddity she recalled since moving in: the bad smell in the house. Chloe had no idea how that could relate to the explosion though. Her daddy had explained that the smell came from the remodeling of the basement. Of course, she had never seen the progress he made. They were waiting until it was finished before her daddy did the big reveal. The landlord had readily agreed to let her daddy change it into another useable room, but the combination of waterproofing, paint and glue smelled terrible, so Chloe was happy to wait out the renovations to see the finished room. Certainly, the materials she’d worked with as an art student at Berkley had some horrid fumes, but it was even worse on a larger scale and in a windowless room.
Chloe didn’t feel so inadequate when Cleo and Claire had no idea about the explosion either and were able to add even less than she did. The three sisters had been mulling over what they knew, and answering questions wherever they could as they sat in the interview room in the Crystal Springs Sheriff’s Station. Sheriff Peterson’s questions were efficient and emotionally detached. Chloe shared that emotional detachment. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, observing the conversation from above at the same time as breaking out in a cold sweat. Her eyes wandered around the room noticing that the boardroom table dominated the room and the walls were painted a warm cream instead of white, pictures of landscapes decorating the walls instead of two-way mirrors like they showed in the movies. As her eyes travelled the space, listening intently to the conversation, Chloe studied her sisters. Cleo looked dazed, but perhaps that was the sedatives, and Claire was barely holding it together. She hadn’t stopped crying.
