Dirty Sexy Inked (Dirty Sexy #2)

by Carly Phillips

So, yeah, there were still traces of that volatile kid Connor had been. Mason would have thought that the military would have taught him how to curb those angry outbursts. And that’s exactly what they were—sudden explosive impulses that seemed to come out of nowhere, and then in the next moment, he was fine again.

  A part of Mason felt bad for Connor, because he knew that the guy had no family, and he was trying to renew old friendships so he had people to hang out with. And from the few stories that Connor had shared with him about being in Iraq, there was no denying that he’d been through hell and was hopefully just trying to find his footing again, and those anger issues would lessen in time.

  “So, I know someone who can get us into an underground fight club,” Connor said, bringing Mason’s attention back to his friend again. “You interested in going tonight and placing some bets?”

  As a teenager, Mason would have totally been on board. Hell, he probably would have been the one to suggest the idea. Now? The thought of watching gratuitous violence held no appeal to him. “I’ll pass,” he said with a shake of his head. “It’s really not my thing.”

  “We could always go score some blow,” Connor continued as he caught Tara’s attention again and indicated he wanted two more shots of the same tequila. “What’s a Friday night without a little nose candy?”

  It had been years since Mason had touched the stuff. He had a good life now, a reputable business, and there was no way he’d jeopardize any of that for a quick high. “I’m not into that shit anymore.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Connor said, an edge of irritation in his voice that he washed down with both shots of liquor, one right after the other. “When did you get so damn boring? Is pussy still your thing? Because there’s a helluva lot of it right in front of both of us, and I wouldn’t mind taking advantage,” he said, indicating the women in the bar who would be easy conquests.

  “Yeah, it’s still my thing,” Mason finally snapped back with a glare while trying hard to tamp down his annoyance at Connor’s persistence. “But I’m not interested in anyone but Katrina. I told you that she and I are seeing one another.” And despite whatever she was going through right now, his feelings for her weren’t going to change.

  “She’ll never have to know,” Connor said with a careless shrug, his eyes a bit glassy as he grinned at Mason. “I won’t say a thing.”

  “Not interested,” Mason said again, this time more succinctly.

  “I get it,” Connor said after a moment, a smirk curving his lips. “Gotta say, she’s a hot piece of ass.”

  Mason’s entire body tensed at Connor’s crude, disrespectful comment, and his hand balled into a tight fist on the surface of the bar. “Excuse me?” he said with more calm than he was feeling inside. The guy was damn lucky that Mason hadn’t clocked him in the face for his crass remark.

  As if realizing he might have gone too far, Connor held up his hands in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “Jesus, that was a compliment. Relax, dude.”

  “I don’t give a shit if it was a compliment,” Mason replied heatedly, and he also didn’t care if it was the alcohol in Connor’s system that was responsible for his unfiltered statement. “Don’t fucking talk about Katrina like that. Ever.”

  There was a smug look in Connor’s gaze that unsettled Mason for a moment, and then it was gone. “I gotta piss,” the other man finally said to break up the tension swirling between them, then slid off the barstool and headed toward the restrooms.

  Mason was grateful for the reprieve. He exhaled a harsh breath and scrubbed a hand down his face, knowing that the entire situation with Katrina had him on edge, which didn’t help his disposition with Connor tonight. And until they were resolved as a couple, he was going to be a gutted mess inside.

  It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to head over to her place tonight and confront her, because he’d learned over the years that Katrina was the kind of person who internalized things for a while. Sometimes longer than he was even aware of. And he was honestly afraid that if he pushed her too hard, too fast, too soon, she’d withdraw even further, to the point that it would do irreparable damage to their new and fragile relationship.

  The thought of losing her, in any way, struck at the heart of his fears and insecurities, which made it difficult for him to give her the space that she seemed to need right now. As much as it killed him, he’d allow her the rest of the weekend alone, to hopefully come to the conclusion to trust him with whatever issue was driving this goddamn wedge between them.

