by Winters, KB
I closed her fist around the pills. “What guy?”
“Joey, he’s my normal guy. I trust him.”
I nodded, unconvinced. “Maybe later.”
She giggled again and stuffed them into her pocket. “Just say the word.”
A loud boom ricocheted off the walls and I jumped out of my skin, jolting around to see the source of the sound. Marty stood at the front entrance of the club, two giant metal doors. He winced at the hard sound and shrugged an apology before trying the megaphone in his hands again. “Sorry everyone. We’re opening the doors. Jay, Keith, you two stay with Jace. Lou and Pam, cover the crowd. Jace,” he turned to me, “remember, we’re not here.”
“Right,” I muttered.
Since the first day of filming, I’d been wary of the cameras and sound equipment in my face constantly. At my tattoo shop it had gotten easier, usually because after I got started inking, it didn’t take long to become consumed in my work and as the hours flew by, the cameras and crew faded away. However, out in public, it was a different animal entirely. When I’d first agreed to do the show, I’d—wrongly—assumed that the cameras would only be present at the shop. The show was pitched as a show about my tattoo work and the clients who frequented my exclusive tattoo shop. I’d had no way of knowing that the producers would ever need, or want, footage of me wandering around a grocery store, getting my hair cut, or going out once the shop was closed. However, over three months, and the release of the first half of the season, my popularity had risen so quickly, that the studio powers that be, decided the public wanted more. They wanted to know what I did once the shop was locked down for the night, what I did on the weekends.
So, thanks to an all-access clause in my contract, there they were.
Constantly.
Tonight, the premise was a night on the town with my buddies. However, what the general public didn’t realize was…the entire thing was staged. The other club-goers were extras, the club was a closed set, and everything had been set up ahead of time by producers. There was even a storyline in place. I was supposed to have it out with one of my guys, James, an intern at the shop. I cut a look to where he was standing, slouched at the bar, and realized that I couldn’t remember what it was we were supposed to argue about.
Not that I gave a shit.
The show was a joke to me. A paycheck—and a huge one at that.Nothing more, nothing less.
Sure, the exposure for my work was a perk, but I would have been fine without it. The entire reason I got the TV deal was because I had a thriving tattoo business. Well, that, and the fact that I was a former SEAL.
I wasn’t lying to myself. I knew that was the real hook of the show. The production team spent hours trying to whittle me down and make me talk about my time in the service. They’d probably dropped me in this pit of a club to punish me for refusing their countless prompts and hints.
If it weren’t for my ratings and popularity, they probably would have pulled the plug on the whole fucking thing half a dozen episodes ago.
The front doors swung open and a rush of people stormed through, all of them making a beeline for the bar. They would have been given instructions not to approach me. They were there for background, to make it look normal. As such, they would keep their distance and not rush me for autographs, photos, or for advice on what tattoo they should get, or how the hell they could cover up their ex-girlfriend’s name on their ass. No, that circus wouldn’t break out until production got the footage they needed for the night. Jay and Keith, two cameramen, swiveled their lenses my way, and I knew action had silently been called.
James—my faux enemy for the night—started my way after a death stare from Marty. Gina positioned herself at my right, her hand never leaving my arm, her face split with a giant, beauty pageant smile as the cameras and lighting landed on us.
Guess that answers that question.
“You wanted to talk to me?” James said, his voice wooden and his eyes wide. He was even worse than I was at acting natural on camera.
I stifled a smile. “I guess so. Any clue what the fuck we’re supposed to be talking about?”
James’ eyes went wide and cut to Marty, who was standing six feet away, clipboard in hand. “Umm…you’re mad about the schedule?”
“Nah, that doesn’t sound like me,” I replied, tossing my hand casually in his direction. “Come on, let’s get some drinks!”
“Cut! Cut!” Marty boomed over the chaos and noise of the club. “Jace, over here. Now!”
Gina clung to me—probably for balance—as I stalked across the room towards the red-faced producer.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed as the music crashed, leaving the room in a stunned silence for half a heartbeat before confused murmurs rippled through the crowd. “That wasn’t what you were supposed to say. Not even close!”
“Maybe you could just write it down, you know, make some of those big cue cards for me. Or, is that not something done in reality TV?” I finished with a sneer.
Marty puffed his cheeks. “Just stick to the storylines.”
He didn’t wait for an answer before getting the music back on. The people on the dance floor and at the bar stood still for a moment, still unsure of what to do, but at the DJs prompting fell back into the groove they’d been in before the interruption.
I turned to James and smiled. “I just wanted to say, sorry this party sucks. I had no idea it was gonna be so fucking lame. Round up the boys, we’re outta here.”
His face flickered with confusion. “Jace?”
I ignored him, and the scowl from Marty, as I turned to Gina. She squealed with drunken delight as I scooped her up into my arms and made a run for the front of the club. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Marty, megaphone still in hand, chasing me down, but it only spurred me to run faster.
Twenty feet, one booted kick at the door, and we were free.
