by Susan Arden
Not that Ivy had disappeared into a black hole on the West Coast. Ivy had sent her scads of texts and messages over the last three days. Photos of LA, Hellhound—lots of Vince and her, the place they were staying, the beaches, and the ginormous palm trees. She couldn’t get over how everything looked so frigging green, and people were as brown as beans. Around here, the grass was golden—what there was left of it at the end of summer—not much was lush or green. Sure, folks here were bronzed, like Rory from working without a shirt.
This wasn’t jealousy talking. She just missed Ivy. More since Jen had dropped off the face of the earth.
No matter how hard she’d pestered Rory, he refused to discuss the Labor Day barbecue blowout between him and Mike, saying it was ranch business. But that equation didn’t balance when Jen was on one side and not part of the ranch. Jen didn’t associate with Mike as far as Sommer could recall. So what the hell had happened?
Refocusing, she filled the bottom section using a surrealistic design. “Done,” she announced, turning off her ink machine and stowing her equipment.
“Way too cool,” Daria gushed. “I’m coming back next week for my own.”
A common reaction she’d heard before. Lots of people wanted a tattoo, but not everyone could deal with pain, or the permanence.
“Call me. When you’re ready.” Getting up from her stool, Sommer already had the aftercare instruction and bottle of lotion ready at the counter. She removed the apron she wore to safeguard her pastel pink shirt, a habit from past experience after ruining far too much of her clothing from ink, and pushed the sheet across to her customer. As she typed up the receipt, she said, “Read this. Don’t rub or itch your tattooed skin. No sun. No water. And when there is sun, use protection.”
“Gotcha.” He glanced down at the receipt she laid on the glass counter. He reached into his pocket and peeled off crisp new bills. “You got a card?”
She tapped the holder. “Take one of these. I’m listed.” After picking up his payment, she said, “Thanks. Nice working with you.”
Her phone chirped, vibrating against the counter, and she reached for it, after waving a goodbye. She swiped her thumb over the screen and read the text: Take a look.
Expecting another message from Ivy, she smiled but quickly realized it was Rory’s name blazing on her cell screen. She scrolled downward and her eyes widened, encountering the first photograph. Out on his piece of heaven, he sent her a photo of the large trailer currently situated on his land. Rory was serious when he said he’d have his place by the end of the month. He should have said end of the week. Did his family do anything small scale?
Holy, holy cow!!! Welcome home, McLemore.
He sent several more. Here’s the inside. Needs furniture. And you!
She sent back: How about a picnic? 2night. I’ll pick up some things and come to you.
PERFECT. LOVE YOU, KINCAID
Love you right back, Cowboy!
The bell on the front door chimed and she pressed send, looking over and meeting the grinning face of Mike. Think of the devil.
“Howdy,” he said, softly closing the door as his eyes roved down to her chest. His grin widened, so much he bared his teeth into a hungry jeer.
He wore a white shirt, jeans, sneakers, and his customary ball cap. Mike looked like another anybody ambling. Didn’t detract from how instinctively her body went hyper aware.
Sommer stiffened, standing erect, and lowered her hand, pushing her cell phone into her back pocket. “Shopping for a tattoo?” she asked, praying he’d say no. Rachel was here, but involved in an intricate design and not likely to be free this afternoon.
“Not today,” he chuckled, leaning over the glass counter and staring at the metal rings in the top cases. “I stopped by ‘cause I have an issue, and I’m pretty sure, you’ll prove helpful in solving.”
“Look if it involves Evermore, I can’t help you.”
“No princess. I’m sure you know Evermore isn’t on my radar. Naw, what brings me around might be of interest to you.” From his rolled up newspaper, he plucked a photograph and slid it across the glass.
It was Clayton Bell. Beaten from the looks of his face. Mike pocketed it just as rapidly. On the outside, she wore no reaction. Inside she wanted to scream, to shout, to roar her frustration and overriding fear.
