Tattoo

by Cambria Hebert

  “Send the hostages out,” Brody said tersely.

  “You crazy?” the man yelled. “The hostages are the only thing keeping them out right now.”

  “If you send them all fleeing from the building, it will create a few minutes of chaos and will give your team time to slip out the backdoor.” Brody reasoned.

  Why was he letting them get away?

  “You giving us a hand even after I shot your girl?”

  “We’re brothers. They don’t give these tats to anyone.”

  The man grunted. “Look, man, I’m sorry I shot your girl.”

  “Shit happens.”

  Shit. Happens. Really? That’s what he had to say about me being shot? Shit happens? If I could’ve, I would totally kick him. Then stomp on his foot.

  “Business has been slow as shit since the busts,” the guy went on.

  What the hell was this, an interview?

  “Yep.” Brody agreed, glancing at me, his eyes flocking over my arm and torso.

  “I’m going to make it up to you. The bullet in your girl, the suggestion you gave us. We’ll cut you in. A couple mil sure will help with the dry spell.”

  “That’s decent,” Brody said, offering a fist so they could bang them together.

  Men were idiots.

  “Everybody out!” ordered the man with the gun. “Run before I change my mind.”

  There was a momentary lapse of silence when I swear no one breathed. It was like people were trying to decide if they should listen or if it was a trick.

  “I said out!” he roared.

  People burst into action, racing across the floors. I couldn’t see them, but I sure could hear them. Brandy ran by without so much as a glance at me.

  I saved her life, yet she was willing to let me lie here and bleed to death. There went her promotion.

  I certainly wasn’t going die here, so I struggled to sit up, breath wheezing out of my lungs as I struggled into an upright position. I looked down and noted that there was red everywhere. Large dark puddles that saturated my clothes and splattered across the tile like this was some kind of bad horror movie.

  The shirt Brody had on my wound started to slip and I reached over to apply pressure and keep it in place. I couldn’t stop the whimper that tore out of me.

  Brody was there instantly, scooping me up into his arms and cradling me against his bare chest.

  As the hostages ran out, screaming and shouting, the men with the duffle bags raced toward the emergency exit at the back. My cheek fell against Brody’s chest and he turned to carry me to safety.

  “Hey, you coming?” someone yelled behind us.

  “I’m taking her to the medics.” Brody said.

  The sound of a cocking gun drew him up short. He turned. “You got a problem?” he half growled.

  “When a man is offered millions of dollars for a job he didn’t even plan, he takes it.”

  “When a man’s woman is bleeding, he takes care of her first.”

  “Bring her.” It wasn’t really a suggestion.

  Brody’s entire body stiffened. I saw the flash of horror in his eyes before he banished it away. “What?”

  “You know how the crew rolls. We don’t leave our members behind. And our women are honorary members.”

  Brody glanced at me, apology in his eyes.

  “Let me put it this way. She comes or she dies,” the man growled.

  With a tight nod, Brody switched direction and followed after the thieves.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, pain lancing through my body.

  “My job,” he replied, grim.

  What the hell kind of job did this man have?

  He leaned in close as we stepped out the back door of the bank. “Trust me, okay?”

  I didn’t agree or disagree.

  It seemed I didn’t have a choice.

  3

  Brody

  This wasn’t the first time I’d been in a situation like this. In the past, I had robbed stores, been in shootouts, stolen things, dealt drugs, participated in beatdowns, and generally broke the law repeatedly. If I hadn’t been under the protection of a badge, I would be rotting in jail.

  I was no saint. Hell, I was closer to a sinner than anything.

  I couldn’t even claim that I was repulsed by some of the stuff I did, because in reality, when you spend two years of your life in the company of thugs, trying to fit in with them, some of their skewed way of life rubs off.

  But this was different.

  Here I was climbing into the back of some minivan that only a soccer mom would drive while carrying a woman who was shot, bleeding, and needed medical attention.

  Being a questionable guy was something I was used to, but dragging in someone who was completely innocent bothered me in ways I didn’t care to think about.

  I knew the moment their eyes landed on the tattoo. I felt the hush race around the room and their eyes bore into my back, trying to figure out how I got such a mark. I ignored them, focusing instead on Taylor. She was pale, and it worried me.

  What the hell did she step in front of that bag for? It was only money. Paper. Worthless when compared to a life.

  I never should have halted when I felt that gun between my shoulder blades. I should have disarmed him immediately and taken out as many guys as I could before they got me. I hesitated. I hesitated for several reasons:

  1.) I wanted them to think they were in control.

  2.) I thought they might punish Taylor for my impulsive actions.

  3.) If I jumped into action, they would’ve wondered who I was.

  Hesitation got me in a big fucking mess.

  I practically handed them control, they shot Taylor anyway, and they saw the tattoo. They saw the gang symbol that marked me as one of their own, one of the elite crew members who did enough dirty work to earn a permanent mark—a permanent place in the brotherhood on the streets.

  It took me two years to earn that tattoo.

  It was going to follow me around forever.

