by S. J. Drum
“Like I said, none that I know of but it could have happened and we simply weren’t aware.”
“So, for two decades, she lived in your house and never did any of those things. Then, she marries a man, confides in you that she’s being abused and instead of believing her, the daughter who lived in your house for two decades and never showed this kind of behavior, you believe her husband when he says she’s mentally unstable and hurting herself. You’ve known this man a handful of years and your daughter two decades, twenty years. Yet, instead of believing Lucy and getting her the hell away from that asshole, you chose to believe her husband. That’s messed up.”
“No, that’s fucked up,” Jed added with a nod of support in Lucy’s direction.
“Far as I can see, the only crazy people here are the two of you.” Dalton inclined his head toward Lucy’s mother and father.
“I won’t stand here and be judged by filth like you.” Mr. Ellingsworth raked a glance over Dalton, pausing on the tattoo on his neck and the ragged hole in the knee of his worn-out jeans.
“I’d like you both to leave.” Lucy’s words were spoken so softly he almost missed them.
Dalton looked over his shoulder to find Lucy stepping up beside him. She reached for his hand and squeezed it before linking their fingers. In a stronger voice, her gaze trained and unwavering on her parents, she repeated, “I’d like you both to leave.” When her mother tried to speak, Lucy cut her off. “You can treat me like gum on the bottom of your shoe, call me crazy, show me the same amount of respect you would show a slug at the bottom of a pond, but never, ever disrespect Dalton.” She gave his hand a tug. “This man has shown me more kindness and care in two weeks than you two gave me during my entire life!”
“You don’t mean that,” her mother whispered at the same time her father blustered, “That’s absurd.”
“Get. Out.” Lucy threw her free hand in the direction of the glass door at the front of Hart’s Ink.
When neither of Lucy’s parents made a move to leave, Jed once again straightened to his full height before walking around the counter and stopping at Lucy’s side so she was flanked by him and Dalton. Mrs. Ellingsworth studied this new development with the glassy eyes of a Victorian lady about to take a fainting spell. Mr. Ellingsworth looked as if he was sizing them up, deciding on an appropriate threat to make which would resolve the situation to his satisfaction, regardless of what his daughter wanted.
The hum of Abigail’s machine stopped and the door to her studio was thrown open. She stalked out first, dark curls bouncing on her tattooed shoulders, followed by a giant of a man with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and a scarred face. Abigail took her place standing next to Jed, hands fisted on her hips and glaring at Mr. Ellingsworth. Dez moved at a slower pace with his usual predator’s gait. He sidled up next to Dalton, arms crossed over his chest.
Mr. Ellingsworth placed an arm around his wife’s thin shoulders before breaking the heavy silence. “This isn’t over Lucy. We’ll expect to hear from you.” He moved them both toward the door.
A sour feeling in the pit of Dalton’s stomach grew as he watched Lucy’s father pull open the glass door. Something was not right with the man.
“Oh, and Dad?” Dalton moved his attention to Lucy when she spoke.
Her father turned his cold gaze on her over his shoulder as he held the door for Mrs. Ellingsworth to move through.
“Give Ross a message for me.”
Dalton’s gut clenched.
“Tell him to practice his spelling. The ‘you’re’ in ‘you’re mine’ is spelled with an apostrophe—RE. If he’s going to write in permanent marker, at least make sure the spelling is correct. I bet he still carries that damn expensive phone with him everywhere he goes. Spelling, I bet there’s an app for that.”
Lucy smiled as she watched her parents shuffle out of Hart’s Ink and onto the sidewalk. The smile was neither happy nor nice. It was hard and mean and made Dalton want to draw her into the protection of his arms at the same time it made him want to press her up against the wall and fuck her until she forgot all about the idiots who raised her.
Without a word, Dez turned and headed back to Abigail’s studio while pulling off his t-shirt to display an unfinished tattoo on his ribcage.
“You okay?” Abigail asked Lucy in a gentle tone.
