Mad Love (Guns & Ink Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  I didn’t appreciate the humorous glimmer in his eyes. I focused on his rings instead. There were other silver barbells like the one he’d had in his tongue already, but they were longer and thicker, still wrapped in plastic. There were plastic ones too of other colors. Black, white, and red. I picked through them for a minute, before I took out a blue steel barbell. It was the same length as the silver one he’d worn and the same thickness.

  “That your choice?”

  I closed the box and then braved a look into his eyes. “Yes.”

  In response, he stuck his tongue out. Taking it out at the emergency room yesterday had been just as nerve-wracking. I eyed the hole in his pink tongue. I unscrewed the barbell and then held on to the ball carefully. I touched his jaw and used the long bar to guide me, nestling it into the hole on his tongue with the sharp end pointing down. Once in, I screwed the bottom on, and then stood back, examining it. I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted.

  “Tell me, Mad.”

  My stomach knotted. “You should test it out on your teeth.” I was stuck on his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. His smooth looking lips.

  When the sound of his tink, tink, tink rapped off his teeth, I heard it in every part of my body. I tamped down the shiver—I wasn’t supposed to shiver over men and their piercings—and swallowed the saliva that pooled on my own tongue.

  “Stick out your tongue.”

  I did it so fast I watched his mouth smirk. I glared with my mouth open, stuck in this intense bubble that seemed to be protecting me from everything else.

  He leaned forward and brushed the tip of his piercing across the tip of my tongue. I felt things I wasn’t supposed to feel. Heat in places it wasn’t supposed to be hot. Emotions in my heart that were neither old Madi nor this one. This was Mad. I leaned against the counter for support as goosebumps broke out across my arms.

  “Imagine that on other parts of your body.” He placed a soft kiss on the tip of my tongue.

  This wasn’t about sex for me. That wasn’t what I was doing. I was simply feeling something enjoyable, and I didn’t want it to end. But Klay’s comment must.

  Sensing that, he leaned away, chest moving uncharacteristically fast. His midnight blue eyes were glowing. He looked so large and feral in his small bathroom. It did the opposite of scare me.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this.” I tore myself free of his tongue and his eyes, and the fact that he’d touched me all over, and it didn’t scare me as much as leaving. “I don’t want to do this.”

  “Go. I’ve gotta clean up.” He cleared his gruff voice and gave me a heavy look as the door closed. “Go eat.”

  The moment we separated, everything came hurtling at me. Five minutes ago, I’d wanted to leave. Klayton had given me a lot of reasons to still consider doing so. How would he stop being so angry overnight? That was like me being unafraid in the same amount of time. It wasn’t going to happen.

  There was a fist-sized indentation in the wall where he’d punched. The sight of it made me uneasy. I covered my mouth with my hand and choked my sob back. I didn’t want to be wrong about him. I didn’t want him to break me, not after doing so much to help me.

  Instead of heating up old coffee, I went against my instincts and made a fresh pot. Everything inside of me said not to disrupt his life. But he walked in the room the moment I doubted, and the withering look he shot me gave me no other option. He sat at the table with his laptop as I surveyed his fridge. I wasn’t much of a cook. My mother and grandmother had cooked all our meals unless I made grilled cheese for Georgy and me. In college, I ate out or not at all. I’d always been concerned with my calories. Now, I wasn’t hungry.

  I sensed him watching me. I peeked over my shoulder to find his gaze on my legs. When I caught him, he looked up shamelessly, eyes gleaming. I turned around with a glare, deciding on a scramble. How long had he been doing that without me knowing? I took out some cheese and a pack of bacon. After a search, I found a knife and an onion. I scooped some butter into a pan and then set to making a cheese bacon scramble.

  “Women never cook for me,” he said. “You’re turning me on again.”

  “Dang it, Klayton. Does everything I do turn you on?” I spun around and scowled, finding his amused smirk aggravating. “Stop telling me. I don’t want to know.”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He bit down on his tongue ring, like he’d figured out what it did to me. “Keep cooking, Madison.”

