by Lindsey Hart
“You’ve had it lasered.” It wasn’t a question. Luna could tell from the fading that he’d probably endured a couple blistering sessions. Ouch. She felt for him. The removal generally hurt far more than getting inked in the first place.
Luna should have known better. She should have stopped her trembling hand from reaching out, but her body reacted on a base level, without thought. Her index finger traced one particularly long, ragged scar right below his shoulder blade. A tremor ripped through her hand and it took Luna a second to realize it wasn’t her body’s reaction, but his. He uttered a shaky, raw breath and she had the feeling it took all his willpower not to move.
“Feeling up your client is part of the job?” The man growled. He whirled, the look on his face so sinister and angry that Luna quickly jerked away. Her hand burned and a vibrant, nearly painful electrical sensation buzzed up her arm. She couldn’t even pretend that her breathing was anything short of erratic.
This man fairly exuded danger. Worse, and far more damaging, the air was heady with a primal sexual aura that was completely raw, undeniable and far more captivating than it should have been.
“It is when I have to tattoo over it.” She stood her ground, trying to draw air into her burning lungs on a shaky inhale. “How many laser sessions?” God, if she was him she’d want that tattoo covered up too.
“Three. They said it’s never going to be lighter than it is now. I need it covered up.”
“And the scars?”
“What about them? I assume you can tattoo over them?”
“I suppose I could. Yes. It might not be pretty, but I can do it.”
The blackness in those icy blue eyes stopped Luna’s heart mid-beat. “They said you were the best. Anyone I talked to and I’ve done my research. I’ve seen your work. Will you take me or not?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no. She knew she shouldn’t get involved with this guy. In any capacity. The fact that her body was already heating painfully and her heart beating out a hard, double time rhythm didn’t bode well. Apparently, her body and brain weren’t on the same page. Her brain told her to stay the hell away, but her body said a big fuck you to that logic.
“Yes. I can do it.” She winced. I’m going to get exactly what’s coming to me.
“When?” His eyes searched hers, locking, green meeting blue like hot and cold air clashing.
What’s the darn hurry? She’d wager her last months’ salary that all that ink had been with this guy for a long time, probably at least a decade. “Probably six months wait at least.”
“I can’t. I can’t wait that long.” His voice held that strange, wild edge, the tone that indicated he was close to coming undone. “You don’t have anything sooner? I’ll pay double. Off the books.”
“Make it triple,” Luna blurted, as usual her tongue skipping ahead of her brain.
“Triple it is.” The man reached down, grabbed up his shirt in a fantastic display of rippling muscle. He shrugged it on in a movement far too agile for someone so big.
Whoever said the male form isn’t art was a moron. Luna tried not to stare at his chest but he gave her a few seconds worth of the glorious display before his fingers, suddenly far too nimble, closed up his shirt. The image of his godlike chest was burned into her brain. Crisp, blonde hair smattered over pectorals so hard you could probably crack a beer open in the valley between them. Abs so defined he could have been a poster child for fitness equipment. And scars. Jesus, the scars. They crisscrossed the golden skin that could have been utter perfection.
What kind of life had he known? Luna was familiar with scars. She’d tattooed quite a few. She knew from experience that some of those jagged lines were at least a couple decades old.
Why did the guy insist on looking so clean cut on the outside? Anyone who looked twice could tell that he wasn’t who he said he was. No amount of pressed clothing or expensive, Italian leather shoes could soften those eyes of his. Eyes that had seen far too much of life.
“Tomorrow then?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“We start tomorrow?”
Nothing like getting right down to business. It was utterly shameful but Luna found that she wanted to see more of his chest, more of that gorgeous broad back and that marred skin. Fuck, she didn’t want it, she craved it. Say no. Say no and run. This guy is just another Jordan. Worse. He’s far more dangerous. Overriding all her good sense, was her unabashed desire to put her mark on his skin. To cover – no. To fix his back.
“Yah. Tomorrow. Send me your ideas tonight, to my email and I’ll draw you something in the morning. The shop closes at seven. Come by then. To the back door.”
He nodded sharply and disappeared, nearly frantic, like someone drowning who sensed the surface was close.
Luna sat down slowly on that bench where she’d tattooed so many people. Where she would tattoo him. It wasn’t only fucked up that she wanted to see him again, it was worse that over twenty-four hours seemed too long to wait. Her fingers itched to touch him, to caress that heated skin again.
The worst part of it all was that she realized the next time she felt that skin she was going to be wearing gloves. It felt like a monumental loss, not to be able to touch him. A man who at this point, didn’t even have a name.
CHAPTER 3
Jack knew he was in real trouble. He hit his club, stalked into his office and slammed his booted feet up on the huge oak desk. The thing was ancient and battle scarred. He’d found it at an antique place, but he liked that. None of that new, fancy shit for him. No, he preferred something that had a story to something that was totally soulless.
That woman. Her face swam through his mind, an endless sea of little pictures and snippets, like a projector on repeat or a video feed on endless playback. Luna James.
