Sinful Southern Ink

by S. J. Drum

  She backed up, a sneer twisting her glossy lips. The client slapped her payment down on the counter where her friend’s breasts had previously been pressed and ushered the group out the door.

  Twenty-five dollars in cash. Jed hadn’t even earned a tip for putting up with the annoyance. He carried the cash back to Abigail’s office and slipped it inside the deposit envelope. They didn’t actually keep any money in the register up front because it was left unattended so often. Most people paid with debit cards anyway, so it wasn’t an inconvenience to go to her office for change when needed.

  The bell over the door jingled as he slid the zipper on the green vinyl bag closed. He checked the time and found his next client was early by about twenty minutes.

  Better early than late. Might as well get it over with.

  As he turned the corner, he caught the tail end of someone walking across the reception area at the end of the hall. All he saw was one long, lean, tanned leg capped off with a yellow stiletto-heeled sandal. If the ridiculous shoes hadn’t given her away, the clanking of her spangle bracelets would have.

  Casually, he strolled into the reception area, making a point to not acknowledge Sherrie. He pulled the client schedule from beneath the register, slapped it on the countertop and proceeded to flip through it until he came to today. A muffled sound came from the back of the shop and he thought something must have fallen over in his studio.

  Tapping a finger on the entry for his next appointment, he looked up and met Sherrie’s stare. “Funny, you don’t look like a middle-aged biker named Henry. But if you want to get a Prince Albert piercing through your dick, who am I to judge.”

  Sherrie’s vivid blue eyes assessed him from ball cap to boots, pausing on his crotch for longer than he felt comfortable with since they were no longer dating. Her pink tongue darted out, swiping over her bottom lip before wetting the top.

  The hair prickled at the back of Jed’s neck as he took in Sherrie’s impromptu appearance and the calculation in her expression. She’d worn the white Daisy Duke shorts he’d been fond of while they dated and a halter top that was barely more than the top half of a bikini. “Why are you here, Sherrie? If you need your jewelry changed again, you’re capable of doing that yourself.”

  She prowled to the counter, her pencil-thin heels putting an extra sway in her steps. “You’ve been a naughty boy, Jed.” She shook one manicured finger at him.

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “You’ve been slumming, babe. Trying to make me jealous.” She slipped around behind the counter, trapping him in. “I appreciate the effort, but it’s time to put a stop to it.”

  “Are you crazy?” For the life of him, Jed couldn’t figure out what the hell she was going on about. Maybe she’d lost her damn mind.

  In a fast move he didn’t think Sherrie capable of, she jumped, landed her ass on the glass countertop and snapped her legs apart until she straddled his hips where he stood. She straightened those long legs until the dangerous heels of her sandals rested against the wall behind the counter.

  “I heard about you and Abbey.” Sherrie laughed, the sound harsh and grating, though he knew she meant it to be sultry. She laced her hands behind his neck as he pressed his hip against her leg, trying to encourage her to move without being forceful. “You wanted to make me jealous. It worked.”

  Just as Jed ducked, intending to slip under the knee caging him in and escape the unwanted embrace, Sherrie tightened her arms around his neck, taking advantage of his movement to pull him forward. She pressed her lips over his in an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss. Her tongue flicked over his unresponsive lips and made an obscene smacking sound which irritated him further.

  He tried pulling back but she wasn’t letting him go. His only choice, without resorting to force and risking hurting her, was to pick her up, spin around and set her down behind the counter. He’d keep his hips back far enough she wouldn’t be able to snake her legs around them and she’d be forced to set her feet on the ground. Then he’d spin away and make his escape to the other side of the counter and tell her to get the hell away from him.

  Jed pretended to melt into the kiss, scooped his hands under her ass and lifted her up to spin around. Somehow she got those vicious heels locked behind his back and molded her body to him like a leech.

  Well, that’s it. No more being nice.

  He gripped her bony hips, intending to wrench her away from him with however much power the task required. A gasp that sounded startlingly close to a sob made his heart, his world, stop. He knew before he turned around, still struggling to pry Sherrie off him.

  Jed twisted his head free of her grip. “Damn it, Sherrie. Get off of me!”

  She laughed, looking over her shoulder to where his eyes had landed. “It’s all right, babe. I don’t mind if she watches.” Her wet lips started to trail down his neck and he lost all patience. He shoved her away, hard. At the last second, he steadied her against the wall so she wouldn’t fall off those ridiculous shoes that’d been digging into his back.

  He watched Abigail’s eyes fill with tears. She must have come inside through the back entrance. For the first time he could remember, she didn’t fight the tears. They rolled down her cheeks in large, round drops as she seemed to crumple in on herself.

  “Abigail, this isn’t what it looks like. Sherrie was just—” Sherrie chose that moment to ease up behind him and slide her hands around his middle. He slapped them away.

  Abigail held a hand out in front of her as if to warn him away. “No,” she sobbed. “Just get out. Get out of here and take your whore with you.”

  He took a step toward her, she backed away. His heart broke at the pain on her face. “I know this looks bad but if you’ll just listen—”

  “Get out!” she screamed.

  Abigail’s broken voice tore through him. I told her I loved her. How could she not trust me? Maybe because she walked in on Sherrie sucking your face off and you not doing much to discourage her.

  One look at the defeat and desolation in her eyes and he knew he’d have to leave, give her time to calm down, then make things right. “My clients—”

  “I’ll handle them. Just—” She drew in a choppy breath. “Leave.”

  He moved toward the door, catching Sherrie’s smug look and he was appalled to admit he actually thought about smacking her. He would never raise his hand to a woman, but fuck if he wasn’t tempted to right now.

