Beneath These Chains

by Meghan March

  “But that doesn’t make sense either. A frame job? By who?” Elle whispered. It was clear my words had shoved a wedge between us because she rolled away and stood. But then she reached out and grabbed my hand, laced her fingers with mine, and tugged. “Come on. There’s nothing you’re going to figure out in the next twenty minutes, so you might as well come shower with me. Wouldn’t want to waste water.”

  The impish curve of her lips—and the absolutely knockout body she wasn’t attempting to cover—pushed all other thoughts from my mind. When a naked woman who looked like Elle took your hand and asked you to follow her, you didn’t think twice about that shit. You went.

  “Conserving water is the responsible thing to do … but I have a feeling if I get you in that shower, it’s going to last a lot longer than if I were in there by myself.” My feet hit the floor, and I rose from the bed.

  We were late to work. But luckily, I knew the boss, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. And the fact that I was walking in the back door of Chains holding Elle’s hand like some throwback to a high school date I never got to have was pretty fucking sweet. The woman herself was sweet. She might put up a thorny, hard to get to know exterior, but beneath it was the creampuff center I’d suspected was there all along.

  It became even clearer when Mathieu surveyed us.

  “So it’s really like that, huh?”

  I waited for Elle to respond, curious what she’d say. “Yep, it’s really like that,” was her answer. It wasn’t a declaration by any means, but it wasn’t a denial. I’d take what I could get at this point.

  “Good. You’ll keep her out of trouble the next time she decides to do something crazy like go work at a fuckin’ pawnshop, and you’ll keep him smiling and laughing like he has been. Not a bad birthday present.”

  “Birthday?”

  Oh shit. I’d totally forgotten with all the crap going on. And because I was a guy and birthdays didn’t always stick with me.

  “Yeah, nineteen. Never actually thought I’d live that long. It’s feeling pretty damn good though.”

  Elle’s head swiveled toward me, and her elbow caught me in the side. “Lord, can we talk for a second?”

  I let her drag me down the hall to the office and slam the door shut. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me it was his birthday!” She paced from the door to the end of the couch and turned on me. “So not cool!”

  “I totally forgot—we’ve been juggling a lot of shit lately. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to him.”

  “But now we’re not prepared! And I love birthdays. I would’ve made a cake. Brought balloons. Presents. Something super cool. And now I have to scramble, and I’m not good at presents when I’m scrambling.”

  Even though it might get me in trouble, I laughed. “Balloons, really? The kid is nineteen, not nine.”

  “Everybody likes balloons.” Elle propped both hands on her hips.

  I looked at my shoes, feeling even more like shit that I hadn’t remembered Mathieu’s birthday. The kid deserved better from me. Last year, I hadn’t even realized it was his birthday until just before closing and he’d said, “Hey, I’m legal now to get into the titty bar. Wanna go?” He’d gone back to what he was doing before I could form a response. I’d grabbed his personnel file and checked his ID. Damned if it hadn’t been his eighteenth birthday. We’d done it up right, but that wasn’t a story I’d be telling Elle. I could picture her response if I told her: “Well actually, the kid doesn’t like balloons so much as tits the size of them, and he’d prefer a lap dance to cake.” Now that we’d gotten our shit straight, I didn’t want to fuck it up with something like that. Besides, that probably wasn’t the best example to set for the kid anyway. Maybe dinner was better than mostly naked chicks. Mathieu was not going to agree. But at least Elle would be happy … and that was what I cared about most. Mathieu would eat his fancy dinner wherever we took him, and he would like it.

  “Stop pacing, woman,” I said, but of course, she didn’t. She kept stalking her cute little ass back and forth, fretting about cake mix and frosting and some other random shit. “Elle, get your ass over here.”

  Her head snapped up. “Seriously?”

  “I don’t like seeing you upset over something fixable. We’ll make it right. Mathieu will get his birthday and some damn balloons if you want them, but I want you over here now where I can put my hands on you.”

