by Nicole James
“Crash,” Wolf warned.
“I got it, don’t worry. She won’t say a word.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jameson studied Crystal. Ever since she’d come back from Vegas two weeks ago, she’d been quiet, subdued. She’d reverted back to the Crystal that had walked into his shop that first day, all those months ago, broken and whipped. Beaten down by life, barely hanging on.
Jameson would never forget that day. The day she’d walked in looking for a job…
He was bent over the arm of a client, twisting and leaning to get to a difficult area of shoulder when the bell over the front door tinkled, drawing his eyes up for one brief glance. He saw the back of someone’s coat as they turned to close the door. The shop was short a receptionist since his last crazy bitch had walked out on him, calling him every name in the book and blaming his tyrannical behavior (he preferred to think of it as artistic drive) and his hot Irish temper on why he couldn’t keep a girl in the reception chair longer than a month. That one had only lasted three days. But he’d known from almost day one that she wasn’t going to work out. So, he hadn’t even bothered to pull the ad he’d posted.
Good thing he hadn’t, since now he was stuck going through the whole process of hiring again. Interviewing people was definitely not his thing. But unfortunately, he was stuck doing it. He didn’t trust Max to do it. His brother and partner would hire the first set of double D’s that walked through the door. Great for eye candy; not so great for accurate receivables.
So, if he wanted a front-end person who could add two plus two, he was stuck with the chore. And he had a couple interviews coming in today.
His eyes strayed to the clock on the wall. If this was his four o’clock, she was early. His eyes again flicked to the entrance. And then he did a double take.
Holy hotness.
Long dark hair, big eyes. Not too much eye makeup. Thick dark lashes and a bit of liner. Perfect olive skin. She slipped her coat off uncovering a slender, boyish frame, but with all the right curves. Low slung jeans that hugged her hips and revealed a teasing inch of skin between them and her tight top. Nice rack. Lots of necklaces, all different kinds that somehow worked together in a bohemian style that the artist in him loved. Beaded bracelets stacked up both wrists.
His eyes returned to the tattoo he was working on as Max moved to the counter to greet the woman.
Jameson kept one eye on the activity at the front counter, so he didn’t miss Max handing her an application on a clipboard. He also didn’t miss the look Max turned and gave him as she moved off to take a seat in their lobby to complete the application. With his back to the lobby, Max had mouthed the word ‘Wow’ to him, giving Jameson big eyes.
Jameson tried to hold back a grin, returning to his work.
And in that very first meeting, as he interviewed her, he could see that somewhere buried beneath the shell she’d built around herself was a girl with spunk and spirit. Perhaps it was his curiosity for what had caused her to become so reserved and reticent and careful that made him want to hire her, or perhaps it was the challenge she posed. He couldn’t help the desire that kindled inside him to want to be the one to free her from whatever pain or sorrow that had dimed that spirit.
She was an enigma, a mystery. And he saw the irony of it.
On the outside she was a paradigm of the perfect type to hire as a receptionist in a tattoo shop. The total rock-chick hard-ass, she had the look down pat. On the inside, somewhere buried under there was the perfect smart-ass personality to match. He’d bet the shop on it. The only problem was, the way she acted now was more the reserved, reticent school girl type…the ultimate example of who not to hire for such an outgoing position dealing with the types of clientele a typical tattoo shop like his dealt with.
If he’d listened to his better judgment, he’d have sent her packing. But something made him hesitate. Some glimmer shining deep in her eyes. Something that called to him, pleading silently, communicating on some non-verbal level that this might be her last chance, he might be her last chance. Some flicker deep in her soul that wanted to flame to life again, needed to flame to life again.
Jameson shook the memory free. He’d hired her that day. And he’d never been sorry. She kept the place spotless, she’d picked up the bookkeeping he’d taught her in a snap, and she was meticulous with running the front desk.
And as she relaxed into her position and began to feel more comfortable and at home, her spunky personality began to immerge little by little. And when it did, she had a wonderful way in dealing with customers. Her sparkling smile, he was sure, drew in many repeat customers. He was also sure one or two of his regulars were half in love with her.
And now that girl he’d worked so hard to rebuild, hell, they’d all worked so hard to rebuild, was right back in that dark place she’d been in when she’d first walked in the door. Apparently whatever had happened in Vegas, hadn’t stayed in Vegas. She’d brought all the baggage back with her. Something big had happened to her. Something powerful and damaging and damning.
Mother fucking hell.
Jameson unfolded his arms, straightened from the wall he was leaning against and turned to head down the back hall. He strode into the break-room in the back of the shop. Max was sitting at a table with his other two brothers, Rory and Liam, kicked back in a chair, drinking a beer.
Jameson’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. Ten minutes past 8pm on a Tuesday night. They’d officially closed ten minutes ago, although Max had finished up with the last customer a half hour earlier, which was unusual for them. Usually they were here long after closing time, finishing up with customers. His brothers were obviously intending to take full advantage of the early night and had started in on the beer.
