Inked Souls (The Shaw Effect Duet)

by Lucia Grace

  But I’ll wear her down. I have to.

  Because I have to fucking have her.

  And I don’t just mean for one night. I mean to keep.

  Because ever since I walked through In Ruins and saw her standing there, my world shifted, my life altered, and I knew right then and there all the bullshit of my past was meant to bring me to that moment. To her.

  Call me a pussy, I don’t give a shit, because it’s true.

  That woman…she’s meant for me.

  And I’m gonna make her mine.

  I sense him come up behind me even before I feel him at my back.

  I’ve felt him all night. His eyes tracking my every move across the bar, even as I made my way out back to grab a couple bottles we’re running low on. I could feel him tracking me.

  It’s unnerving—unsettling—but not because he won’t stop staring.

  It’s because of how his eyes on me makes me feel. How my skin feels alight and my heart beats harder. That familiar feeling I always get before I fall.

  But with him, with Rhett, it’s multiplied by a million. Like a zillion butterflies take flight in my belly.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. I moved to get away from this…this trap I always fall in.

  “Kennedy.” I hear before rough-padded fingers trail down my left arm. From shoulder to elbow.

  The small touch igniting my soul.

  “Angel.”

  I shiver. He sees it. I can tell from his quick inhale even with my back to him.

  Swallowing thickly, I slowly turn to him. Trying to mask any other reaction to him. Defending myself against the arsenal he threatens me with. Good looks and charm and artful tattoos covering every inch I can see.

  Steeling my resolve to keep my distance as originally planned, I lift my chin and ask, “Did you need something?”

  I don’t bother telling him he shouldn’t be back here. From what I heard from Saylor, Rhett used to work here in high school when Gus helped them out and then as an adult until he saved enough to start his tattoo shop. So even though he’s no longer employed here, he’s family to Gus.

  He clears his throat after his eyes move down my body and up again.

  “Wanted to finish that talk we were having earlier.”

  “Now?” I ask, practically sputtering out the word.

  “No time like the present.” His reply matter of fact.

  “But I’m working,” I say lamely. Hoping to get out of this.

  “I think you’re due for your break any minute.”

  Dammit. How does he know my schedule already?

  “Okay…” My tone slightly breathless and a whole lot reluctant. “Fine.” I blow out a deep breath. “What did you want to finish talking about?”

  He cuts right to the chase. “Go out with me.”

  He never asks, but he doesn’t demand either. Just puts it out there for me to take.

  And just like every other time before now, I shake my head and tell him, “No.”

  Then I ask what I’ve been dying to ask since the very first time those words passed his lips. “Why do you want to take me out so badly?”

  Because why does he? No one else ever has. I’ve always been hidden away in the shadows. A dirty little secret. Even when I was a teenager, boys didn’t take me out. They didn’t date me. They pursued me, took what they wanted, then left me out to dry.

  And I let them.

  Every. Single. Time.

  That didn’t change as I got older and the boys turned to men. I just let them take, take, take without a second thought. Because that’s all I was good for.

  And I was hoping one day, one would finally stay.

  He stands taller at my quiet question, if it’s even possible. Shoulders back, chest proud, eyes right on me. Pushing to convey everything he’s feeling. I can see it swirling in his dark irises. “Why wouldn’t I?” His tone full of a whole lot of confusion.

  His deep-rumbled words are so simple. But carry so much. My heart starts galloping fiercely. Wanting, wanting, wanting.

  But I swallow it down while he continues. “Never felt this before, Kennedy. This pull. This want. And you’re making me want, angel. Desperately.”

  Rhett makes it sound real. Believable. That he could really want me. Me. Not my looks, but me.

  Except I know better.

  “Pretty words, Rhett.”

  “They’re the truth,” he states clearly. Each syllable punching the air as he enunciates every word.

  “Heard them all before.” But I hadn’t. Not like that, not with such conviction. But I can’t lay my heart out there. Not again.