  But come Monday, they were going to talk and hash out the problem, whether she wanted to or not.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Katrina stared at the sharp butcher’s knife in her hand, her heart beating hard and fast in her chest. It was late Sunday night, and one minute, she was slicing an apple to eat because she hadn’t had anything of substance in her stomach all day, and the next second, the shiny steel blade was whispering to that weak part of her subconscious, promising her relief from the intense, emotional misery twisting inside her if only she’d press the sharp edge of the knife to her skin and slice it open.

  She’d done it before, and she knew what to expect.

  One cut, and all the horrible feelings would fade away as she embraced the physical rush of pain. Two slices, and she’d escape this awful reality she’d been living for the past week. Three deep lacerations, and she’d forget that Connor, a man who’d raped her so brutally, was insinuating himself back into Mason’s life and pushing her out of it. Four slashes through her flesh, and she’d finally have the reprieve she desperately needed from the fear and anxiety that she now lived with on a daily basis.

  A sob caught in her throat and hot, scalding tears filled her eyes. What the hell am I doing? Katrina immediately dropped the knife to the cutting board, refusing to revert to that terrible addiction that she knew would only offer a temporary release to the internal pain and increasing depression that was suffocating her. But mostly, she refused to let Connor’s presence break her down even more emotionally. She refused to let him win and send her spiraling back into the depths of despair, where she’d spent the entire weekend. No amount of cutting and self-harm would change the situation or make Connor go away. And that meant she had to figure out a healthier way to deal with the situation and her anxiety.

  Stepping away from the counter, she drew in a shaky breath and swiped away the tears on her cheeks, grateful for her own mental breakdown that was forcing her to make difficult decisions and take charge of her life again, instead of living in constant fear. Just as she’d taken control after her stepfather’s abuse, and again after Connor’s attack back in high school. She refused to allow such an asshole to have so much power over her emotions, and she would not let him come between her and Mason and destroy the one thing that made her so completely happy.

  Which meant she had to tell Mason the truth, because if she couldn’t be open and honest with him about everything, and trust him with something so dark and painful, then what hope did they have of a successful future? What hope did she have?

  Decision made, she went into the living room, picked up her cell phone, and sent Mason a brief text. I need to talk to you tomorrow.

  Seconds later, he replied. I want to talk to you, too. But there’s something important I have to do in the morning, and I won’t be in the shop until around one.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what was so important that he’d blocked off half of a Monday to do, but didn’t ask. Considering that she’d shut him out for the past three days, she was grateful for whatever time he would give her. That’s fine. I’ll see you then.

  * * *

  By twelve forty-five the following afternoon, Katrina couldn’t deny that her nerves were starting to get the best of her as she thought about her upcoming conversation with Mason, which, according to the clock on the wall at Inked, would be very soon.

  She was sitting at the drafting table sketching an intricate design of a fairy for a woman’s
upper back, which gave her something to focus on instead of all the possible scenarios looping through her mind featuring Mason’s various reactions to their discussion. She had no idea how everything was going to play out, but it didn’t matter, because it wouldn’t change the fact that she was finally going to confide in her best friend. Something she should have done back in high school after Connor had raped her.

  She absently glanced up at the clock again. Not even five minutes had passed. So far, it had been a slow and mostly quiet morning, which was normal for a Monday. Derek and Caleb had had a few standing appointments, which they’d both finished by noon. With time free before their next customers, they’d decided to go out and grab a bite to eat for lunch. That left Katrina and Jasmine in the shop.

  All morning long, Katrina had found herself wondering where Mason might be, and the only thing she could come up with was that he’d had some kind of plans with Connor. Last week, every day Connor had stopped by Inked in his attempt to reestablish his friendship with Mason and insinuate himself back into Mason’s life. And every time he’d come into the shop, he’d tried to strike up a conversation with her, as if they were long-lost buddies. She’d kept her replies curt, and found it best if she just walked away so she didn’t have to be in his presence or deal with the dread and unease that always accompanied his visits.