Chapter Two
The bar Gina and I found refuge in wasn’t a whole helluva lot nicer than the one we’d escaped, but at least there weren’t any fucking cameras trained on me. It wasn’t a classy, upscale place, but as we wound through the crowd, no one stopped me for pictures or autographs, and I started to relax. I ordered two drinks at the bar and took them across the large warehouse space to where Gina was holding down a tall table in the corner. We’d only gone out a handful of times, but she’d already picked up on the fact that I didn’t want to be the center of attention.
“For you,” I said, smiling at her as I set her drink down in front of her. She smiled and seductively wrapped her lips around the tiny cocktail straw, her big green eyes sparkling up at me, suggestion written all over her gorgeous face. I tensed up, my body reacting to her as she licked a drop off the rim of the glass. “You know, the way you’re working that straw is putting all kinds of ideas in my head.”
“Oh, really?” She cocked her head and batted her eyelashes. She couldn’t hold the innocent posture for too long. Her smile spread wide into a mischievous grin. “One dance and then I’ll let you take me home and do anything you like…”
My cock twitched in my pants, straining against the fabric. “Careful what you promise.”
She just laughed, a light, melodic sound. I’d already fucked her half a dozen times, but she was insatiable. Her hunger rivaled my own, and something told me that she hadn’t unpacked her whole bag of tricks yet. I was dying to find out what else she could do. Where her naughty imagination could take us.
She ran a hand up my leg under the table, and I lowered my glass back to the table, thankful I hadn’t taken a drink yet, as it would have been sprayed all over the place, as her fingertips fondled me through my jeans.
“Time for a treat,” Gina said, her smile wide and flirtatious. I glanced to the left and right, expecting her to drop my fly, but she released me and slipped the two pills she’d shown me earlier, out of her pocket and pressed one into my hand. “Come on, Jace. Let’s have some fun!”
I stared at t
he pill, ignored the voice of reason in the back of my mind and popped it into my mouth. After the stress of the week, I was more than ready to cut loose and get crazy. After we downed our drinks, I grabbed Gina’s hand and took her out to the middle of the crowded dance floor, getting lost in the crush of writhing bodies. The lights swam in my eyes, Gina was grinding up against me, the music pulsed loud and strong in my ears.
“One dance. Then you’re mine,” I growled into her ear. She squealed with delight and backed her ass against me, swiveling her hips with fervor that left no mystery as to what she was in the mood for later that night.
It was perfect.
* * * *
I woke up to a pounding ache in the back of my head. It took me a moment to reorient myself and realize I wasn’t at the club. The thudding wasn’t from a DJ booth, but coming from inside my head. I was in my bed, and Gina was sprawled out next to me, her tight dress was still on, but the zipper was ripped, leaving a frayed split up the back. I closed my eyes again, shutting out the morning—or was it afternoon—light from the window above the bed. What the hell had happened last night? I poured through foggy memories, desperately trying to remember what had gone down after running out on my camera crew. Fragments spliced in my mind, shifting and clicking together, like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. Nothing was clear enough to fully latch onto. Flashing lights. Pulsing beats. Gina’s arms and legs wrapped around me on the dance floor. A blonde grinding with Gina.
Then…a sinister change.
A tall guy in black.A broken beer bottle.Screaming.
More flashing lights.
This time…blue and red.
I sat upright. “Fuck!” A searing pain shot through my skull and forced me back down against the pillows. I closed my eyes again and massaged my temples with my thumbs.
Gina stirred beside me. She rolled to her side and squinted against the light as she opened her eyes. “Hey,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and groggy.
“What happened last night?” I snapped at her.
She shut her eyes again, and I resisted the urge to reach over and shake her awake. I wasn’t sure I could even if I tried. My body was throbbing in sync with my head, and every minute that passed woke up a new set of sore muscles. I peeled back the sheet and groaned at the fresh bruises on my ribs. With tender fingers, I pressed at my side and a white light burst behind my eyes. “Shit!”
Gina jerked away at my howl and sat up. “Jace? What the…” Her eyes went to my bare chest, and I watched as realization dawned behind her eyes. She covered her mouth and looked at me, tearing her eyes away from my obvious injuries. “Jace…I’m so sorry.”
“What happened?” I growled.
She closed her eyes and shook her head as though she was foggy on the details too. “I can’t remember it all, but I think you got into a fight at the club last night.”
“Gee, ya think?” I scoffed and started to roll away from her. Every muscle ached, and my ribs screamed in convulsed pain when I straightened and swung my legs from the bed. “What do you remember? Why was I fighting?”
“It was…odd,” Gina started. I looked back at her and her eyes went wide. There was something she wasn’t telling me. Something she didn’t want to tell me.
“Gina,” I said, my tone low.
“They did a light show at the club last night, some pyro-techno thing with fire. It was kinda cheesy, but as soon as it started, you kinda…lost it. You started screaming, and when a guy came over to help, you…you threw him against the stage. Once that happened, two other guys came in. You tried to fight them all off. Someone called the cops…God…” she trailed off. “I think you had some kind of reaction to the pills. I’m sorry.”