  Arms crossed over her chest, hesitation was written all over her beautiful face. Come on, bend a little. And then hesitation morphed into something else—heat.

  “Thought I’d satisfied you in the shower?”

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t want more.”

  “At work?”

  I cut my eyes to the door. “Door’s closed.”

  “While the birthday boy is out there holding down the fort?”

  “Living dangerously today.”

  “I think you probably live dangerously every day.”

  Not lately, but I had.

  “And after this I have the afternoon off to go get all the good birthday stuff and to make a reservation for dinner?”

  “We’ll talk about that after.”

  She stopped right in front of me. “After?”

  “After,” I repeated. “When I’ll probably agree to anything, like I’d agree to anything right about now.”

  “That’s a dangerous thing to tell a girl.”

  “You’re the dangerous one here, sweet thing.”

  A few more feet, and she was next to me.

  Fuck, there was nothing I loved more than burying one hand in her hair and cupping her ass with the other. I lowered my lips to hers, and … Mathieu pounded on the door.

  “Got a customer. Got some expensive shit he wants to sell that I don’t know much about.”

  I pulled away from Elle, reluctance screaming from every muscle in my body.

  “Rain check,” she said.

  “You better believe it.” I turned and headed for the door, grabbing Elle by the hand and pulling her along behind me. “Let’s do this.”

  The man standing in the shop was nothing special. Just an average guy with a receding hairline and bit of a gut hanging over his slacks. His hand rested on an ornate wooden box on the top of the glass case.

  I followed Lord behind the counter.

  “Can we help you?” he asked.

  “I hear this is the place for selling higher end stuff.”

  “You heard right,” Lord replied. “What do you have?”

  “About a dozen watches. Nice ones.”

  Everything in me stilled as I focused on the box. Lord’s hand brushed over the small of my back, and I knew we were thinking the same exact thing.

  “All right. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  The man flipped the lid and my eyes devoured the gold and silver faces.

  My attention landed and held on the one at the end of the bolster. It’d been years since I’d seen it in person, because my mom had kept it locked away in a safe deposit box and never brought it out, but it could be … Excitement pumped through me, and my fingers itched to grab it from the box and flip it over to check for the engraving on the back.

  Lord asked, “You want to pawn them or sell them?”

  “Sell them.”

  I was waiting for my chance. Lord might have a ballpark idea of a value, but he’d ask me to take a look at them. I just needed the nod so I didn’t look like a crazy, grabby girl when I snatched a watch out of the box and studied it like it was a piece of gold from King Tut’s tomb.

  “You mind if we take a closer look?” he asked.

  I almost rubbed my hands together in anticipation.

  “Go right ahead.” The man slid the box across the counter.

  Finally, Lord looked to me. “Elle?”

  I impressed myself with how steady my hands were when I reached for the watch I was eyeing and lifted it out of the box. It was an antique Patek Philippe to be certain. I carefully slid it off the bolster. I paused,
praying that I’d see the inscription on the back. I flipped it over.

  And there was nothing.

  All the anticipation drained out of me at the blank gold back.

  “Nice watch. Good condition,” I said, swallowing back my disappointment and forcing myself to assess the watch for purchase.

  Lord must have noticed the stoop of my shoulders, because he wrapped an arm around me and squeezed my hip.

  “How much you looking to get for them?” he asked the man.

  The guy’s price was astronomical, even for a nice collection in good condition. At any other moment, I’d be all about haggling to try to get him down, but right now I was too disheartened to care.

  Lord squeezed my hip again to get my attention. “Elle? What do you think?”

  “We couldn’t consider buying for that price.” I looked up at the man and added, “Maybe half, but even that’s a stretch.”

  Lord dropped his hand from my hip, and I slid the watch back into its place in the box.