  I chose to ignore him. By the time I finished, there were two plates loaded high with a cheese bacon scramble and buttered toast. I made two fresh, creamy, sweet cups of coffee. When I reached for them, Klayton’s hands shot out. “I got them. Go sit down.” He gave me a look when I didn’t move, making me scurry to my usual seat. Thankfully, it was the one farthest from his.

  “Doesn’t this taste better than tap water?” He looked at me from across his table, mug in hand.

  If I wanted him to express himself in a less frightening manner, then I had to express myself honestly too. “I don’t taste anything. Whether I drink tap water or not doesn’t matter.”

  His mouth turned down. “It should matter. You shouldn’t want to take the shittier end of the stick.”

  “That isn’t what I’m doing.”

  “What are you doing then?”

  “I’m trying to make me being here as easy as possible. I don’t want to be an aggravation to you.” I met his hard gaze. “You’re upset.”

  “Keep going.” He forced himself to remain calm. “I want to understand you.”

  “I know you have your life the way you want it. You even said you didn’t want the headache. I wanted to make it easier for you.”

  “Make it harder for me,” he ground out. “Make it so damn hard for me, I have no choice but to let it go. Eat all my food. Wear all my clothes. Ruin my house. Ruin me. You don’t have to make anything easy on me, Mad. I’m not making it easy for you.” At that statement, his midnight eyes became sad. “Please try to stop. It upsets me. I’ll tell you what I’m feeling, or I’ll take off. I’ll go to the gym, or tattoo the shit out of someone. We have to find a way to work together.”

  He wasn’t making it easy for me? Was he insane? He hadn’t taken care of me at all? He hadn’t given me a place to stay for nothing? He hadn’t bought me what I needed? He hadn’t endured a broken eye? Suddenly, I knew how he felt. That was aggravating.

  “Okay. We’ll work together.” I gave him a nervous smile, earning one back from him. Unfortunately for me, I liked that too. It made the hard lines of his face fade away, leaving a more youthful man sitting across from me. One with wayward brown hair and stubble on his hard jaw. It was the first time I had admitted to myself that Klayton was gorgeous.

  Heat moved over me. The old Madi looked at me like I was crazy. She hadn’t ever let men like Klay kiss her. Dad would have killed us. He barely enjoyed Leigh, and he was about as perfect as perfect could be. She wasn’t entirely immune to men like him though. She’d admired Harvey in high school, the bad boy. In a way, Klayton kind of reminded me of him. Harvey was younger, angrier, and less self-aware. But that was a crush from faraway. It faded; I hadn’t thought of him again until now. Because of Klayton and his freaking tongue ring.

  “I’m going to head down to the shop after breakfast. Want to start your training?”

  Any chance to pay him back would undoubtedly help alleviate my guilt. Guilt he didn’t want, and I didn’t want to give him. “Yes.”

  “There’s men in and out of the main parlor, but only Wayne and Corey go into the back. My safe’s back there, so they’re the only two I allow other than Cat. If they do go into the back, they’re going to the private rooms to tattoo or the breakroom. I’ll talk to them,” he promised when I made a face.

  Klayton was one thing. I had time to determine my trust in him. But I didn’t trust any other man on this earth. Not one. I didn’t want to work with Wayne and Corey.

  Sensing that, he sighed. “I’ll fig
ure something out.” He got up and grabbed our plates, dumping them in the sink. “Go put your shoes on.” He headed to where his sat beside the couch.

  I went quickly to his bedroom and tied my shoes, looking around his bedroom for my senses. My senses were in his tongue ring box, or in the hall where he’d punched the wall and then kissed me. Or worse, on the couch, where he’d let me touch him. Or waiting for his anger to come back. I didn’t want to have to choose between him and my safety. I didn’t think I should have to.

  “Ready?” he asked when I came out. He was leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand, his thumb poised above his screen. I saw a text message open before he turned the screen dark and put it in his pocket.

  I was reminded of the woman he had over the other morning. Something like regret and irritation moved over me. I had no reason to be irritated but every reason to be regretful. Whether for my sake or his, I wanted to ask him if it was okay to kiss me and still talk to someone else, before I remembered it didn’t matter. We would never kiss again, and we were most certainly never going further.