  And now here I was in the back of a getaway car. At least the hostages got out. I glanced down at Taylor, her face slick with sweat, and the sheen of pain in her eyes made my gut tighten. Rage bubbled up inside me. I wanted to beat every single punk ass in this van. How the fuck did this become my reality?

  I was supposed to be driving down the open road. I was supposed to be free of shit like this, at least for a little while.

  But no.

  Instead, I was dragged right back in and I couldn’t walk away. Taylor was tangled up in this mess now and everything I did would come back on her.

  I wasn’t going to let her be punished for the bad luck that I was at her window when the bank was held up.

  I would protect her.

  And I would bring these fuckers down.

  The symbol on my back gave me an automatic in. The badge attached to my real name gave me the authority to do what I thought was necessary. These guys thought they were getting an ally.

  They were wrong.

  I glanced out the window, noting we were heading out of downtown Raleigh and traveling into one of the nearby towns. The driver played it smart, not driving erratically, not drawing any kind of attention to the van. He obeyed all the traffic laws and stayed within the speed limit.

  A minivan was a good choice because it looked like a mom car, not a criminal mobile. Cops probably wouldn’t look twice at it unless it was driving at unusual speeds.

  Plus, it had room in the back for all the stolen money.

  A million questions bounced around in my head. I wondered where we were going. How long they planned to drive. What their plans were now. But I didn’t ask because crew members always played it cool. They always acted like they had things under control. If I started acting fidgety, nervous, or questionable, it would not be good for me. Or Taylor.

  I glanced down to find her looking at me. Her green eyes were tight with pain and they latched onto my face as if the only thing anchor
ing her to consciousness was me.

  I felt the weight of her green-eyed stare like an anvil around my neck. I swallowed, trying to get some air past the tight feeling closing my throat. Usually in these situations, the only person I had to look after was myself.

  And if I were honest, then I would admit the reason I made such a good undercover cop was because I didn’t really care much about what happened to me. They always say the most dangerous man is a man with nothing to lose. Well, that’s me. For years I lived by that code. For years I put myself in death’s path, pushing the limits, stepping over the boundaries between right and wrong.

  It always paid off.

  Yet as Taylor’s emerald eyes watched me, I felt the chains of responsibility wrap around my chest. Suddenly, I had someone to worry about that wasn’t me. Suddenly, the thought of losing the way she held on to me as if her life depended on it seemed like a very big thing.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, my voice a little harsher than I intended.

  Eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “You’ll see.”

  “She needs medical attention,” I bit out, not caring if I sounded challenging.

  Her slim, cold fingers wrapped around my forearm. The impulse to cover her light, cold grip with mine was strong, but my arms were supporting her body and I couldn’t risk taking away that support.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” I told her, keeping my voice as low as I could.

  Her fingers tightened around my arm.

  The van took a sharp turn and I looked up. We were pulling behind an old, abandoned gas station. The parking lot was cracked with weeds growing up between the splits in the pavement. The old pumps were basically silver boxes sticking up out of the ground, long empty. Everything around the building was bare. No houses, no other buildings, no signs of life.

  If I hadn’t just driven here from downtown Raleigh, I would have thought we were a world away.

  The van pulled around the back of the worn-out building and stopped near a boarded-up entrance. With the engine still running, the three passengers started piling out. I sat there for long moments, fighting the urge to demand being taken to a hospital.

  One of the guys who said his name was Tommy leaned back inside. “Lucy, we’re home!” he said and laughed.

  The others in the parking lot laughed and the next thing I knew, they were pulling open the boarded-up door and disappearing inside.

  The driver (he said his name was Snake) turned to glance at me. “There’s med supplies in there.”

  The van door slid open with ease and I climbed out, doing my best to not jostle her as I moved. As soon as the van door was shut, the car pulled away, the tail lights glowing red as he retreated. The other three guys were already inside and we were left standing there in the dark, just her and me.

  “What’s going on, Brody?” she said, her voice hoarse.

  “Call me Slater,” I reminded her. “It’s important you remember that.”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” she said, her eyes flooding with tears.

  “I’m going to explain everything real soon.” I promised. “First I’m going to patch you up.”

  “Shouldn’t I go to a hospital for that? I have a feeling you aren’t a doctor.”

  I tightened my arms around her. “I’m not a doctor, but I’m a certified EMT. I’ll take a look inside and if it’s something I can’t fix, then I’ll blow my cover and get you the hell out of here.”

  “Your cover?”

  I noted the dark coloring of the shirt tied around her arm. The blood had slowed, but not stopped. I needed to stop the bleeding. Explanations were going to have to wait.

  “Taylor, listen to me,” I intoned seriously, holding her gaze. “This is a bad situation, and I won’t lie… It’s dangerous as hell. I need you to trust me.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “Yeah, and I’m a questionable guy, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you. It’s my job.”

  “What kind of job do you have?” she said, a hint of exasperation in her tone.

  I smirked. “I’m a cop,” I whispered against her ear.

  Her indrawn breath was confirmation she heard.

  She turned her face. My head was still lowered from whispering against her ear and her lips brushed my cheek. I pulled back slightly, aligning our mouths, hovering just inches above hers.