  The man’s posture stiffened, and he snatched the box away from us. “Half? You clearly don’t know what you’re talking about. I was giving you a bargain. I could get even more at auction.”

  I almost rolled my eyes at his line about the auction. I’d heard the same thing from more than one person with fancy stuff to sell. I opened my mouth to say something bitchy, but Lord beat me to it.

  “Then maybe auction is your best bet.” Lord’s tone was professional and polite, without a hint of disrespect. I wanted to tell the guy good fucking luck, but I stayed quiet.

  “Then maybe I will.” The man snapped the box shut, turned, and walked out.

  I held my tongue until the door chimed with his exit.

  “Well, that was interesting.” My words lacked my usual energy.

  “He’ll probably be back,” Lord replied, eyes still on the man as he climbed into a black BMW at the curb. “Once the auction house tells him what he’d be looking at for fees and potential take, he might think twice.” He looked down at me. “I know you were hoping it was your dad’s watch. I’m sorry it wasn’t.” He pulled me against his chest and wrapped his arms around me.

  I hadn’t realized I needed a hug until right that moment. I clung to Lord, feeling stupid tears springing up in my eyes. Letting myself get excited, even for a few seconds, and then experiencing the crushing weight of disappointment sucked. But wouldn’t I rather have the excitement than no chance at all? It was a dilemma. I just wanted to find the damn thing.

  It was there, in Lord’s arms, that I acknowledged something else that was equally important: what would I do when I found it? Buy it, obviously, but then what? Quit? Move on to some other job that would piss off my mother and stepfather just as much? Hell, in order to do that, I really might have to start stripping or something. But either way, once I had the watch, my original reason for working at Chains would be gone. I snuggled into Lord’s chest, wanting to avoid thinking about working anywhere else.

  Did I really want to leave Chains? I thought of the shop, all the old treasures waiting to find new homes and the new discoveries that constantly walked through the door and the thrill of striking a bargain to buy and sell. And the man who owned it.

  I don’t need to worry about it today, I told myself. I haven’t even found the watch, and I might never find it.

  I pulled away from Lord. “Thanks for that.” And then I noticed Mathieu watching us. “Take a picture, kid, it’ll last longer.”

  I expected him to say something about us being all weird—or at least me being girly and emotional—but all he said was: “You two look good together.” His smile quirked, and the comment I expected came next. “But hugging it out in a pawnshop ain’t normal. Maybe you need to get a room.”

  “Thanks for the idea,” Lord said. “You gonna be ready for dinner tonight? We’re taking you out. Birthday special. My treat. You pick the place.”

  With Mathieu picking the place, who knew where we’d end up.

  “That’d be cool. I’m feeling barbecue tonight.”

  “Then barbecue it is,” said Lord.

  “I pay the tab, and you’re ditching us?” I said, raising an eyebrow at Mathieu.

  “Dude, it’s my birthday. I appreciate the cake—and balloons,” he looked pointedly at Elle, “but I need to go see my homeboys and some titties.”

  Elle held up both hands, clearly staying out of it. “Go. Try to stay out of trouble. I better not be getting a call to bail you out of the parish prison tonight.”

  Mathieu gave us a chin jerk and headed for the door.

  “So what do you want to do now?” Elle asked me.

  I glanced down at my watch. It was only eight-thirty, which meant we had just enough time…

  “Ever think about getting ink?”

  “Ink?” Elle’s eyes widened.

  “A tat.”

  “I know what you mean, but … where is this coming from?”

  “Con’s sponsoring a tattoo expo down at the convention center. Goes until ten. He’s not working it, but a couple of his employees are. He’s there hanging out and shaking hands. I think Vanessa’s there too.”

  Understanding settled across Elle’s face—and then a cautious look I didn’t see too often. “Do I have to get a tattoo if I go?”

  I picked up her hand and threaded my fingers through hers. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  She bit her lower lip before straightening. “Then let’s check it out.”

  “I want one,” Elle announced.