Swallowing her disgust only made the bile that threatened to sprint up her throat a hundred times tougher to keep at bay. Sommer peered over toward the doorway leading to the hall, but of course couldn’t see down to Rachel’s ink station.
“Interest to me?” She shook her head, more than confused, and starting to feel wary as well. “What are you talking about?”
“A gambling debt,” he rasped in a stealthy, almost purring voice that wasn’t at all soft. His assured manner came off sinister, laced with greed as though he held the last card in a game she was losing.
“I had no choice where Bell was concerned—”
“You mistake my meaning. That was only to get your attention. It’s how we deal with those who can’t keep their word. Understand?”
With the music playing on the shop speakers and the hum of the ink machine, she had to focus on what he said. If this had nothing to do with Bell, it couldn’t be linked to Rory… Could it? From the fire it felt as if she’d plummeted into molten lava with lead weights on her ankles. Dread stabbed her fake façade.
He was toying with her. Men like Mike enjoyed this type of blindsiding assault. The ugly cousin to the horrendous bully mentality that got right in a person’s face. But neither did he seem to have the guile for sophisticated tactics. If anything, he’d always reminded her of a slithering snake, waiting to strike when a person least expected.
“I don’t gamble,” she replied coolly, drawing out the words, employing the same tone and voice quality she used when Momma was manic. No way would this jerk force her into a corner.
“Funny, but I doubt that,” he quipped. “Discounting Bell, I’m more than certain you gamble. A lot. And hold one of the largest stakes in this county. But that’s putting the cart before the horse, little girl.”
Rubbing her numb fingers together, she tensed waiting for this jackass to say what he came here for. “Is this going to take much longer? I have an appointment.”
“Look gorgeous, don’t act so high and mighty. You might have a line on the most eligible bachelor in the county, but don’t count your winnings just yet.”
Clenching her fingers, she lifted her eyes and stared into his. “Get to the point, Mike.”
“I’m owed twenty thousand and change.”
She shrugged. “Why should I care how much you’re owed?”
“One reason. You got family who owe me. I always get paid back.”
“How do you know my family?”
“Like I said, I’m owed money. You’ve got a parent with a serious gambling habit. I had to take a line to cover the note I’m holding. Now, that line needs payment. If I don’t get the money, I can’t cover my line. And that line always gets paid, sweetcakes. This is out of my hands, you read me,” he sneered, drumming his fingers on the counter.
“My mother has a medical condition. No court in this state would allow you to collect,” she spoke in a ragged voice.
“This doesn’t have diddly-squat to do with your momma. It’s your daddy’s debt, Sommer.” He stood up straight and glared over to her.
“My father isn’t a gambler,” she said, shaking her head. Hearing him talk about her dad stunned her. “I-I-I don’t believe you.”
“Good thing I came prepared to square Frank’s little issue.” He removed a cell phone from his pocket and swept his finger across the screen. He held up the cell, displaying her father’s phone number. “Now. Listen.”
Damn, how many clients does he have on the lam? She halted all tumbling thoughts when her father’s voice filled the front room. He’d called Mike and talked about paying back money for a bet. A very su
bstantial bet, and her insides knotted. “Turn it off.” She grabbed for the phone, but he pulled it out of her reach.
Mike’s glassy light green eyes held hers, unblinking and his brows rose. “Satisfied, princess?”
“What do you want? I don’t have that type of money.”
“You recently scored didn’t you? Beyond what you landed, that brings the debt to twenty grand. According to Bell, you never collected, so I’ll take the ticket.” He drummed his fingers. “Nice place. You got fire insurance?”
“This isn’t my tattoo parlor.” A red haze filled her vision as time slowed. First, her mom and now, her dad. Her father? He’d always been unshakeable if now he dealt with life, albeit a far removed unshakeable presence nowadays.
“You see that man out there?” Mike pointed toward the van just beyond curb, where she noted the older man had exited. He wore dark glasses and his hair was slicked back like he was a character directly off the set of the Sopranos. Mike lowered his voice. “He’s my partner on this line. See, I’m a nice guy. I work with people around here. Up to a point. We’re well past that with your dad. So much so that Frank has garnered the attention of some other men in my business. People who don’t care about excuses. Sommer, a piece of good advice: square his debt fast. These aren’t the type of guys that give a rat’s ass about him or you. Carlo wants to meet you.”