The four of them had worked hard to make a go of it with this shop, working long hours, day after day, and things were finally starting to pay off. Their reputation was finally starting to become known. Word of mouth was getting out about the shop started by four brothers, and the primo work they did.
Brothers Ink was finally gaining a reputation.
The four page spread in Inked Up Magazine that had come out last month hadn’t hurt either. It was an incredible break for them. One that Jameson fully understood and appreciated.
He moved to the fridge and pulled out a beer. Joining his brothers at the table, he spun a chair around backwards and sat on it. He twisted off the cap of his beer and with a snap of his fingers sent it sailing towards Rory’s face.
Rory ducked. “Brat.”
Jameson grinned and took a long pull off his beer.
“What’s the deal with Crystal? I thought going to Vegas was supposed to make you happy.” Max looked over at Jameson for an answer.
Jameson’s expression sobered as he leaned forward and rested his crossed arms on the backrest. He shook his head. “I don’t know. Something happened.”
“No shit. She’s back to being that same girl that walked in the place months ago.” Liam leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.
Jameson nodded. “Yeah.”
“She say anything?” Max asked him.
“No, but I’m going to have a word with her. See if she’ll open up.”
Max nodded once.
Just then Crystal walked in, her purse in hand, shrugging into her leather jacket. She looked at Jameson. “I put the end-of-month paperwork on your desk.”
He nodded. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
“Stay and have a beer with us, doll.” Max grinned at her.
She gave a half-hearted attempt at a smile. “I’m kind of tired. But, thanks.”
Jameson rose from his chair, the metal legs sliding across the linoleum. “I’ll walk you out.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t bother arguing, honey, you know Jamie’s rules about someone escorting you to your car at night.” Liam winked at her.
She let out a sigh and looked at Jameson. “Right. Let’s go, Daddy-O.”
*
***
Crystal walked through the backdoor that Jameson held for her and out into the alley behind the shop. It’d been a long day and she was exhausted. She was parked in one of the spots near the door, so they didn’t have far to walk. Stopping next to her car, she slipped her key in the door, but looked up when Jameson’s hand slid to the roof.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
She frowned, wondering what he wanted to talk about. “Sure.”
“Crystal, I’m going to shoot straight with you because that’s the kind of guy I am.”
Oh God. Where the hell was this going?
“Okaaay.”
“You want to tell me what happened when you were in Vegas?”
Crap. Was it that obvious? Of course it was.
“Not really.”
“Let me rephrase that. Tell me what happened in Vegas.”
“Is that an order, boss?”
“Does it need to be?”
She looked away, staring down the alley toward the lights of Main Street. She didn’t even know what to say. How could she even explain?
“Come on, Ace, talk to me,” he teased her with the nickname he’d given her not long after she’d been hired.
She sucked her lips in, as if trying to hold in the words, afraid once they started flowing, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Hey?” His tone had changed, his voice soft, caring. She turned to look at him. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair that the breeze had blown across her face.
She searched his face. “I saw a man I used to know, that’s all.”
“A man.” He nodded as if that explained everything. “Were you in a relationship with him?”
She nodded. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “It’s complicated.”
“How complicated?”
“I…” God, she didn’t have the words.
“Did he hurt you?”
She frowned. How did she answer that? “I…like I said, it’s complicated. Why are you asking me all these questions, Jameson?”
He took in a deep breath and sighed it out. His eyes moved down the alley and then back to her. “When you first came here, I could see you were healing—from what, I didn’t know. But from something. And over the months you’ve been here, you have. You’ve healed. You were happy. At least, I thought you were.”
“I was,” she hurried to assure him, and then corrected, “I am.”
He shook his head. “The light has gone out of your eyes again. Just like before.”
She looked down. Every word he said was true.
He reached out and took her wrist in his hand, his thumb brushing over the stack of beaded bracelets she was never without. Her eyes followed the movement.
“You know, tattoos can cover up some pretty nasty scars. They actually do a damn fine job of it.”
She looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights and barely breathed the word, “What?”
He nodded at her bracelets. “Do you wear those to hide something, Crystal?”
She swallowed, not meeting his eyes.
“Talk to me.”
“It’s not what you think. I’m not crazy.”
“I don’t think that, sweetheart.”
“If you’re worried you hired a crazy person, don’t. I’m better now.” She couldn’t have been more shocked that he knew, that apparently he’d known all along. “How…how did you know?”
His head tilted to the side, his eyes staring into hers, his words and his touch tender. “I had a girl come into the shop once. It was a couple years back. She wanted her scars covered. She told me she was tired of always trying to cover them with bracelets.” He shrugged. “I’ve wondered…if that was why you always, always covered your wrists.”
She tried to pull away, ashamed, but his grip tightened.
“Was it because of him?”
“No. Not really. It was because of me. Because I was weak.” She bit her lip. “You know, it’s funny, because up until then I’d always thought of myself as a strong person.” She shook her head. “But I’m not. Not when it counts.”