Dalton drew Lucy into the shelter of his arms as she spoke to Abigail. “Yeah, I’m okay. Weird. Normally I’d be panicking after something like that. Now, I’m just disappointed in them and a little sad we share the same genes.”
* * * * *
Lucy leaned back against the solid wall of Dalton’s chest and laid her arms over his where they rested across her stomach. She watched as Abigail walked into her studio, this time leaving the door open. The buzz of the tattoo machine started and the sound ignited a yearning in Lucy for her next tattoo.
“I don’t trust your dad, and I think if anyone needs to see the inside of a loony bin, it’s your mother.” Dalton ended his thoughts on a sigh strong enough to ruffle Lucy’s unbound hair.
“My mom isn’t mental, she’s just…fragile. She’s always been that way.”
Dalton growled and Lucy felt the rumbling sensation where her back was pressed to his chest.
“It pisses me off that you’ve dealt with her craziness so long you think it’s normal. And, no offense to you, sugar, but your dad’s a dick. Your mom might be in denial or lost in her own world and genuinely unaware of what’s going on, but I got the feeling your dad knows the score and for some reason he’s siding with the asshole who regularly beat the hell out of his daughter.”
Lucy needed to take a mental step back, regroup. Dalton’s words made sense but she didn’t want to believe the worst of her parents. They might not have been the best but they kept a roof over her head and food on the table while she was growing up. If her father had any idea Ross had been abusing her, he would have done something to help, wouldn’t he?
A vibration against her lower back made her jump before she realized it was Dalton’s phone ringing. The phone was shoved inside a front pocket of his jeans. She spun to face him as he retrieved it from his pocket and checked the display. He answered the call with a curt “Yeah?”
She watched emotions flow across his face. Annoyance, anger, worry and finally acceptance. He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket, all the while keeping his intense gaze trained on her.
“I need to get over to the construction site. Someone fucked up an order and now we’ve got twenty grand worth of Italian goddamn marble in the wrong color. I’ve got to figure out how to salvage this clusterfuck before the old broad, who has been a pain in my ass since the project began and is paying us to remodel her house, loses her mind.”
Lucy tilted her head back and gave Dalton a big, honest grin. Amazing how he could make her smile, make her mood take a U-turn without even trying. His dark brows drew together and he returned her grin with a frown. She laughed and his frown turned fierce.
“I’m not laughing at you, I swear. It’s just nice to hear about a normal problem for a change, like mixed-up orders and ornery old ladies. You know, you really should work on not cursing so much. Your client might have a heart attack if you refer to this twenty-thousand dollar mix-up, which she no doubt thinks is the end of the world, as a ‘clusterfuck’.”
Dalton’s frown disappeared and he leaned close to place a kiss against her forehead. “I want you to stay here until I come back. Your folks being in town tells me something is brewing and it isn’t safe for you to be alone right now.”
When she started to argue, he quieted her protests with a slow, deep kiss.
“Do this for me, darlin’. Even if you don’t think it’s necessary, have mercy on me and stay here so I don’t worry. You couldn’t ask for better protection than Jed and Dez.”
“What the hell? Like I’m not here? I can kick ass too, you know!” Abigail’s shout echoed through the building, intertwined with Dez’s husky laugh
.
Across the hall from Abbey’s studio, Jed stepped out of the room he used for piercing with a teasing smirk on his handsome face. “Babe.”
One word, but it held a wealth of meaning. The buzzing of the tattoo machine paused.
“Don’t start with me, Jed Weston. I’m a scrapper. I fight dirty and I spend my working hours making grown men cry, then making them pay me for it.”
Jed threw his head back and laughed as Dez joined in. “Hey! I’m not crying.”
“That’s because we’re three hours in on this tattoo and your poor little tear ducts dried up after the first ninety minutes.”
At this, everyone present broke into hearty laughter.
Once they quieted, Dalton turned to Lucy. “Behave and don’t let Abbey pull you over to the dark side.” He kissed her cheek before moving down the hall and clapping Jed on the shoulder. “Take care of my woman. I’ll be back in a few hours.” The words were said in a lighthearted tone but the look he and Jed exchanged was heavy, portraying the seriousness of his request.