  “You with me?” I said low.

  She nodded.

  Fierce possession took hold of me, sort of like the way a pair of handcuffs felt being slapped around your wrists. I knew how to escape a pair of handcuffs. I wasn’t sure I wanted to escape these.

  A noise from inside reminded me that this wasn’t the time to be feeling things. I straightened and stepped inside the abandoned station.

  4

  Taylor

  I had to be in shock.

  There was a reason I wasn’t more afraid. There was a reason I wasn’t screaming and fighting to get out of Brody’s arms and away from this god-awful dirty, abandoned, completely creepy gas station. My body wasn’t getting enough blood flow, likely because all the blood was flowing out of me instead of throughout my veins.

  It was making me sluggish, slowing my response, and in defense, my body wasn’t making adrenaline. So naturally, I felt completely safe in this stranger’s arms.

  Yeah. That was totally it.

  It had nothing to do with the fact that he was shirtless, totally ripped, and covered in tattoos that practically screamed sex appeal. It also had nothing to do with the fact he was wearing a backward baseball cap that screamed thuggish behavior. Thuggish behavior was bad. It was very bad.

  But so very good.

  The thought caused me to shiver and in reaction to the small movement, Brody pulled me just a little bit closer to his chest. His heat was delicious and I felt my eyes begin to droop. Maybe all I needed was a little nap… just a few minutes to rest my eyes.

  “Tay,” a nearby voice commanded. “No sleeping.”

  I grunted in displeasure and forced my eyes back open, looking around the room. If I couldn’t sleep, then I would study my surroundings. The place looked the way one would expect an abandoned gas station to look. It was basically a large box with concrete walls and floors that were once covered in linoleum but now were peeling and dirty. In the center of the room were empty racks that likely used to hold merchandise. The counter at the front of the room was bare and crooked, like part of it was sinking into the floor. Behind it on the wall was a sign that read what I assumed was supposed to say QUICK MART except the Q and U were missing so it read as ICK MART.

  It was actually very accurate.

  The windows were all boarded up, with only slivers of sunlight filtering through, leaving ribbons of light across the dusty and trash-littered floor. Off in the corner was a pile of old brown leaves that would likely lie there until they turned to dust.

  On the far end of the room were several large coolers, the kind that sat on the floor and opened from the top. They were no longer working, no longer white, and frankly I would be terrified to go and see what was inside them.

  So this is where criminals hung out?

  The movies made it look so much more glamorous.

  “Down here,” one of the men called to Brody, and he pivoted around, following after the men who opened up a hidden door in the wall and disappeared. I could hear their boots clomping down a set of stairs and fear clawed its way up the back of my throat.

  I felt my limbs go rigid. They wanted us to go into a basement?

  If this is the way the upstairs looked, the basement had to be ten times worse.

  “We aren’t gonna be here long,” Brody reminded me softly.

  I peered up at him through the dim lighting. He didn’t appear to be bothered at all by this place. If anything, he looked like he’d been in places like this a thousand times before.

  Oh, God, I thought. What if he is lying about being a cop? What if he is
really one of these… these criminals, and he’s only lying to me so I won’t put up a fight?

  The adrenaline was like a shot of ultra-strong espresso being fed right into my bloodstream by an IV. I jackknifed up away from his firm body, flinging out my arm (the one that wasn’t shot), and pushing away from him.

  He grunted and grasped at me. He was already descending the stairs and my sudden movement caught him off guard. I leapt out of his arms and hit the stair. My legs felt like Jell-O and they buckled trying to support my weight.

  I grappled for the railing, only there wasn’t one. My nails dug into the side of the wall, dirt and grime pushing its way beneath my fingernails, and my knee bounced off the edge of the crude wooden step.

  “Fucking A,” Brody swore, sweeping his arm beneath my armpit and yanking me up before I could go tumbling all the way down.

  For long seconds, I dangled in his grasp, renewed pain shooting through my arm, and a sharp ache threatened to crack open my skull.

  “So much for trust,” Brody muttered, hauling me back into his arms.

  Two heads appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Brody grunted. “She needs to lose a couple pounds.” He groaned as he walked the rest of the way down the stairs.

  Yeah, I should have been offended because he just called me fat. But I couldn’t summon the energy because my teeth were chattering and my limbs were trembling.

  Brody’s mouth set in a grim line as he stepped into the basement of horrors. I was aware of him taking in the surroundings like he was a filing cabinet and everything in the room was being filed into a certain folder.

  “Where’s the med supplies?” he asked.

  “Over there,” replied the criminal known as Tommy.

  I didn’t bother to look where he said because lifting my head felt like way too much effort. Brody strode farther into the room and passed through a framed-out doorway that had never been finished.

  He lowered me onto a cot, which creaked under my weight as if it too was telling me I was fat.

  “Stupid cot,” I muttered.

  “It’s that or the floor,” Brody said.

  I didn’t bother to reply as he moved away out of my immediate line of sight. My heart began to pound, like really threatened to burst right out of my chest. As much as I was leery of him, the thought of him not being here was worse.