She wasn’t the typical kind of pretty. Maybe that’s why he thought she was. Long, pink hair that couldn’t possibly be all hers. It hung nearly to her waist, thick and lush despite its rather too vibrant colour. Huge green eyes, thick, full lips. High cheekbones. Her dainty nose was pierced and had a black hoop through the one nostril. When she had leaned over the counter just at the right angle, her hair fell away, revealing those strange round stretchers in her earlobes. They weren’t overkill but Jack still didn’t understand why anyone would do that. Hers were probably only an inch, not more. Somehow, they suited her.
It was her tattoos that held him captivated. He’d never seen so many on a woman before, at least in person. Both her arms were covered. He hadn’t wanted to stare so he couldn’t even recall what exactly they were. I damn well want to though. It was that thought that was most disturbing of all.
Because, in all of his thirty years on this planet, Jack had never wanted to find out about another person. At least not a woman. Not someone who wasn’t his enemy.
An unfamiliar prickle crawled up the back of his neck. He shivered at the same time his gut tightened. That beautiful face swam through his mind again.
Luna. He was damn sure that was not her real name. Just like his name was not Jack at all, but Alexander Fehr. He’d earned his name Jack when he was eleven and walking the streets. Bouncing from foster home to foster home didn’t leave a lot of room for finding love. He took it where he could, a place to belong. That’s what the gang was to him. They didn’t even have a name but he knew what those fucked up kids were. Brothers. They gave him the name Jack because he was so damn good at jacking things. Mostly cars.
He never imagined how stealing the only car that ever got him busted could change his life. That time spent in juvie turned out to be the biggest blessing. He’d met Alan there and because of Alan, he now had all this. This club. Money in the bank. A sense of security he’d never had growing up.
That prickle under Jack’s skin told him there was still something missing. Thankfully he didn’t have time to think about it because his head of security, Benny, a man who looked like the proverbial brick shithouse, opened Jack’s heavy office door
and peeked around it like a kid caught stealing cookies or something.
“Come in, I suppose,” Jack said dryly. Benny didn’t understand that knocking existed so there was no point in telling him to rap on the door next time.
With a grunt, Benny stepped inside. His massive form, nearly seven feet tall and probably as broad, took up most of the office. The man also didn’t believe in mincing words. Hell, he didn’t believe in words period. He swiftly, deftly for a man so large, placed a single sheet of paper on Jack’s desk.
Jack stared hard at the face on the sheet. Lion. What a stupid name. Jack had never found out what the guy’s real name was. Lion had to be at around thirty-five by now. The guy was at least five years older than Jack when they were teens. The last time he’d seen him had been the night he was hit over the head and everything went black. He’d woken, hours? days? later. His head hadn’t hurt nearly as badly as his back did.
When he’d seen what his brothers had done to him, taking him somewhere to get that sick fucking tattoo with every single member represented there, he’d puked. And not because of the pain in his head.
“We saw him walking around the club shortly after eight. He did one lap and left.”
“He wasn’t intercepted?”
“No. He doesn’t know he was being watched.”
Jack nodded slowly. He didn’t touch the paper, as though the black and white mug shot could become real at any moment. I doubt very much that Lion didn’t know what he was doing. He knew he was under surveillance.
“That all boss? You just said to notify you and take no action.”
Jack slid his feet off the desk. He nodded again, slowly. Benny scooped that offending poster off the desk and it was only then that Jack felt his lungs decompress, like he could actually breathe again.
When Benny was gone and his door was shut tightly again, Jack took a breath. He folded his hands together and rested his head in them for a moment. His elbows bit into the desk’s hard wood surface.
Faces swam through his memory. More photos and video reel he could never quite banish. Lion. Reaper. Wolf. Jack. A big happy family of four, doing what they could to survive. Until he’d been busted and Alan had given him a lifeline and that was the end of his family. A family he’d sworn a blood oath to never leave. They never let him forget. They left him alone, until now.
Now, thirteen years later, Lion decided to pop his nasty mug up in Jack’s club. He had no doubt that Lion knew exactly what territory he was stepping into. The question was why? To do battle?
Jack wasn’t afraid. Those fucked up pictures on his back would only be there for another day. It might always be in his skin but he would be damned if he was going to have to look at it for another minute longer. Reaper, Lion, Wolf… they would always be a part of him because they were his past. Just like the scars living on the street had put on his body. The other half came compliments of his drunk foster ‘dad’. He was the kind of man who staggered home pissed drunk and real mean on a Friday night but still went to church on a Sunday morning.
Those kids they used to be, Reaper, Wolf, Lion, they were Jack’s past. They were not his future. That’s what Alan always told Jack. He wanted to believe that.
I always knew it wasn’t true. He’d waited. Expected it. All these years, he knew that they would surface, at least one of them. Of course it had to be Lion. Jack just wanted to know why. He knew that all he had to do was wait. He had a feeling he was going to find out. The trouble was, he owned few virtues and patience was not one of them.
CHAPTER 4
Jack was far more confident walking in through the back door of that tattoo shop than he had been the front. The back door, after hours, suited him.
