Table of Contents
FRACTURES IN INK
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR HELENA HUNTING
CONNECT WITH HELENA HUNTING
OTHER TITLES BY HELENA HUNTING
CHAPTER ONE CLIPPED WINGS
Helena Hunting
Copyright © 2016 Helena Hunting
All rights reserved
Published by Helena Hunting
Cover art design by Shannon Lumetta
Cover font from Cloutier Fontes and Maelle
Cover image from @olly18 at Depositphoto.com
Formatting by CP Smith
Editing by Jessica Royer Ocken
Proofing by Marla at Proofing with Style
Fractures in Ink is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's twisted imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
DEDICATION
For my mom and dad, whose love for each other
is stronger than the toughest metal.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Husband; this one was hard, thanks for being my cheerleader through it all.
Mom, Dad, Mel and Chris, this one is about love, and you all do it incredibly well.
Deb, I have a jar of tears waiting on a shelf for you. I don’t think I would’ve made it through this without you constantly poking fun at me.
Kimberly, you’re in a class all your own. Thanks for seeing me through this one.
Nina; it’s time to make your own magic.
Jessica, there was a lot of breathing in to a paper bag over this one. You’re irreplaceable. I hope you get that.
Shannon you made the outsides so pretty on this one, like you do every single time.
Teeny, you make things look so easy, when really they’re pretty darn difficult.
Sarah, thank you for listening and for being so awesome. You’re amazing and I’m so glad I have you.
Hustlers, you’re made of magic. You have no idea how much you helped me through this one.
Beaver Babes, you make every day better. Thank you for taking a chance on me.
To my Backdoor Babes; Tara, Meghan, Deb and Katherine, you’re my constants. I’m so glad I know all of you.
Melanie, you’re a special human. I’m glad you’re in my world.
Pams, Filets, my Nap girls; 101’ers, my Holiday’s and Indies, Tijan, Susi, Deb, Erika, Katherine, Shalu, Kellie, Ruth, Julia, Melissa, Sarah, Kelly—you keep me sane. Well, sane-ish. Thank you for being my friends, my colleagues, my supporters, my teachers, my cheerleaders and my soft places to land.
My WC crew; you know who you are. Thank you for being with me on this journey. I’m honored to have had all these years with you.
It really is amazing to be part of the indie community. Thank you for embracing me, and for being so incredibly supportive, even when I take you on a different journey.
To all the amazing bloggers and readers who keep traveling this road with me, thank you for letting me change gears and try new things.
This one really is for my Originals. You’re the reason I wrote this book. Thank you for your kindness over the years and your dedication. I won’t forget where I started.
PROLOGUE
Chris
Hot, wet suction and a discordant chilly tickle across my stomach pulled me from sleep. It took a few seconds to figure out what was going on.
“Sorry I woke you.”
Sarah, who I’d been seeing for the past six months, followed her insincere statement with the return of her mouth to my very awake cock.
The rest of me took a little longer to shake off the haze.
“Time is it?” I reached out in the dark to touch some part of her. I met damp hair. She must’ve come directly from the shower.
“Late.” She licked up the shaft, making me groan.
The clock on the nightstand told me it was three a.m., in glowing red numbers. Sarah’s late arrival wasn’t unusual. She worked long hours as a waitress at a strip club just outside the Chicago Loop. Middle-of-the-night visits were sometimes all we could manage. “Don’t you have an early class?”
She popped off, but her lips moved against the head as she spoke. “You’re worried about what time my class is right now?”
I hooked my hands under her arms and pulled her up, then flipped her over.
“I wasn’t done,” she complained.
“I think that’s my new favorite alarm clock.”
Sarah parted her legs so I could fit myself between them. She was so, so naked. I kissed along her neck; her skin was shower-warm and damp. She’d used my body wash, but her hair smelled like the shampoo she kept in my apartment for nights like these—mint and rosemary.
Sarah linked her legs behind my back and smoothed her hands down my arms, over the ink she couldn’t see in the dark. She made an impatient noise when I brushed my lips over hers but ignored her invitation for tongue.
“Kiss me.” She nipped at my bottom lip.
“You don’t want me to rinse with mouthwash? I think I have mints in the nightstand.”
She gripped the back of my neck, her fingernails digging in as she fused her mouth to mine. I guess she didn’t care about sleep breath.
Sarah was rarely aggressive when it came to sex. She liked things soft and easy most of the time, and she got off on the teasing almost as much as the actual fucking. But not tonight—or this morning, as it were.
She shifted against me, lining everything up. I was still half foggy from being woken by a blow job.
I pulled back, which wasn’t easy with the way she was latched on to my neck and my tongue. “Take it easy, sugar.”