  If I thought I’d been broken before, I know he’d demolish me.

  Even worse than him.

  A low growl rumbles between us. “Don’t wanna think of anyone with you but me, angel. Fucking kills me.” His fists clench at his sides. Agitation clear on his oh so handsome face.

  He’d die a thousand deaths then if he knew just how many others there have been.

  And the man that started my downfall.

  I swallow back the slow-rising shame that thought raises and tell him just that.

  Might as well kill him now.

  “Then you may want to throw yourself down now, because there’s a long line before you, Rhett. And they all had pretty words and promising lies. But they were just that, lies….”

  I don’t give him a chance to respond to that or to finish that talk we started. Not wanting to allow him the chance to make me falter any more than he already has. With steel in my spine and my heart in my throat, I slide passed him—trying not to touch—and get back to work. Forgetting the bottles I had gone back for.

  I hear a slight growl echo off the walls behind me, before heavy-booted footsteps follow my path to the bar.

  He veers to his stool, downing the rest of his beer as Saylor places another in front of him, concern marring her pretty face, while I make my way from table to table to check on drinks and orders.

  I smile and laugh when appropriate, keeping up small talk if needed, but my mind and heart aren’t in it.

  They’re still in the back room with Rhett.

  As the night wears on, I’m finishing wiping down a table in my section when I hear his deep voice.

  “Not interested.” Rhett’s tone is just that, uninterested. Detached. Flat.

  He sounds preoccupied, and when I turn around, I see he’s staring right at me. Despite the Amazonian woman standing next to him with her long black hair, flawless tan skin, and perfectly-proportioned body.

  His eyes stay on me while she rubs up against him, her breasts pressed against his upper arm from his position at the bar. Her face inching closer and closer to the side of his.

  My heart starts to ache with an unsettling feeling of longing and jealousy.

  Something I have no right to feel since I have no claim. But you can’t tell my heart that.

  Plus, Rhett’s come in during every shift I’ve worked since I started a week ago, making it known that’s he’s after what he wants. And what he wants is me.

  Apparently this girl didn’t get the memo.

  It doesn’t matter anyway though. Because like I said, I have no claim, and I’ve made it known that I’m not there right now. I don’t think I will be for a long while.

  But going by the butterflies whirring and fluttering all wild and crazy due to his deep brown eyes raking me over, I’d say my heart didn’t get the memo either.

  As the Amazonian starts to run her fingers through his hair, taking advantage of his distraction, I can’t take it a second longer and turn to get another table’s order.

  As I do, I hear him growl, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  That ache settles a bit knowing he doesn’t welcome or want her advances. From what I’ve heard, the old Rhett would have lapped it up—the attention and her.

  But this Rhett…this Rhett is the man that Saylor promises he really is. The one that Rhett himself has been trying to show me all along n
ow.

  The one that I’m finding harder and harder to resist despite the reminders I keep giving myself. There’s just something about him that sets him apart from the dozens of other men who’ve come and gone.

  Something my heart longs for, my body craves, and my soul calls out to.

  IT’S WEDNESDAY. LADIES’ NIGHT.

  You’d think that would mean a handful of men while the bar swarms with women.

  But no. It’s the opposite.

  Don’t get me wrong; there are plenty of ladies getting their drink on. But for all the women, there are just as many men hoping to score.

  And apparently, they think they have a chance with my angel.

  I watch the fuckers track her every move as she works.

  The sway of her slender hips.

  The swish of her long, honey-brown hair.

  The bounce of her full tits.

  And that ass. Rounded and supple and filling out her skin-tight jeans perfectly.

  Their eyes never leave her as they salivate and try to find the nerve to talk to her like they have a fucking chance.

  I slam a fist to the bar top. Glasses and bottles rattle. I’ve had e-fucking-nough of seeing these cocksuckers watching her. Ogling her. Treating her like she’s just for them.

  When she’s fucking mine.

