“He was never top dog,” Keith said. “He just thought he was. Now he’s going to have to spend the rest of his life behind bars, fighting off real bullies. Let’s see how well he does on his own.”
Kristina nodded and turned her head into Keith’s chest. “I’m glad that’s over.”
“Me too,” Keith said sincerely. “Let’s talk about more interesting things… like your graduation.”
Kristina smiled as she propped herself up on her elbow. “Thank you for my graduation present,” she said as she traced her fingers over her name. “It’s… the most meaningful gift anyone’s ever given me.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Keith said. He stared at her face, admiring every inch of it. “Kristina?” he said.
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you want to stay here with me?”
Kristina looked at him seriously. “I have never been surer of anything in my entire life,” she said with conviction. “This is where I’m meant to be.”
“I don’t want to feel like I’m holding you back.”
“You’re not,” Kristina said immediately. “I don’t want to stick to the plan anymore. I don’t want to follow the rulebook. This is my life, and I’m going to make up my own rules. I’m not staying here because of you, I’m staying here for me.”
Keith nodded. “Good,” he said. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
Keith had a fleeting image of Natalie, and he realized with a start that her memory didn’t hurt him anymore. He had finally let her go, and in the act, he had also freed himself. Keith realized now that he was free to move on and be happy.
He would always love Natalie, but she was his past. He was in love with Kristina now, and she was his future.
THE END
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EVERYTHING ABOUT HIM IS WRONG… BUT WHY DOES IT ALL FEEL SO RIGHT?
MIRANDA
He left my world a shattered mess, and I swore I’d never forgive him.
Instead, I never forgot him—Never forgot his strong hands rough against my skin, his lips crushing against mine, and the sound of his big heart thump, thump, thumping in the night.
And when I saw him again, after all these years…
I should have known better. I should have turned away.
But something about this bad boy is pulling me back.
And this time…
He won’t EVER let go.
TYLER
I don’t do second chances, I f*** and forget.
Some good liquor, some bad girls, and a good time are all I need.
All that changed with Miranda.
A spitfire with a body screaming to be claimed, and an innocence begging to be corrupted.
Once wasn’t going to be enough. Not by a f***ing long shot.
And I’m not stopping until she’s MINE.
Back to Table of Contents
INKED – CARMEN FAYE
CHAPTER ONE
Krishna O’Sullivan jumped up and did a celebration dance as Anthony Rizzo did what he does best and smashed the ball out of the park for a three-run homer. Her favorite team, the Chicago Cubs, had just finished a three-game series shut-out over the Cincinnati Reds. The only thing that would have made it sweeter is if she’d seen it live.
But she was thankful for her DVR. It was the only true luxury in her efficient apartment on the third floor in an old complex. Then again, there was the detached garage space she paid an arm and a leg for every month to protect her pride and joy.
Her phone rang with an old AC/DC tune, and she went rigid with panic. The alarm was her five-minute warning, reminding her it was time to leave for work. She’d lost track of time, caught up in the game, and she still had to stop at the shop and grab some oil for her baby. The 1969 Buick Riviera had been a present on her 18th birthday, and she and her father had rebuilt it together. It needed an oil change, and she refused to skip any maintenance on her most precious possession.
Krishna rushed around the house, pulling on the cleanest pair of black slacks she could find and donning the unflattering red button down that was the required uniform. Her jet black hair went up in a ponytail on the way out the door, and she was thankful she wasn’t high maintenance. She would never make it out the door on time!
Even in such a hurry, she still spent a moment running her hand across the sleek and shiny body of her mint green classic car, admiring its perfection, even for years after the rebuild. But with a sigh, she threw herself into the driver’s seat and revved the engine with a lovely purr. Something about the sound always calmed her, made her feel a little less despondent at where she was in her life. Behind the wheel of the powerful machine, it didn’t matter than she was just a cashier at some low end department store. Her greatest accomplishment was at her fingertips, and it reminded her that, someday, someone would take her talents seriously, even if she was a woman.
And an ethnic one at that.
Rolling onto the road, Krishna tuned to her favorite station and pumped up the volume, cranking the manual window down. The day was a decent one with sunshine and a mild breeze, and the Black Sabbath song pounding her speakers put her in a good mood. She bobbed her head to the beat of Crazy Train and went to the nearby mechanic’s shop she frequented.
It was family owned and operated, only about four blocks away, which made it convenient, and she preferred it to the big chains staffed with people who relied on a computer to tell them about cars rather than their guts and personal experience. They tended to overcharge customers and sell parts to ignorant targets that weren’t actually needed.
Granted, since ownership of this place had passed to the next generation, they hadn’t been much better. But the mechanics knew not to screw around with Krishna. She just hated to see or hear them cheating others.
Growing up, her parents had instilled values in her, especially teaching her to be honest, and what the mechanics tried to pull went against everything Krishna believed in and made her angry. She had promised she would say something next time she overheard a raw deal, as well as vowing she wouldn’t do that to a customer herself, if she ever got a shot at being a mechanic.