Before she realized what he was about, she was pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped around her.
“Babe.”
Surrounded by his warmth, his strength, she realized he didn’t need to say anything more than that single word. She melted against him and let the feelings of sadness and grief that she’d tried not to feel since she’d driven away from the motel, leaving Wolf standing there staring after her car. Now she felt it all. And her eyes filled with tears as her body shook with her sobs.
Jameson’s hands rubbed up and down her back as he let her cry it out. He simply held her. And right then, that was all she needed.
After she finally settled back down, she let Jameson talk her into coming back inside the shop.
“So what’s going on with Crystal?” She heard Liam ask Jameson when he walked in the door. As she walked in behind him, she saw Liam’s eyes slide past Jameson to land on her. He’d obviously thought she’d left.
“Crystal, you okay?” Max asked.
Jameson answered his question. “She’s fine. Why don’t you guys head on out. Her and I are going to be here a while.”
Liam, Rory and Max exchanged a look, but rose from their chairs.
“Yeah, sure. We were just leaving, weren’t we, guys?” Max replied.
“You bet,” Rory added.
After his three brothers shuffled out, Jameson herded her toward the front and into a chair at his station. Then he grabbed up a binder and slapped it on the padded arm rest.
“Pick something, Ace.”
She looked from him to the book, and then smiled and flipped it open. Jameson pulled over a rolling stool and sat. He watched as she turned the pages, studying the designs. She felt his eyes move from the designs to her face, and she lifted her gaze to him.
“You sure you want to do this tonight?” he asked softly. “I didn’t mean to push you into doing anything you’re not ready to do.”
She smiled at him, touched by his concern and touched by the fact that he hadn’t pressured her for any details or tried to drag the story out of her. Maybe he could tell she wasn’t quite ready to talk. “I’m sure. I have to admit, I’ve thought about it ever since the first time I walked in these doors.”
He grinned. “If you’re sure.” Then he slid a piece of paper out from the back of the book and laid it on top. He tapped his finger on the design sketched on it. “I like that one.”
She looked down at it. It was a beautiful design of intricate flowers with a filigree pattern behind it forming the cuff. It really was stunning. She met his eyes and smiled. “It’s perfect.”
“I sketched this out last week.”
Her eyes took in the beautiful design. He was an amazing artist. Truly gifted. “It’s stunning.” Then her eyes lifted to his. “Who did you do this for?”
“For you,” he admitted softly.
“For me?” Her eyes returned to the design, glittering with tears. “You did know, didn’t you?”
He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “I suspected, that’s all, Crystal. I didn’t know for sure. I still don’t know much, do I?”
She met his eyes and gave a slight shake of her head, her throat closing.
“You don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But if you ever do, I’m here.”
“Okay,” she replied softly.
A small grin pulled at his mouth as he repeated the word back to her just as softly. “Okay.”
That got a grin out of her.
“Let’s get to work then.” He winked at her and stood up, moving to set up his equipment.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cole and Crash were at Marty’s having a beer.
“Wolf working his shit out finally?” Cole asked.
Crash looked over at him and shrugged. “He’s doing better. It’s just gonna take some time.”
<
br /> Cole nodded. A moment later, his attention was caught by the TV above the bar as they interrupted programing for breaking news. The news anchor was saying, “We go live now to our reporter on the scene.”
The screen showed a woman standing in front of what looked like a sketchy apartment building.
“I’m reporting live from the east side of town, where three women were found dead this morning. The victims shared an apartment in this building behind me, and all had apparently died in similar fashion. Details suggest these deaths were especially gruesome. Police are saying very little, but our sources are reporting the victims all had their throats slashed. The victims also had another thing in common. Our sources confirm that all three women were employees of a local strip club called Sonny’s. We’ll continue to follow this story as more details emerge. Reporting live, Samantha Edwards, Channel Ten News.”
“Christ, man,” Crash murmured, his eyes glued to the screen.
A moment later, Cole’s cell phone went off. He pulled it out, looked at the screen and saw it was Mack. He put it to his ear, growling, “Yeah?
“You seeing what I’m seeing?” Mack bit out.
“Yeah. Just saw it.”
“Goddamn it. Call a meeting.”
Twenty minutes later, they were gathered around the table in the clubhouse meeting room.
Mack ran his hand through his hair in a frustrated fashion before looking over at Cole. “What do we know?”
“I talked with Sonny. He’s had no problems. Nothing unusual. He’s got no clue.”
Mack stared down at the scarred wooden table. “That’s the third hit on a business that has a direct line to our income. I’m not buying that it’s a coincidence.”
Cole nodded. “I think you’re right.”
Mack looked over at Cole. “Who the fuck is doing this?”
Cole shook his head. “I don’t know, but when we catch them, they’re going to wish they were dead.”
“Up security on everything. Sonny’s, the Pony, all our deliveries, and find out who the fuck is doing this!” Mack roared.