“Me? This doesn’t involve me.”
He kept his eyes trained on her in a tight, unwavering line. “You gonna tell that to him? Like I said, he doesn’t care. If you don’t go outside, he’ll come in here and Carlo doesn’t talk in hushed tones.”
No way could she risk Rachel or her boss’s client hearing this. Sommer crossed her arms over her chest, walking from behind the counter to the door. Mike held it open and followed her outside.
“Sommer, say hello to Carlo,” Mike spoke without his Texas twang.
Outside the ink parlor, she’d been on the verge of going off on him for being a lowdown snake, but she did a double take. Her speechlessness increased when Carlo pushed up his sunglasses. He opened the back door of the van a few inches and inside was Bell. Curled into a ball, his clothes torn and bloody. His wrists, legs, and mouth was tie with wire that cut into his skin, oozing blood. The stink of excrement was overpowering. The van door slammed shut and Sommer flinched.
“Doll, have we got your attention?” Carlo laughed like this was a joke, but the fake mirth he flaunted didn’t reach his cement-colored eyes. He regarded her coldly, and she dug her nails into her biceps to stymie the shiver that overtook her.
Her primal instinct kicked in. Show no fear. “I don’t live with my dad. This doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
His gaze held hers then lowered down her body as he sucked on the toothpick he had stuck between his teeth.
Carlo pointed it in her face. “You’re his blood. Same thing with this cocksucker. He had a nice racket. But his brother got greedy. He ran and well, I need to collect a debt. So that’s bullshit. Don’t matter whether you signed a note, you got an interest and that’s all that matters. Otherwise, what happens is on your head. So you’re right, you didn’t borrow the money, but in my world, you’re involved. To close this matter, I’m involving you. And Ms. Kincaid, I always close a deal.”
“You heard the man.” Mike took hold of her arm, but she yanked her elbow free.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.
Mike inhaled, his chest rising and falling. “Okay, man. I got this.”
“Kid, if you did, I wouldn’t be here.” Carlo steely voice cut through the air.
“Meet me inside, Sommer.” Mike glared back at Carlo, his nostrils flaring, but he didn’t respond further.
Whirling toward the door, she hesitated a beat at the entrance, observing the interchange between them.
“The family will want some assurances.” Carlo dipped his hand inside his jacket and held out a gun. “I’ll wait here until you conclude your business.”
Fuck! No. Her heart squeezed as she burst forward, grabbing the handle. She stormed back inside afraid of what lay ahead. When Mike entered, she felt the air crackle and backed away. His face held no expression, no emotion as she moved, not wanting even his shadow to touch her, not wanting to be near him.
“So ya see, there’s a problem and it’s not going away,” he whispered, watching her.
“You’re the problem,” she choked out, retreating behind the counter, not trusting herself. Right now, she burned to take a swing at him and smack his smirking face. His fake accent. Everything he represented. “You’re nothing but a slimeball. Not even from around here.”
“Girl, I’m not here to hurt you.” Mike drawled, resuming his fake Texas twang.
Sommer gaped at him, unable to conceptualize the rash of lies he dealt in. “Then why are you here with a gun?”
He chuckled as if it were patently obvious, and like a curtain drawn, she immediately understood. Some kind of disease that infested a small community, infecting the residents around town. He pretended to be their friend, garnering their trust, and all the while sucking them dry.
“Shut your pretty mouth and pay attention. We’re not done, princess. I’m not leaving before I get payment, or make arrangements. You might not have the funds, but you’ve got a way to pay back this debt, big time. With that body, oh man this shouldn’t be a problem.”
Anger punched through her as she held onto the counter. “You’re crazy. I’m not going to bed with you or him.”