I turned away and started shuffling, tiny, forced steps to the bathroom. There was no point in correcting her. The pills might have helped things along, or escalated them, but I knew it wasn’t the reason why I’d flipped. I’d been struggling with PTSD since the last mission I’d gone on as a SEAL. Things had been getting better, but the night terrors and flashbacks were still creeping around the edges, just waiting for me to drop my guard. It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about with anyone, not even my own family, let alone some girl I’d been screwing for less than a week.
“I’m sorry,” Gina called out after me as I walked away.
* * * *
After popping some prescription pain killers I’d stashed away from an old shoulder injury, I dressed, and left for work. One of the perks of running my own tattoo shop was that I could set my own hours. My shop wasn’t even open until one o’clock in the afternoon to accommodate my nightlife habits. I made my way inside at one thirty, and was relieved beyond words when Karri, my assistant, told me I didn’t have filming scheduled for the day. Once a week, I was given a reprieve from filming, to allow the team to edit and evaluate what film they had and determine what they needed next. I knew it would only mean twice the work the next day, but the break couldn’t have come at a better time. I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about ducking out the night before. Even with the medication pumping through my system, I was feeling the effects of the night before and didn’t need Marty adding to the pain.
At two o’clock, my first client of the day came into the shop. It was a familiar scenario. A new father coming to me to have his baby daughter’s initials and footprints from the hospital permanently etched onto his body. As we got started, he talked his way through the pain of the needle on his shoulder blade, by chattering on and on about his daughter. She was a month old, and it was obvious that her dad was enamored with her. I focused on my work, only adding comments every few minutes. Truthfully, there wasn’t much I could add. I didn’t have children, at least, not that I knew of, and most days I was convinced I was never going to have them.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want a family. But I knew that for a guy like me, it wasn’t in the cards. I was damaged in ways I didn’t even fully understand. There was no way a woman was going to put up with my shit long term, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to want me to be the father of her child. Of course, that led me to chasing woman, like Gina, who wanted to drink, pop pills, and party all night long. Those types of women were far safer. There were no complications, expectations, or attempts to tame me. If anything, the kind of women I pursued drove me to be even more free and wild.
I shook my head, remembering what Gina had told me about the night before. I didn’t blame her for the trouble I’d gotten into, but I also knew that it was likely time to give her the brush off. As much fun as she was in bed, there was something about her having been there during one of my breakdowns that made me want to run. She’d seen too much. Gotten too close.
“Do you have kids?” My client, Rhett, asked when I went to get another color.
I shook my head. “Nope. This shop is my baby.”
He laughed and nodded, understandingly. “I hear ya. I work sixty hours at my job, but it’s all worth it when I go home to my wife and Isabella.”
A lump formed in my throat, and I turned away to finish switching the colors, taking an extra minute to tinker with the gun, before going back around to continue the design. Rhett filled in the conversation, and although I was listening, half of my mind was busy wondering what was wrong with me. I grappled with my emotions for the rest of the session. I kept it together long enough for him to pay and to take a picture with me, but as soon as the doorbell chimed, indicating he’d left, I retreated to the back room, needing a minute to get myself back together again before my next client arrived.
Chapter Three
Gina was still at my condo when I got home for the night. I dropped my car keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter and found her rummaging through the fridge. She had taken off her tattered dress and was wearing one of my t-shirts. There was a Navy logo printed in bold across the front. I hadn’t worn it in a few weeks—it was one I usually wore during reserve training weekends. I cringed thinking of Gina rummaging through my dresser drawers to find it. Had sh
e specifically picked that one out? Or was it simply the first one she’d found?
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said. Over the course of the day, I’d cemented my decision that it was time to say goodbye to her, and that I was going to take a break from my party lifestyle to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. I couldn’t go on getting into fights at bars or clubs because I refused to deal with my fucked up issues. Numbing myself to the pain and horrors I’d seen and experienced overseas was not a long term strategy, and while I’d subconsciously known that for a long time, I was only just coming up with the strength it was going to take to cut it off.
Gina smiled up at me, oblivious to my unrest. “Hey handsome,” she drawled. “I hope you don’t mind.” She dropped her gaze to my t-shirt that was draped over her curves, falling to the middle of her tan thighs. “I figured you’d need someone to pamper you a little tonight. So, go sit down. I’ll bring you a snack and a beer.”
I opened my mouth to protest, to come up with a reasonable excuse to send her on her way, but she was so alluring, and sweet, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Yet.
“Thanks.” I stepped out of the kitchen, and went to the couch in the living room. A wall of floor to ceiling windows provided a spectacular view of downtown Chicago, and as I settled into my place, I stared out at the city. From the fourteenth floor everything below was peaceful and quiet. Normally, around nightfall, after a day in the shop, I’d be itching to get out. I rarely spent an entire night at home. More and more, my condo was becoming a landing spot. A place to sleep, shower, and eat. Most weeks, my housekeeper saw it more often than I did.
I relaxed back and took a long breath, trying to unwind, and ignore the call to go out and drink the night away.
Gina came into the room, holding a bottle of beer out to me. “Thank you.” I took it from her and watched as she crossed the room and flicked on the switch to the fireplace. Flames instantly burst to life and my eyes fixed on the flickering behind the glass.