Luna was waiting. He’d barely grazed the heavy metal door with his knuckles and it opened, like she’d anticipated his arrival. Judging from the expression on her face, a mix of uncertainty and disdain, she wasn’t pleased to be doing the work for him.
Why should she be? He hadn’t exactly given her an alternative.
“So. You showed up.” Her tone said she very much doubted he would. Her neon pink hair was pulled back into a flowing ponytail. She wore heavy makeup that on another woman would have been gauche but on her looked just right. Dark eyeshadow and eyeliner outlined those otherworldly, sea green eyes. She had a cardigan on, something that looked like it had been knitted by her granny, and it covered up most of her tattoos. Her jeans were tight enough to be painted on. They hugged the most beautiful, rounded ass and long legs Jack had ever seen.
“Yah,” he muttered. She held the door open a fraction wider and he pushed through. She backed up a step, reminding him that he took up most of the free space in the back. He slammed the metal door shut and clicked the lock in place.
“You can follow me. I have my room all set up.” Luna’s voice was totally professional and gave away none of the discomfort that flashed across her face before she turned and stalked down the hall.
Jack glanced around even though he had been back there only the day before. What did he expect? Someone hiding, waiting to ambush him?
He was being ridiculous. No one had stopped him from having that tattoo lasered. They weren’t going to stop him now. He was just on edge since Lion had shown up at his club the night before. Would he show up again tonight? Jack almost hoped so. It had been a good long while since he’d been involved in a good brawl. He would truly enjoy taking a swing at Lion almost as much as he would enjoy being on the receiving end of those punches.
“Are you coming?” Luna stuck her head out of the third room on the right. Her raised brow let him know just what she thought about his hesitation.
“Yes,” Jack mumbled. He was really going to do this. The tattoo, the pain, the burn, it was welcome. He just didn’t know if he could make it through all that touch. Luna’s touch. God, she’s beautiful. Why then was he so afraid? Automatic instinct? In his experience it didn’t matter if a woman was beautiful or not. He still couldn’t bear even the briefest of human contact.
He walked into the room, all false confidence, and looked around. It was all so normal. What had he been expecting? A torture chamber? He’d been in this very room just yesterday.
“I have the table all set up. I think I’ll get you to lay down on your stomach, if that’s alright?”
He grunted, a noise that passed for approval. Luna nodded. She bustled around deftly, all business. He was a little taken aback when she shoved a clipboard with forms in his face.
“I’m not going to pretend like you’re going to give me a copy of your license.” Her eyes did a quick once over. “I can tell you’re of age anyway. I don’t expect you’ll be honest about personal details either. If you wanted to be, you wouldn’t be here after hours. Just fill out the medical details. And be honest. It could make a difference when I’m tattooing.”
Jack stared at the white page with the small black writing. He fumbled with the non-descript blue pen, pulling it from the space between the clips. He ticked NO to all of the boxes. At least that was easy. As expected, he left the top part blank. He wasn’t going to give details. Not age and most certainly not name.
“Just place it over there.” Luna indicted the small desk in the far corner of the room. She busied herself setting out inks, washing her hands and gloving up.
Jack realized it was up to him to strip down. Jesus, he was glad he hadn’t worn a shirt with buttons again. His hands shook, his palms sweaty and sticky, as he fumbled with the hem of his shirt, managing to pull it over his head.
The room was warm. It was probably just his mind that felt the cold rush of air. His skin pimpled and a shiver raced up his spine.
Luna whirled, brow furrowed in the middle, right between two perfect eyebrows. Jack didn’t like that crease there. Or the realization that he was likely the cause of it.
“You can get on the table please.”
Jack eyed the thing, silently judging the odds of it holding up his mass. The thing looked sturdy enough. Luna m
ust know what she was doing. This wasn’t exactly her first rodeo.
He slid on awkwardly, very aware of how slow and cumbersome his actions were. His limbs were heavy, like dead weight. Almost as heavy as the dread that lay coiled in the pit of his stomach.
He stole a glance at Luna but she was studying his form. She finally set it down. “I assume you want to see the drawing I made before you agree to get it inked on yourself.”
“Oh. Yah.” The truth was he didn’t care. Just as long as it covered up what was currently there. He shoved himself up on the table with an elbow under his chest.
Luna produced a stencil off the counter, just an outline. She held it up and waited. Jack didn’t smile very often. As in once a week, if that. Even then it was more a muscular reaction rather than anything with true feeling behind it.
That drawing though, the scrolling waves and beautiful koi fish, it was traditional and utterly captivating. Beautiful. He couldn’t actually imagine having that on his skin. His lips moved upwards, slightly, just a fraction. For him, it was one of those rare, genuine expressions of joy.
Luna’s eyes shone in response. She didn’t need anything further to affirm that what she had drawn was good.
Jack moved his elbow, flattening himself back down on the table. He waited, breath held somewhere between throat and lungs. Luna moved. Slowly. He let out a breath. Then another. Breathed in. Harder. Faster.