  She just won’t admit it yet.

  Patrons jump and heads turn my way. Then I hear laughter.

  Fucking Saylor.

  “Something bothering you, big brother?” Looking from Kennedy to behind the bar, I see my sister looking back at me. A shit-eating grin covering her face as she pops a piece of gum in her mouth.

  I grunt. Unamused. Not bothering to answer her.

  She laughs some more. “Oh, you’ve got it bad. And I fucking love that she won’t give you the time of day.”

  Been two weeks. Seen her damn near every day. And my angel still turns me down, practically ignores me, any chance she gets.

  “Like I keep telling you, she’s not going to make it easy on you.”

  No, she’s not. Hasn’t in the two weeks. I’d be fucking worried some other fucker is taking up her time. But it’s a perk having your little sister as her roommate. Plus, from the little that Saylor’s told me, Kennedy coming into town was for her.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  But us in that back room last week, when she desperately wanted to say yes—I could see it in her eyes—but held back to protect herself from what she thinks she needs to keep safe from, had me gaining a little more hope that I’ll get her in my arms and bed and heart someday. And someday is better than never.

  Because that girl, she’s mine.

  But I can’t help remembering the way her eyes also held so much more than longing and want.

  Sadness. So much of it. And something that looked a lot like shame when she admitted there’d been plenty before me. Can’t say it didn’t crush my heart and stomp my ego. But she’s worth that and more. I know it. And it isn’t like I’d been a saint all my life either. Can’t tell you how many different women have warmed my bed and wet my dick over the years. Too many to count. Too damn many.

  I’d be a hypocrite if I walked away from Kennedy because of that. If I didn’t keep pursuing her and making her mine.

  Our pasts have something in common.

  Only difference is, she’d been chasing something real. While I was running from it.

  Saylor was right. Kennedy was different and she was hurt. But I was gonna make her see the light. Make her see I’d be different. I’d last.

  We would last. If she’d just give me the chance.

  I may have never been in a relationship before, but I know—I know—that we’d work and I could be right for her.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts when I see Kennedy walk by a rowdy table and one meaty hand come out just in time.

  To grab her round ass.

  Fire ignites in my veins. Red taints my vision.

  Fucking rage bubbles, then explodes.

  Before I know it I’m out of my seat, and I faintly hear Saylor yelling my name. But she can’t stop me. Nothing can.

  Not when I see that prick’s hand make contact. And especially not when I see Kennedy’s body lock up and freeze, then start vibrating in fear.

  All I know is that I have to get to her and keep her safe. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to protect her. To take that fucker out for putting his hands on her.

  Just like I should have done back at the coffee shop when that punk-ass kid thought he’d had a chance.

  As soon as I make it to the table, I’m grabbing that motherfucker by the collar of his preppy-as-fuck polo and yanking him from his seat. Fisting his shirt and getting in his face.

  Seething. Fucking. Mad.

  “Can’t keep your hands to your fucking self?”

  “Hey, man. Back off!” He struggles to pull my grip loose with no luck. Looking to his friends for help, he sees them sitting stock still.

  At least someone’s got some fucking brains left in their drunken heads.

  “No, fucker. You back off. She ain’t yours to touch.”

  “I was only having a little fun,” he says through a shaky smirk. “You know how it is.”

  “No. I fucking don’t. Because I don’t touch when it isn’t invited. And it sure as fuck wasn’t invited when my girl didn’t even see you coming.”

  “Yo-your girl?” He practically squeaks out. Eyes wide in fear and shock.

  Fuck. She isn’t; it just fucking came out. But this prick doesn’t need to know that. “Yeah, my fucking girl,” I growl. Baring my teeth.

  “Alright, big brother. You proved your point. Let him go.” Saylor’s voice then small hands pull at me.