Lucy swallowed hard, fighting her fear and forcing herself to accept that Dalton wasn’t trying to control her by insisting she stay at the shop. His actions weren’t about control but about protecting someone precious to him. He met her gaze, winked, strode out through the back door, and Lucy fell a little bit more in love with him.
Love? Just the thought made her palms sweat and her heart rap a too-hard rhythm against her ribcage. She couldn’t let herself fall in love with Dalton. Lucy was nowhere near ready to give so much of herself to another. She’d barely made it out of her marriage to Ross alive and he was still a threat to her and anyone she cared for.
When Lucy had walked in on Dalton and Rachel, she’d seen a darker side of him than he had been showing her. What if Lucy couldn’t handle the kind of rough, masterful sex Dalton obviously liked? Does he need whips and ropes to be happy? If I can’t please him, will he get angry, or worse, run back to Submissive Barbie Rachel?
She shook her head and walked toward Abigail’s studio. She could come up with a thousand reasons why falling in love with Dalton was a terrible idea. Too bad love was an irrational bitch and didn’t seem to be giving her much of a choice in the matter.
As she stepped over the threshold into Abigail’s studio, the scent of ink, antiseptic and ointment filled her lungs. The unique smell inside the small room used exclusively for tattooing soothed Lucy’s ragged nerves.
She caught sight of the in-progress tattoo on Dez’s side and felt her eyes widen. A swirling mass of skulls and flowers in shades of gray and black accented with brief areas of vibrant red. The entire design managed to be both masculine and elegant. Lucy’s inner artist demanded a closer look.
“What do you think?” Abigail kept her eyes on her work as she asked the question, her hand moving the needle with sure, even strokes.
“I think I need to incorporate your work into some of my graphic designs.” Lucy edged closer to Dez’s prone form, attempting to get a better look without bumping him or the table he lay upon. “This is fantastic, Abbey. Did you draw this?”
Abigail lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Sure. I draw most of my clients’ tattoos unless they bring in a design they absolutely won’t compromise on or they’re dead set on something out of the flash catalog.”
Lucy squinted, thinking she saw… “Protect?” The letters were hidden within the design so the word might not be seen unless you were looking for it. She knew from the magic Dez worked on her laptop that he was involved in something more complicated than simply acting as the foreman for Dalton’s construction business. “Why the word ‘protect’?”
Dez grunted but didn’t answer and Lucy decided to let it go. She understood better than most the value of keeping one’s own council.
Abigail finished the last bit of shading, studied her work with the intense concentration of someone searching for any minuscule imperfection. Apparently satisfied, she set her gun on the tray table at her side and turned off the tattoo machine before reaching for a bottle of skin-cleansing solution.
Jed’s tall form appeared in the doorway, his hands curled around either side of the frame caused his biceps to bulge in an attractive way that drew Lucy’s attention.
“Proof.”
Feeling her face heat, she snapped her gaze from Jed’s arms to his face at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry?”
If he caught her ogling his muscles, he didn’t mention it. “You need some proof against your ex-husband. From what you’ve told us, I’m guessing you never got the chance to file a formal complaint against him with the police.”
Lucy stood a little straighter but knew her pretense of strength was ruined by her arms, now wrapped protectively around her stomach. “No.” Mad at herself when the word sounded weak and broken, she dropped her arms and fisted her hands at her sides. After clearing her throat, she tried again. “No, there are no police reports on file. I’m sure the hospital has a file on me an inch thick, but those records only prove I was injured, not how the injuries occurred.”
“It could be argued those injuries were self-inflicted,” Jed said, nodding in understanding.
Embarrassed and disheartened, Lucy felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. She cursed her inability to hide her emotions.
Jed’s expression softened. “I don’t believe that bullshit, Lucy.”
She frowned, feeling her brows draw together in confusion and…hope.
Someone believed her? It hadn’t settled into her mind before this moment and the idea was profound.
“Not for a fuckin’ second,” Abigail added.