  I tried to hide my smile but failed. We’d only been inside the expo for about five minutes, but as soon as Elle had seen the designs and pictures posted all over the convention center—and all of the people showing off their new ink before it was covered up—she’d been vibrating with excitement.

  “Impulsive much?” I asked, studying her.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “You sure, doll?” That came from Delilah, one of Con’s main artists at Voodoo Ink. “It’s not something you should really decide on the spur of the moment. It’s a pretty permanent decision.”

  “The design isn’t the impulse … pulling the trigger and getting it is,” Elle admitted. “I’ve been wanting something for a while … I’ve just never taken the final step.”

  Vanessa clapped her hands from where she sat on Con’s lap in the front corner of Voodoo’s booth. “Yay! Tattoo virgin!”

  “Like that wasn’t you too long ago,” Con said, tightening his arm around her waist. “Now you’re addicted.”

  “Addicted to you and the ink,” Vanessa said, turning to press a kiss to his cheek.

  It was fucking cool to see them so happy—and not keeping their relationship a secret anymore. Even here, they attracted attention. Vanessa’s status as a well-known heiress—and the fact that she was sitting on the lap of a man covered from neck to wrists in ink—would probably always spawn waves of speculation. But neither cared a damn bit.

  The big room in the convention center was filled with buzzing and laughter—and some yelling and a bit of crying. Voodoo’s spot was prime real estate—in the front corner by one of the main entrances. Con’s new artist, Bishop, Delilah’s brother, was inking a big, bearded man in a chair a few feet away. Delilah’s last appointment for the night had been a no-show, which gave her an unexpected open slot in her schedule.

  “You sure you want to do this?” I asked Elle. She was practically bouncing next to me, so I could guess what her answer would be.

  “Definitely sure.”

  Delilah pulled out her sketchpad. “What are you thinking?”

  Elle explained, and Delilah listened and began to sketch.

  Vanessa wiggled off Con’s lap, and he reluctantly released his hold on her.

  Peering over Delilah’s shoulder, Vanessa studied the drawing. “Oh, Elle. That’s so cool. For your dad. I love it.”

  I had to agree with Van. It was a simple hourglass with a quote drippi
ng through it instead of sand.

  Delilah went to prepare the transfer, and I looked around the room. Given the location of the booth and the massive amounts of people walking by, Elle wouldn’t have much privacy if she wanted it inked on the side of her hip.

  “You sure you want to do this here? You could hold off and do it at Voodoo later,” I said.

  I had to ask—regardless of how determined she looked.

  “No, I want to do it now.”

  Vanessa frowned. “If you’re afraid you’re going to lose your nerve, maybe it’s not a good idea to do it until you’ve thought it over.”

  “It’s not that,” Elle started. “I just … it feels like serendipity. Like this night has worked out exactly the way it was supposed to, and tonight is supposed to end with me getting an awesome new tat. My first.” The excitement was still rolling off her in waves.

  Bishop looked over at us from the sugar skull he was inking. “Love the virgins.”

  My glare, which would have any normal guy backing the fuck down immediately, didn’t faze him. “Think you should be minding your own work, man.”

  Bishop lifted his chin at me and took my measure. A few moments passed, and he nodded, eyes cutting to Elle one last time.

  “Lucky man.”

  “And I know it,” I said, voice firm.

  “Okay, if the alpha stare-down is complete, I think we can get started,” Delilah said, waving the transfer at us. “You want to go change into some scrubs and a T-shirt so this is easier?”

  Elle looked down at her dress. “Can’t I just pull up my skirt?”

  A choking noise that I think was supposed to be a laugh came from the guy Bishop was working on.

  “Sure thing, babe. You can do whatever you want,” Delilah replied.

  Elle’s eyes darted to me as Con and Vanessa watched us both. Were they waiting for me to tell her no way in hell?

  “You don’t need my permission. Whatever you want to do is good with me.”