“I missed you.” Her fingers danced across my cheek. “I want you.”
“You got me. I’m right here.”
Sarah couldn’t seem to decide what she wanted to do with her hands. They were in my hair, down my back, grabbing my ass as she lifted her hips and I slid low. She was ready with the condom before I could protest again and slow us down.
I stopped fighting what she wanted. It’d been a week since we’d seen each other. If she didn’t have to leave too early in the morning, we could have a slower second round.
When she pushed on my chest, I rolled to the side and lay down beside her. Sarah’s wet hair swept across my neck as she straddled my hips. It was too dark to see the soft, delicate features of her face as she rolled on the condom and took me inside. She braced her palms on my chest as she rode me, swiveling her hips, grinding hard until she came. She was nearly silent, emitting only the faintest moans, barely audible over the sound of the fan running in the corner of my room. I knew she was coming only by the way her rhythm faltered and her nails dug into my skin.
Once she had what she needed, sh
e let me take over. I moved her onto her back, rolling my hips without urgency. My eyes had adjusted to the lack of light. The blackout shades kept the glow of the streetlights outside and residents of the neighboring apartment building from seeing things they shouldn’t.
“Give me your mouth, baby,” I murmured in her ear.
Her nose brushed across my cheek, lips following the same trail until I caught her mouth with mine again. I stroked against her tongue and she arched, arms and legs wrapped tightly around me again. I followed the long, toned line of her left thigh until I reached her knee. Pulling it higher, I tucked her leg against my ribs so I could go deeper without changing the tempo.
“Chris.” Sarah’s whimper was followed by a shudder. Her fingertips dragged soft down the side of my face, close to our touching lips.
“You coming again?”
She nodded and pressed her face into my neck, her soft moan muffled by my skin. It didn’t take me long to come after that.
Afterward, Sarah snuggled into my side and stayed there, which was also unusual. Typically I’d get a couple minutes of closeness out of her, and then she’d complain about being hot and move away. But not tonight. She kept her head on my chest and traced the lines of my sleeve until I fell asleep.
* * *
I woke a few hours later to the feel of fingers tickling my arm. I turned to find Sarah lying on her side, her pale blond hair fanned out across the pillow. She snatched her hand away and pressed her knuckles to her mouth. Her sea blue eyes were red rimmed, like she needed more sleep. She closed them and inched closer, her whole body pressing against me before her lips connected with the ink on my shoulder.
I pushed unruly blond away from her forehead, then traced the heart shape of her face. Sarah nuzzled her cheek against my arm for a few seconds, a shuddery sigh warming my skin.
“You got time for some morning lovin’?” I rasped, my voice less awake than the rest of me, just like it had been last night, or much earlier this morning.
“I need the bathroom.” She rolled away and threw off the covers. The room was still mostly dark, but I could make out her willowy silhouette as she tiptoed across the room, naked, and slipped out the bedroom door.
I checked the time. It was only seven. She had to be exhausted, but I assumed her going to the bathroom meant morning sex was on the menu. Priorities and all.
Except when she returned ten minutes later, she was fully dressed. Her white blouse was crisp and buttoned almost to her throat. She’d pulled her long hair up into a bun, the style too severe for her pretty face.
I folded an arm behind my head. “Not getting back into bed with me?”
She traced the edge of the footboard, her head bowed. “I can’t. I have class.”
“Wanna come give me a kiss goodbye?”
Her voice was a whisper I had to strain to hear. “I think we need to take a break.”
I hit the light on the nightstand so I could see her better. “What kinda break you talking about?”
“My internship starts soon. I’ll be working a lot of hours. At both jobs. I’m exhausted, and I think something’s got to give.” Her voice wavered, as if she were on the verge of tears.
The conversation wasn’t unexpected. Of course I’d be the something she was ready to give up. I’d known this day was coming, eventually, since the moment she’d agreed to go out with me. Still, I stared at her for a few long seconds, trying to see the motivation that pushed her to this decision now.
Maybe she’d finally realized she was too good for me—that she was out of my league and could find someone better, someone who could give her the things I couldn’t. Sarah deserved a nice life with a pretty house and a fancy car she didn’t have to worry about. I wasn’t that guy.
For her, it seemed I was mostly a middle-of-the-night booty call, which was ironic because for years I’d been the one to pull that move. I guess it was about time I experienced it from the other side.
“You want to call it quits?” I asked.
She lifted one slight shoulder, still tracing imaginary lines on the footboard.
“So last night was the goodbye fuck and the see-you-later blow job?” That would definitely explain the aggression.
“We barely see each other.” She swiped at her eye with her pinkie before she lifted her head, but her gaze didn’t quite meet mine. “It’s not going to get better once I start my internship.”