  The front door to the shop opened, and knowing it was Mason, Katrina immediately glanced up—and felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach as she watched Connor stroll in. By himself. She kept waiting for Mason to appear, to walk in behind him . . . but it never happened.

  “Hey, Jasmine,” Connor said, greeting the other girl with a smile as he leaned against the front counter. “Is Mason here?”

  Katrina didn’t look in his direction—it was rude of her, but she didn’t care—though she could see Connor in her peripheral vision as she sketched. The fact that he was asking for Mason meant they hadn’t spent the morning together. So where was he?

  “No, he’s been out all morning,” Jasmine replied in the same friendly manner she treated all people who came into the shop. “I’m not sure when he’ll be back.”

  “Okay,” Connor said easily. “Will you leave a message for him that I stopped by?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Good, now he’ll leave. Katrina exhaled a deep, calming breath and kept her head down, but as soon as she saw him coming toward the drafting table, her entire body tensed. She couldn’t even move the pencil in her hand.

  “Hey, Katrina,” he said, stopping beside the table less than an arm’s length away and invading way too much of her personal space.

  The knot in her stomach tightened. “Hey,” she muttered, because the last thing she wanted to do was antagonize him in any way. That was definitely one thing she remembered about him back in high school—he’d always had a short fuse. He might have outgrown it, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  “You weren’t around Saturday or Sunday,” he said, and Katrina hated that he knew her schedule or had noticed her absence from the shop. “Big plans this past weekend?”

  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t just sit there and have any kind of conversation with him and pretend as though everything was fine and he’d never violated her in the worst way possible. Her heart was pumping so hard in her chest that it hurt, and she knew she had to get away from him. Now.

  Without replying, she picked up a file folder from the drafting table that she’d set there earlier and moved off her chair in the opposite direction of where Connor stood, so there was no chance of her body touching his as she passed by.

  Ignoring him completely, she walked on unsteady legs toward the back of the shop. “Jasmine, I’ll be in the storeroom doing the inventory.”

  “Okay,” the other girl replied, oblivious to any tension between Katrina and Connor.

  As Katrina stepped into the back room, she heard Connor say, “I’ll see you later, Jasmine,” in a terse tone that was no doubt meant for her.

  “Bye, Connor,” Jasmine said, and the shop went quiet again.

  Katrina set the file folder on a shelf and leaned against the wall, needing a few minutes alone to calm herself. Her palms felt clammy, and she was trembling as if it were forty degrees in the shop.

  “Hey, Katrina,” Jasmine called out. “Since it’s quiet right now, I’m going to run down to the corner deli and get myself a sandwich for lunch. Do you want anything?”

  “No,” she said as loud as her hoarse, scratchy voice would allow.

  “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” Jasmine said, and once again, everything fell silent.

  Katrina let her head drop back against the wall, closed her eyes, and drew deep, even breaths to ease the panicky sensation coursing through her. She’d barely calmed down when she heard the faint sound of footsteps that grew louder as they approached the back of the shop.

  Mason was there. Finally!

  Relief flooded her entire body, and she pushed away from the wall and started for the storeroom door . . . and came to an abrupt, sickening halt when Connor’s big, solid frame blocked her path instead.

  There was no holding back the gasp that ripped from her throat, and because he was imposing in size, she instinctively took a few steps back. Animosity glittered in his dark eyes as he followed her slowly but purposefully, until he had her cornered against the wall. There was no way to move around him without Connor easily grabbing her, restraining her just as he had that long ago night.

  When a sneer curled the corner of his mouth, it reminded her of the bully he’d been. That mean look on his face also solidified that he hadn’t changed, and he wasn’t here to apologize or make amends for the past. Belligerent men like him, like her stepfather, didn’t feel remorse for their actions. No, they believed they were entitled, especially when they weren’t held accountable for their cruel and disgusting behavior.