  That. Wasn’t. Happening.

  I decided to let it go. Plus, we’d been through enough this morning. Adding any more seemed like the wrong choice.

  We left his apartment and took the stairs. The door at the bottom was unlocked, and he pushed it open, waiting for me to duck under his arm to let it close. “This way,” he said, turning right. He went into a room off the hallway and again closed the door after me.

  “This is my office.” He grabbed a short stool that spun and patted it. He sank into the chair behind his desk and cringed, touching his eye.

  I didn’t want to see his pain, so I concentrated on his office. His desk was the color of ash, this pretty gray and metal, and his silver Mac and black phone added to the cold, sterile feel of the room. He put more attention on his desk than he did the walls. They were bare and painted a dull gray. The same black floors in the shop were in his office as well. He powered on his computer and glared at it with one eye.

  “I can’t even see this shit.” He jabbed at the power button on his monitor, turning it off and freeing his eyes. “You know how to use a computer?”

  I smiled at his question. “A little.”

  “What’s that smile for?” He watched it carefully like it would reach out and take away all his.

  I dropped it. “I was a marketing minor.”

  He quirked one eyebrow. “Where?”

  Crap. Too late I realized I’d mentioned old Madi. Around Cat it was fine—she understood about the past. But Klayton only knew minimal details. Opening up to him felt exposing. “DU.”

  His stare wouldn’t let me go. “University of Denver?”

  Trapped, I gave him a nod.

  “When did you go?”

  So far, he hadn’t pushed for details. Maybe he’d been respectful. “Before … um … I was taken.”

  “How long ago was that, Madi?” He pushed his chair closer to me. His shins touched my knees.

  “I don’t remember.” I studied our feet. His black boots were large and worn, scuffed on the toes. My new black Converse’s looked so tiny in comparison.

  “How long …?” he trailed off, unable to word his question.

  But he didn’t need to. “I don’t remember how long it lasted. A couple weeks? A month? I couldn’t keep count.”

  My nightmare reared up and dragged me under, tossing me back in that hotel room, the smell of him in every breath I took.

  Then, I puked.

  “Shit!” Klay hissed, pushing back as I puked all over his office floor.

  It smelled like cigarettes and dirty, disgusting sheets, like him. It was never ending. I wanted him to stop. I’d begged and begged. But he’d tied me to the bed and stuffed something into my mouth and taped it shut. I couldn’t scream or hardly breathe as he raped me. Over and over and over and over and over and over …

  When my present returned, I was in the corner in Klayton’s office, and there was puke and tears everywhere as Cat and Klayton stared at me with horror in their eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  Klayton

  Get off me.

  Stop. Please, stop. Stop, stop …

  She hadn’t ceased saying those things. She’d repeated them as she puked, as she sobbed, as she fought Cat and me.

  I stared at the tiny, broken bird in the corner of my office as she trembled so hard there was blood on her lip. Cat covered her eyes and sobbed on her knees, breaking down because I knew the scene reminded her of her own breakdowns. It was my fault. I did this. I asked questions, I scared her, I kissed her—I pushed her over the edge.

  I was a monster.

  I fell numbly into my chair as Madison shook. She was in shock. Her eyes had glazed over, so I knew she was back here with us, but she didn’t look like she knew it. Throw up stained her new white shirt. Terror dilated her pupils until her gray/blue eyes looked cold and lifeless. Her clothes, her shoes, my clothes and my shoes, Cat’s as well, were covered in Mad’s breakfast. Parts of me shook that hadn’t since I was a kid. Parts of me broke that I thought were strong.

  Pieces of me wanted to crawl through the mess and comfort her.

  “Don’t touch her,” Cat begged, when I did just that.

  I sat beside her and grabbed for her. Madi didn’t fight me. She let me put her on my lap and let me wrap her in my arms. She shivered in my arms and rotated, shoving her nose in my neck. It was the first time I had cried as an adult. The first time a woman brought me to my knees. It was the first time I cared more for someone else’s well-being than my own. I buried my face in her neck, holding her together until she fell asleep.