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, she had a point. We’d been treading water for months now; it was only a matter of time before we sank. “You’re right. It probably won’t.”
“I’m sorry, Chris. I need to stay focused on school. Maybe after it’s over, when things settle down again…”
“Yeah. I don’t know about that.” I had my doubts that Sarah would want to keep doing this with me once she’d had a break. One of the guys in her program would jump all over her being single, and she’d see me for the mistake I’d been all along. Sarah and I weren’t meant to be permanent, and this was exactly the reminder I needed. “You gotta do you, sugar.”
She bowed her head, fingers fluttering up to cover her eyes. Her back expanded in a deep inhale. On the exhale she dropped her hands and squared her shoulders, but her next statement still came out a question. “I’ll leave your key on the counter.”
“Sure. If that’s what you want to do.”
She gave one final nod before she left.
The emptiness was a lot bigger than I’d expected it to be.
CHAPTER ONE
Chris
Two weeks later
Inked Armor was humming today, and not just with the sound of tattoo machines. Waiting clients sat in the chairs by the windows, leafing through ink magazines and chatting with the person they’d brought along for the ride. College girls colluded at the body jewelry case, deciding what kind of piercing would have the most benefits.
In the five years since we’d opened the shop, it had never been this busy. And ultimately that was a good thing, though my business partner, Hayden Stryker, probably joined me in wishing it was strictly due to our mind-blowing skills and artistry. Instead, a few months back we’d gleaned quite a bit of unintentional media attention.
Hayden had been seventeen when his parents were murdered. He’d been the one to find them shot in their own bedroom when he came home three hours after curfew. But he’d never known why they were killed, or who killed them. Then after seven years, last winter Hayden had finally—and rather publicly—gotten the answers he was looking for.
The trial hadn’t lasted long, thank Christ, but I was still trying to get my head around its aftermath.
I’d met Hayden not long before his parents died. Over the years he’d become my family, and his pain was mine. He’d been into piercings more than ink when we were first introduced, so I hadn’t gotten to know him until Damen—the guy who ran Art Addicts, the shop where I’d worked at the time—took him on as an apprentice. While the shop had been legit, Damen had also had some criminal leanings, including a drugs-and-prostitution ring he ran at The Dollhouse, a local strip club. But we’d needed the opportunity and the steady pay, so we kept our heads down. But time had given us perspective we hadn’t had then. My choices had been limited, and my focus had been on survival. Damen had taken me in when I had nowhere else to go.
Anyway, along with the horror of reliving it all and the sheer emotional overload of finally understanding what had happened, the trial and its media coverage had yielded Inked Armor a schedule booked solid with appointments made months in advance.
Recently, a local pro hockey player and some of his teammates had come in for tattoos, so it was even crazier that day. Not that I could complain. Much. Our paychecks were nicely padded, and Inked Armor had earned some serious recognition in the tattooing community. After all the shit we’d dealt with, it was good to have some positive outcomes.
The door tinkled with the arrival of a group of girls who headed straight for the jewelry counter. Lisa, the sho
p piercer and bookkeeper sometimes had to schedule the piercings a couple of days in advance depending on how busy we were.
My client, Eric, watched them swarm the jewelry case. “Does it ever slow down in here?”
“Not lately. You know how it is. We’ve been booked pretty solid with summer coming.” This time of year was always busy—people wanting to add art they could display during shorts and T-shirt weather—but this far surpassed that.
“Oh I get it. I would’ve been in here a month ago if I could’ve gotten an appointment.”
“Lisa’s already scheduled your next two sessions, so we just have to make sure the dates work for you.”
“I’ll make ’em work if I have to.”
I’d overbooked today, leaving me no time between clients. When this session was over, the next one would take me to closing. The less free time I had these days, the better.
My phone buzzed in my pants, and my automatic response was to check the apartments across the street since my hands were busy with the needles.
From Inked Armor’s front window I had a perfect view of the converted house across the street, which boasted a café and bookshop at street level and two apartments on the second floor. Sarah lived in the one on the right. I hadn’t seen her up close since she’d left my apartment two weeks ago. Her exit from my bed and my life continued to leave a much bigger void than I’d expected.
Prior to fourteen mornings ago, a buzz in my pants had usually meant a message from Sarah. And often I’d see her silhouette in the window, especially if she was waiting for me to drop by when I had a break between clients.
As I looked there now, the curtain in her window fluttered with movement, though if it was Sarah, she clearly didn’t want to be seen. That had been happening a lot lately—for the past two weeks, to be more specific. But the messages I’d sent her remained unanswered, so I had my doubts this latest text was her looking to talk, unless she’d changed her mind about me recently.
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