  Despite the apprehension surging through her, she lifted her chin, refusing to let him see any weakness that he could prey upon, even if she did feel incredibly vulnerable. “You need to leave, Connor,” she said in a firm, strong voice. “Now.”

  He didn’t move. Instead, his insolent gaze raked down the length of her, taking in the pretty vintage pinup style dress she’d chosen with such care today for Mason. She shuddered as Connor’s lewd perusal lingered at the bodice and on her breasts before rising once again.

  “Why are you being such a stuck-up bitch?” he asked as a muscle in his cheek ticked with barely suppressed anger. “Every time I come in here, you’re rude and you blow me off. And you act like you’re too good to even talk to me. What the fuck is your problem?”

  She should have been afraid, considering there was no escape, they were alone, and he was physically stronger and had no issues using force with a woman, as she well knew. But all the rage and pain she’d buried for so many years found their way to the surface, and she embraced the strength and fortitude it gave her to confront him about that night.

  “You’re my problem, Connor,” she said, shocked at her bravery, but she didn’t stop there. “How can you come back here and expect everything to be just fine after what you did to me?”

  Katrina hated the unapologetic smirk that he gave her, which he followed up with a callous laugh. “Are you still mad about that night before we graduated?” he asked in a mocking tone. “We were just having fun and things got a little rough. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “It wasn’t fun, asshole,” she yelled at him, and had to curl her hands into fists at her sides so she didn’t claw his eyes out. “You pushed me into an empty room at that party. You pinned me down when I tried to get away. You put your hand over my mouth when I screamed. And then you raped me!” God, she’d had terrifying nightmares for months afterward, and every time she’d woken up in a panic, she’d felt as though she were reliving that horrifying attack all over again.

  He braced a hand on the wall by her head and leaned closer. “Well, maybe if you weren’t such a cock teas
e back then, it wouldn’t have happened,” he said, as if it had been her fault. “That short skirt you were wearing that night made you look like a tramp and begged a guy to fuck you, so I only did what you were asking for. Hell, you’re a fucking tease even now and no better than you were back then.”

  “What a woman wears doesn’t define whether you can screw her or not, you prick,” she said, welcoming the surge of adrenaline that was pumping liquid courage through her veins, giving her the confidence to purge everything she’d kept bottled up for the past eight years. “I never teased you. I always hated you and did my best to keep my distance. You might have been able to convince Mason to be your friend in high school, but I never trusted you. And there was a reason why. You proved every one of my instincts correct that night when you assaulted me. You’re nothing but a sorry excuse for a man.”

  His eyes blazed with malice. “And you’re nothing but a fucking whore.”

  Without thinking, she slapped him across the face. So hard, it made his head snap to the side. He let out a heartless laugh, and when he looked at her again, his expression was ruthless enough to cause a frisson of real fear to trickle down her spine.

  “See? You do like it rough, don’t you?” he said in a low, taunting voice.

  Before she could gauge his actions, he shoved her up against the wall so hard that the impact stole her breath. Trapping her there with his muscular body, he groped at one of her breasts and twisted his fingers into her hair with his other hand to force her head back right before he tried to kiss her.

  This time, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  She struggled against him, and the moment his mouth touched hers, she did the only thing she could and bit his lip as hard as she could, until she broke the skin and drew blood.

  He jerked back with a howl, his expression furious. “Goddamn bitch,” he ground out, and lifted a fist to punch her in the face.

  Unable to move since he was still clenching her hair, she braced herself for the blow. . .but it never came. Instead, she watched as the arm in the air was wrenched backwards and twisted at an unnatural angle, so fast and quick that she heard a loud pop that indicated his shoulder had just been dislocated. With a scream of excruciating pain, Connor released her. When he whirled around, Katrina saw Mason, seconds before he slammed his fist into Connor’s jaw with such force she heard another crack. Between the two consecutive blows, it took Connor off guard and knocked him onto his ass on the storeroom floor.