“Nope,” Dez agreed.
Scratch her first thought. Lucy’s breath caught on the lump of emotion expanding in her throat. Someone believed she’d been abused by Ross. Not one but four people had shown their trust in her today.
Lucy suddenly felt as though she’d lived her entire life in a world tilted at an unnatural angle and, with the words of these relative strangers, her world had just spun on its axis and righted itself. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to stop the tears in her eyes from escaping.
“How many times did you attempt to have a police report filed?”
Lucy shook her head to clear her thoughts before answering Jed. “Once.”
All movement within the room came to a stop. In her peripheral, she saw Abigail’s stunned look. Jed’s brows rose toward the ball cap placed atop his head.
Lucy shivered but met Jed’s stare head-on, knowing what they must be thinking. “Trust me, once was more than enough. I would have had Ross arrested in a heartbeat. I wasn’t confused or so overcome with some sick sort of love that I wanted to protect him. I never believed him when he said it wouldn’t happen again. I just… I didn’t want to die. The first and only time I tried to file a report… Afterward…”
Abigail unfroze and growled an angry “bastard” before lifting a digital camera and lining up a shot of the fresh tattoo on Dez’s side. The click-and-whorl sound of the focus adjusting prodded at a memory in the back of Lucy’s mind.
“He hurt you to make sure you never tried to file a report again, right?” Though Jed hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway, his voice sounded further away.
Abigail’s camera flashed and Lucy flinched, the bright light igniting a memory Lucy had buried deep inside the tangle of her mind.
“That’s when he… The cigarettes… Ross, he…” A camera flashed again but Lucy couldn’t decide if it was Abigail’s camera or the one in her memory. She thought someone was calling her name but they were too far away. They couldn’t help her. No one could help her now.
A part of her realized Jed was moving toward her and Dez had rolled off the tattoo table but her vision was locked onto the camera now hanging forgotten in Abigail’s grasp.
What else had happened that day, the day she failed to get charges filed against Ross?
Lucy’s breaths came in short pants, her heart racing while her vision tunne
led down to show nothing but the camera. She swayed, someone grabbed her and the contact, the firm grip, flesh on flesh, overwhelmed her broken mind. An anguished scream ripped from her lungs before her world went black and she knew nothing else.
Chapter Fourteen
Dalton glared at the open box in front of him. The puke-pink Italian marble tiles nestled so carefully inside seemed to be giving him the finger. “Mother fucker,” he growled. “Twenty fucking grand. Black. They’re supposed to be black. It’s not like we asked for some off–the-wall, rare color.” He raised his gaze to the man standing next to him. “We did ask for black marble, correct? Please tell me this is not our fuck-up.”
Anderson, next in line behind Dez within Dalton’s construction company, removed a battered yellow hard hat from his bald head and tucked it under one arm. “No, Boss. I checked our records.” He hitched a thumb in the direction of the trailer set-up on site which functioned as a mobile office. “Took about an hour to find a copy of the fax you sent to the supply company. You ever place an ad in the paper for a secretary? Don’t know how you get anything done in there. Place is a damn mess. If you had a—”
“Anderson!”
The man cleared his throat. “Anyhow, the fax you sent to the supplier said ‘black Italian marble’ clear as day. Wasn’t no mistakin’ it.”
Dalton released the breath he’d been holding. This was good news, at least. Now he’d have to call the supplier, which was not good news, being that Rachel worked as the secretary of the man Dalton bought his high-end supplies from and the damn woman always answered the phone. Why Harris, the owner of Elegance Supplied, couldn’t answer his own phone, Dalton didn’t know. Shit.
“Dalton Loretto! You are not putting this tawdry pink tile inside my house. I asked for black. Did you not hear me when I said I wanted black marble? I’m not paying for this!”
His client’s thin, shrill voice was annoying when she spoke at a normal conversational level. As she yelled at him, the white poof atop her tiny head vibrating with every word, Dalton had to clench his jaw shut to keep from slapping his palms over his ears to block the sound.