Parking right in front, Krishna watched as the men coming in and out stared at what amounted to a muscle car with admiration. She smiled with pride as she made her way to the back of the store where they kept the oil, ignoring the salesmen who tried to stop her to ‘help’ her. She rolled her eyes at their ignorance. Why was it that everyone insisted a woman – especially a woman who wasn’t white – couldn’t know anything about cars?
To be fair, she’d grown up in the suburbs just outside the city with two Irish parents who had adopted her as an eighteen-month-old baby. They’d flown all the way to India for her and spent her childhood telling the story over and over while showing her their first pictures together. They laughably referred to it as their first family vacation, and they’d taken her all across the country before bringing her back to the United States.
But Krishna always felt a strange sense of disconnect with those images. She didn’t identify with the country that was technically her home and origin. She actually had a much closer connection with the beautiful city of Taos, New Mexico where she lived now. And she was more comfortable with the connection to her adoptive parents and the family tradition of repairing and rebuilding cars than the genetics that shaped a person. Nurture over nature, she supposed.
She’d learned from her father’s love of taking things apart to see how they worked, and cars and motorcycles were his favorites. He’d even owned a couple of Harleys while Krishna was growing up, and while he had a day job as an IT manager, he was loyal to his first love and had instilled the same love of learning about the internal workings of vehicles in her. As a whole, her father had been strict and logical, but when they worked on a car together, he smiled and praised her more than with anything else. She had always strived for that from him a
nd still did.
Now, she scanned the shelves for the right type of oil. She’d used the same brand ever since she’d started driving the car, knowing it was quality that kept her baby going strong. She found what she wanted and picked up two bottles, but a tap on her shoulder made her jump and nearly drop them. She caught her breath and smiled at the man standing beside her.
He was a pretty big guy, probably equal proportions of muscle and fat making up his build. He towered over her by more than a few inches, and he was covered in tattoos, with little skin left unmarked. He wore a skull cap over what appeared to be a bald head, whether shaved or natural she didn’t know. She pinned him as the biker type immediately.
“Hey, is that your car out there?” he asked pointing toward the glass at the front of the building, his finger aimed directly at the Buick. People were beginning to gather around it. She wasn’t surprised; it happened a lot.
She laughed shortly. “Yes, it is. I take it you like it?”
“Of course. Did you have to ask?” He nodded as he gazed at it. “Who wouldn’t admire it? I was just wondering where you managed to find a Riviera in such excellent shape. It looks practically fresh from the factory, mint condition. Whoever did the work on it was a genius.”
Krishna knew the man’s jaw would hit the floor when he heard the answer. “Well, my father found it at a junk yard in Albuquerque. He brought it home just before my 18th birthday and told me it was my present, as long as I could help him restore it. It took about three months for us to get the right bits and pieces, but it’s been with me for four years now.” She smiled triumphantly as the man was stunned into silence.
He just nodded, looking impressed. “That’s amazing. Sounds like you have a great old man.”
“Rob!” a voice called from up front, and the man turned to look to the front counter. The cashier held the key to a motorcycle in his hand. Apparently she was having a conversation with Rob, who’d brought his bike in to have some work done.
“That’s my cue,” he said, and Krishna nodded, following him to the front with the oil in her arms. She was cutting it close on time and had to get moving.
“Me, too,” she said. As they approached the cashier, Krishna recognized the guy behind the counter and frowned. This particular guy was notorious for pulling the wool over customers’ eyes.
Chewing gum in Rob’s face with an obnoxious smacking sound, the guy said, “I’ve got some bad news for you, man. Your chassis is bent. But then, I’m sure you already knew that.”
Krishna rolled her eyes and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited behind Rob, knowing what was coming next. How dumb was this guy anyway? Looking at Rob, she could tell he was a tough guy and had probably been riding for years. For all she knew, he was in some sort of biker gang. If the cashier screwed Rob over, she was certain she would witness an epic beat down, but Rob stayed relatively calm, considering the circumstances.
When he said nothing, the cashier continued, “Anyway, bud, the good news is that we can fix it, no problem But the labor is going up from the estimate I gave you because there’s also a cracked cylinder that needs replacing. We’ve got to fix it before you can drive it again.” The employee wore a dirty rotten smile that made Krishna want to knock his teeth in, but she got the feeling Rob was about to do it for her. His fists were clenched below the counter.
Krishna glanced at the clock on the wall and knew that, if she didn’t say something soon, she would be more than late for work, having to give a statement to the police after witnessing a beating. She went around rob and up to the counter, slamming down her bottles of oil to get both men’s attention. It also put a small barrier between them to help diffuse a little of the tension in the difficult situation.