  Practically trembling with rage, I shove off the cocksucker and point a tattooed finger down at him as he tumbles to the floor. Fucking pussy. “Come near her again and you won’t be walking out of here. Ya got me?” Without giving him the chance to answer, I call the bouncer over who’s working tonight to escort this piece of shit and his lowlife friends outta here. “Now get the fuck out.”

  Not paying those fuckers another second of attention, I spin on the spot to see Kennedy still standing there, off to the side. Saylor’s arm wrapped around her shoulders to comfort her.

  Unable to stay away another second, I take Saylor’s place next to Kennedy and wrap her in my arms. Wanting to be the one to soothe and comfort her.

  Needing to.

  I pull her in close to my chest. Wrapped tightly in my arms.

  Right where she belongs.

  My body trembles both in anger as I think of that guy’s hands on my body and in fear at the memory triggered because of them. The memory that still haunts me.

  But then I think of how Rhett swooped in and saved me, and it all falls away for a moment because he’s all I can think about. It may seem dramatic, but it’s how I feel, that he saved me. Because no one has ever stepped in before. Not for me.

  I’ve always been on my own, fending for myself.

  But Rhett, despite my best efforts of warding him off, he protected me. Not because he had to, but because he chose to. Again, just like that day in the cafe when he stepped in to ward off that guy. Twice now he’s made it known that he’ll be there for me, that he’ll protect me.

  Like a tattooed knight in shining armor.

  “Hey, hey. Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay now.” His deep voice slides over my skin like silk, raising goosebumps in its wake. His arms a steel band around me.

  Keeping me safe.

  His hands slide up and down my back, comforting me more than he could ever know.

  When I look up into his deep brown eyes, I see them full of concern with a hint of that rage he’s trying to stave off. His chest still heaves, both from exertion and from trying to calm down.

  “Th-thank you,” I stutter out breathlessly. Still in a bit of awe that he intervened like that.

  That he saved me.

  “Thank you for
stepping in. You didn’t have to—”

  “Please don’t finish that sentence,” his deep voice rumbles.

  “But—”

  “Kennedy,” he growls. “There’s no way I was going to sit there and let that prick manhandle you. No fucking way. So not another word about not having to do shit, because I’ll always be there for you. Always.”

  I swear my heart beats just for him in this moment. No matter how badly I don’t want it to, it does.

  Pulling back slightly, moving his hands to my shoulders before settling them near my neck, Rhett looks me up and down. Seeming to assess for injury. “He didn’t hurt you, did he, angel?”

  I look at him, wondering what to say. Because, physically? No. But the memories his touch brought up…

  “Kennedy,” Rhett says to get my attention. “When he touched you, that fucker didn’t hurt you, right? Because I swear to God, if he did I’m tracking that cocksucker down and laying him out like I should have done when he was here.”

  “No!” I exclaim in worry. That guy didn’t hurt me, not physically anyway, but even if he did I wouldn’t be telling Rhett because I wouldn’t want to risk him getting in trouble or worse…hurt.

  His dark eyes now start assessing me in a different way. To see if I’m lying.

  I grasp onto his wrists where his hands still lay my neck and shoulders. “I swear, Rhett. He didn’t. He more startled and freaked me out more than anything. It…”

  “It what, baby?”

  Gosh, his endearments are going to end me.

  “It…isn’t the first time something like that’s happened,” I answer sheepishly. Slightly ashamed as I release his wrists so he can step back from me.

  I hear Rhett unleash a growl at my words, but before he can say anything, Saylor and Gus step between us.

  “Gosh, girl. You okay?” Saylor asks, wrapping me in a hug. I nod as she steps back and looks to Rhett. “Way to take charge, big brother,” she says to him and knocks her knuckles to his tense shoulder. “Thought you were gonna tear him apart you looked so ragin’ mad.”

  He doesn’t say anything. Just continues to watch me. His eyes haven’t left me once since he wrapped me up in his arms.

  “Had him taken care of, sweetheart.” I smile over to Gus at his kindness. “Don’t want that trash in my place. No man has the right to touch a woman uninvited—”