“Sommer, as inviting as that sounds, that won’t solve this issue,” he said dryly. “Although there are enough people who do repay debts with all sorts of bartering, but as you said, you’re not willing. Lucky for both of us, what I’m talking about is you and Rory.”
“What about us? How is anything associated with Rory and me going to repay a loan?”
He leaned forward. “I’ve got a line going at the moment. On the lucky person to pop… On who’s going to… Shit,” he cursed, straightening and tugging on the bill of his cap.
If anyone was slick around here, it was him. Mike stumbling on his words made her stomach knot. Whatever proposition he was trying to fund, came off as untenable.
“What are you trying to say?” she asked, all but clawing the countertop with her nails.
“Sommer, I’m gonna just have to be blunt.” He locked onto her gaze. “The line is on who’s going to fuck your boyfriend. The other line is on who’s gonna pop your cherry.”
Outrage surged inside her and she snarled, “That doesn’t even make any sense. Everyone would be betting on us together!”
He stared across the counter at her and shook his head with a low chuckle. “Doll, that just ain’t holding up.”
“Are you telling me, people in this town are betting on someone else?”
“Remember it’s a two-way bet? And some are running it as blind.”
Blind? She didn’t understand but refused to ask him to clarify. “You allow people to bet on things blind?”
“When there isn’t much to bet on, sure. It’s the ultimate rush for some of these gamblers. High stakes. Easy cash. Lots buy in.”
“What exactly do you want?”
“Get Rory to break his word. I know if he hasn’t bedded you yet and has asked you to marry him, it’s because he’s made some screwball vow. All I want is for everyone to be happy.”
Her face heated—burned hotter and hotter under his glowering perusal. “You want me to do that and then what?”
“I’ll need proof. Video—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then a photograph.” His eyes narrowed. “This isn’t brain surgery. Your job is to be creative. You’ll figure it out.”
Her muscles started to tremble and she was so certain any second, she’d leap over the counter and claw his smug face. “This isn’t an inking. And in my world, to backstab someone isn’t business as usual.”
“Regardless, you
have to make a decision. I’ll give you an hour to decide.” He didn’t seem pleased. Pressing his lips together, he tilted his head toward the door. “If I don’t hear from you, Carlo and I are going to go and deal with your old man.”
The pressure inside her head neared the breaking point. “And just how am I supposed to get in touch with you?”
He took a card out of his shirt pocket and laid it on the counter, tapping it with his finger. “Call me with your answer.”
All around Sommer, the world seemed to be dissolving. Problems rained down, blurring her vision. Sitting in her car, she picked up her phone and hit the icon for her dad’s office, but his business answering machine picked up. It wasn’t yet five, but his office was closed. Her hand shook and she blinked, staring at his home number. Her stepmom Gloria might answer and listen in on the extension as she did whenever Sommer called. She tossed her phone on the passenger seat and gunned her car’s engine.
Flooring the gas, she sped out of the parking lot from work, and mentally screaming not once, but at least a hundred times. No effing way could she involve Rory in the underhanded shit that Mike proposed. That psycho wanted to rip a hole in Rory’s integrity. But why? Without a solution, she couldn’t stop the auto looping of his pointed threat. The look in his partner’s eyes was beyond cold. Carlo’s eyes were stark, calculating. Deadly.
Daddy…how could you? She had to stop asking herself that question, since apparently he had. Dad wasn’t perfect, and she wasn’t naïve or so she kept telling herself—all the way over to her father’s house. The neighborhood was unlike where she and Momma lived. A regular suburban gated community in Clarkesville, with a small pond on the right as she drove past the entrance.
Since her father had remarried, she’d been invited twice. Once for Christmas, and once on his birthday. But since his wife, Gloria and her children were part of another world, one that involved private schools, music recitals, and attending church on Wednesday nights and all day Sunday, she didn’t seem to fit within that scheme of things. Pulling up to the curb just beyond his house, Sommer parked, glancing around. On either side of the street, as far as she could see were tract houses. Nice manicured lawns, front porches with flower pots, and two point five children, she imagined. The good ole American dream.