She turned to the cashier and glared as she read the name ‘Fred’ on his badge. “Okay, Fred, let’s talk realistically for a minute while you ring up my order here, and then you can get back to trying to screw your customer here over,” she said in a harsh tone. She pushed the two bottles forward, and Fred did not look pleased at all. He cut a sidelong glance at Rob but scanned her oil anyway. With a nod, she continued, “Now, Fred, you and I both know for a fact that cracking a cylinder on a motorcycle is nearly impossible, especially if the original diagnosis is a bent chassis. And let’s say, just for shits and giggles, that you’re telling the truth. We also both know that you’ll charge double the actual cost to fix it because you and your buddies back there in the shop will spend most of their time sitting on your asses.”
He clenched his jaw as Krishna pulled out her wallet. “The labor isn’t that intensive, so it shouldn’t take eight hours to do the job. Now, why don’t you offer this guy a deal for all the trouble and stop giving him a hard time?” She shot a condescending smile at Fred and slid exact change across the counter for her purchase. Now, he just looked like he was going to be sick.
Snatching up the receipt and the oil, Krishna turned on her heel and headed out, knowing she was going to catch hell from her boss. At this point, there was no pretending she arrived on time and sneaking up to her post. But as she reached the door, she heard heavy footfalls behind her, like motorcycle boots on the linoleum, and someone cleared his throat. She turned to find Rob standing behind her again.
He gave Krishna an apologetic smile even before he spoke. “I wouldn’t normally do this. I mean, to be brutally honest, you don’t exactly look like someone who knows much about motorcycles to me.” He held up his hands in surrender. “But the fact that you have that car and say you rebuilt it, and the dress down you gave that guy back there for me has me rethinking that notion. Don’t judge a book by its cover, right?” Krishna shrugged, itching to get to work but curious where he was going with this. “Anyway, how would you like a shot at a job that doesn’t involve wearing…that?”
He pointed at her uniform with obvious distaste, and she blushed a little. It was an awful uniform, and she’d hated it from day one. She’d been stuck in it for two years.
Narrowing her eyes at him, she asked, “What kind of job?” She was skeptical but hopeful.
He gave her a crooked grin. “Let’s just say you’d get to wear jeans or whatever you wanted, work on bikes, and make better money? All you have to do is fix my ride for me.”
It sounded like a dream, and Krishna knew that when something sounded too good to be true, it probably was. Still, how could she pass up the offer? Even if the job paid shit, it meant she wouldn’t have to deal with an abusive boss or chronically dissatisfied customers anymore. And she’d get to work on vehicles, something that never got old or boring. “Okay, sure. You have a deal. Tell me when and where. It just has to wait till I’m off.” She held out her hand to shake on it and seal the deal. Rob hesitated briefly, but she didn’t worry about it. It was a guy thing, and he finally gave her a strong handshake, which she saw as a sign of respect.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to her. “Be at this address by eight tonight. Can you do that?”
Krishna read the address and knew it was in the industrial part of town, but she didn’t know exactly where. She didn’t think it was his house, but what did it matter? “I’ll be there. But make it five after, just in case.” She ran out to her car, determined to get to work. After all, if this thing didn’t work out, she had to keep her cashier job. “Damn,” she whispered as she looked at her phone and saw she should have clocked in ten minutes ago. Even ignoring posted speed limits, she still had a ten minute drive to get there.
“Okay, baby, let’s do this,” she said to the car, rubbing the steering wheel for luck. She roared off down the road, glad there wasn’t any heavy traffic. It was always a possibility midday.
When she finally pulled up to G-Mart, she parked in the back lot, furthest from her supervisor’s post and closest to the time clock. She rushed inside and breathed a sigh of relief. She had flown, pushing the Buick’s limits like she rarely did, and the clock itself was a couple of minutes slow, so her punch card showe
d her to be only fifteen minutes late.
She made her way out to the front, instantly getting dirty looks from the clerks who were picking up the slack for her. Considering how little traffic she’d seen on the road, the store was awfully busy. “Don’t turn your light on yet, O’Sullivan!” called a familiar voice.
Cringing, Krishna turned to find her androgynous female boss, who often impersonated a drill sergeant, standing in front of the open door to her office with her arms crossed and a look of fury on her face. Krishna ducked into the woman’s office, knowing what probably came next. Rita loved giving tongue lashings.
She sat down and flinched as the door slammed behind her, leaving her alone with this terrifying woman. Even the star employees knew Rita enjoyed torturing everyone she supervised. “You’ve been here for two years, Krishna,” Rita began, standing behind her desk. “And yet, you haven’t moved up the ladder at all. You’re still just a cashier. Why do you think that is?”
Politics. That was the first thing that came to Krishna’s mind, but she wasn’t going to pull the minority card. She just shrugged and looked down at her feet. Something about the redheaded monstrosity who had control of her future in the retail business always crushed her resolve to stand up for herself and regressed her to a meek and self-conscious child.
This Savage Love: A Bad Boy Romance Boxed Set Page 74