  I rose carefully with her in my arms. “Come on,” I whispered, stepping out of my office. No one else had gone back there; I was thankful Wayne and Corey let us be. Cat rushed ahead of me and opened the door to my place. I walked Madi to my bathroom and sat with her on the toilet. I untied her shoes and pulled them off, tossing them on the rug.

  Cat tried to take over, turning the tub on. “Put her in the tub. I’ve got the rest.”

  “No,” came a weak denial when I started to hand Mad off. Her hands fisted my shirt, holding on with a strength that surprised me after the energy she’d already expended. “I don’t want him to leave.”

  “We have to wash you,” Cat soothed, removing Mad’s hair from her face.

  She shook her head defiantly, moving to wrap her arms around my neck. “Oomph,” I grunted, feeling her grip where I breathed. My arms engulfed her, trying to staunch the shaking. “You should let her help you, baby. I can’t do it.” There was no way in hell I would take a single piece of her clothing off after … that.

  In response, she held me tighter, making it impossible to breathe. I looked at Cat for help, but Madi wasn’t budging when she tried to take her. The scent of her vomit was thick in the air. It was all over us. Cat turned the water off and sagged to the bathroom floor, gazing into my eyes as something passed between us.

  This problem was bigger than anything we could do for her. She needed help that we couldn’t give. Therapy, group, doctors—something that would help lead her to where she deserved to be. Living in my place having me scare her everyday—I couldn’t finish my thought before the sting in my eyes returned. One thing was for sure. I would do everything in my power to make her feel safe. I would whisper, I would count to ten, I’d even go to therapy too before I added to the terror in her.

  Deep, deep inside, I despised myself. Every part of me.

  I hid my face in her neck and inhaled the faint smell of her clean skin. Eventually, she fell asleep again, snoring softly against me. I was crammed into the small space between the toilet, the counter, and the tub.

  “What do we do?” I whispered, catching Cat’s gaze.

  She brought her knees to her chest. “I don’t know, Klay.”

  “Well, you were here. What worked for you?”

  “You and therapy.”

  I heard her t
his time, but I didn’t believe it for a single second. I never would. I wasn’t even good for myself. How in the hell could I be good for anyone else? “I terrify her.” Regret and disgust dripped from my words. Both my eyes were blurry, masking Cat’s body.

  “She’s letting you hold her. You don’t terrify her.”

  She didn’t know what happened this morning. To deny her words—what else could I do—I held Madison tighter. “We have to help her.”

  “I told her about my group. What else do you want me to do?” she hissed when I raised my head to give her a dissatisfied look. “I can’t force her to do anything.” When I continued to stare, she groaned as if she were in pain. “We can take her to the hospital. They’ll do exams on her that won’t matter and ask questions they’ll never find the answer to. Then they’ll call the cops. It’ll happen all over again. They’ll make her tell them where she was, and then they’ll make her go there. Where it happened, Klay. She’ll have to go where it happened. Then she’ll have to tell them what he looks like. Tell them what he did to her. Then the cops will contact her family. A family she doesn’t want to contact yet. She’ll go home to them a different version of herself. And then what? She’s no better, but everyone knows her pain, and it isn’t like they’ll find the sleaze. You think she’s the first girl he’s taken? No!” she screamed. “He isn’t. He’s probably long gone. I don’t want to do that to her.” She pushed to her feet and seethed. “You can do that to her.”

  I sighed as she left the room. A few minutes later I heard the shower turn on down the hallway. All I could do was hug the woman in my arms, and rock her back and forth.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I whispered helplessly, looking up at the ceiling.

  Did I make her go through hell all over again, or did I make her live with it? She’d never respond to a cop or a doctor, prodding her, poking her, asking her to relive even a second of the hell she’d screamed about in my office. She had a family? I knew she’d talked about her family, but I hadn’t known they were out there waiting for her. If her attack lasted a month, maybe more, then their wounds were still just as fresh.