  Jed pushed Sherrie through the front door of the shop, the sound of Abigail’s muffled sobs following him onto the sidewalk. He turned to Sherrie and growled, “Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t call me, don’t come to the shop, don’t even fucking think about me. I want nothing to do with you.”

  He spun and strode to his truck, leaving the conniving bitch behind on the sidewalk.

  Chapter Ten

  Abigail was cried out. She hadn’t allowed herself a hard, long cry since before her mother died and she’d forgotten how cathartic it could be, releasing all those bottled-up emotions.

  Last night was only the second night she’d closed the shop and rescheduled her appointments since Hart’s Ink opened its doors five years ago. Was it a coincidence both times had happened since she’d started dating Jed Weston?

  Nope.

  Loving Jed had flipped her world upside, then turned it inside out for good measure. After reflecting upon what she’d seen the night before, she had to admit that she’d overreacted. She’d been shocked as hell to see them together, Sherrie’s skinny ass wrapped around Jed, her mouth sucking at his lips. And, yes, he could have been doing more to get rid of the tramp. But after the shock had faded, Abigail remembered the annoyed—not interested—look on his face, the way his hands pushed Sherrie away rather than pulled her closer, the disdain in his eyes as he followed her outside. Add those things to the words she’d overheard him yelling at Sherrie on the sidewalk and it all equaled one huge misunderstanding.

  Still, Abigail hadn’t returned his texts o
r answered his calls. She wasn’t ready to sort the whole mess out, not just yet. Not when she had the box of her father’s belongings sitting on her coffee table a foot away. She’d begun her morning with the unpleasant surprise waiting for her on the stoop.

  She sighed, clenched her hands into fists, then shook them out.

  Just open it, you big sissy. Nothing in there can hurt you.

  Not entirely convinced, she peeled the clear packing tape away like she would remove a bandage that had adhered to a wound. Once the tape was free, the cardboard flaps sprang up releasing a puff of musty air. The smell reminded her of the few times she’d been inside a homeless shelter. Like despair, mold, and unclean bodies.

  She folded the flaps the rest of the way open, averting her gaze until the insides of the box were bare to her. She peered inside, a knot taking up space in her throat.

  Inside lay the scattered remains of her father’s life. The contents were far removed from what she’d expected her father to possess. A well-used bible, an Addicts Anonymous manual, a few pieces of poorly made pottery she assumed he’d fashioned with his hands during some version of arts and crafts time at the prison. Underneath it all, incongruous to the rest, lay a crisp beige folder.

  Abigail removed the folder and opened it slowly, as though she expected some terrible secret from her past to jump out and maim her. What she found was worse. It filled her with guilt and confusion and sadness she wasn’t prepared to feel when she thought of her father.

  With a shaking hand, she lifted a picture of a buck-toothed, pigtailed child. In chicken-scratch handwriting on the back it read Ashley, age 8. Next was a picture of her with their old hound dog the summer she’d turned ten. An entire stack of photographs showed her as a child and growing through her awkward years until she came to a photograph of her as a terrified sixteen-year-old walking out of the Jeffersonville police station with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. How he’d gotten a hold of that particular picture, she didn’t know.

  The final picture was a newspaper clipping showing her as a somber eighteen-year-old in a graduation cap with an article on how she’d “overcome her circumstances” and graduated high school still attached to the bottom.

  There were no pictures after that. Her father had been in prison so he couldn’t have taken his own and she’d moved, changed her name soon after, and avoided being photographed by reporters.

  Abigail stared at the collection of photographs and felt at a complete loss. Her father had never shown her any affection. Most of the time he hadn’t acknowledged her in any way, which was for the best because when he had noticed her, it had been with the back of his hand or the strap of his belt.

  Why? Why did he keep all of these things?

  If he’d cared for her, why had he never attempted to contact her?

  Because you wouldn’t have listened…

  No, she wouldn’t have listened. Because a small pile of pictures and a few years of being drug free and saying a couple prayers did not erase all the evil her father had done. Nothing he could have said would have changed her feelings toward him. Despite her confusion over her father’s belongings, none of it changed what had happened.

  She stuffed the items back inside the cardboard box and folded the flaps closed. If Abigail wanted a new life, a life filled with love and trust and hope, she’d have to purge the past, once and for all.

  * * * * *

  Jed couldn’t wait one more minute to make things right with Abigail. She hadn’t returned any of his calls or texts and the worry was making him sick. His gut rolled at the thought of food and every time he closed his eyes to sleep, he saw her devastated expression as she’d yelled at him to leave.

  He parked his truck on the street, not caring that the extra wheel stuck out too far, slammed the door and jogged up to her apartment. He raised his fist and rapped on her door.

  Nothing happened.

  He knocked again, harder this time.

  Still, nothing.

  “Damn.”

  Her car hadn’t been parked at the shop or on the street in front of her apartment but he’d hoped she’d just parked it somewhere else to throw him off. He leaned against her door, feeling helpless. He slapped his hand against the door and pushed away. Something crinkled under his boot.

  Jed knelt to retrieve the note from the bottom of his boot and smoothed the crinkled paper to make the markings on it legible.

  Delivery Notice

  Sender: Newport Prison

  “Well, shit.” He shoved the slip into his back pocket, walked back to his truck and climbed inside. “Where are you, Abbey?”

  Then it hit him. He knew where she’d gone.

  Jed cranked the ignition on his dually and roared toward the shop. Hart’s Ink was closer than his house, and he needed internet access now. Once inside his office, it took him less than ten minutes to find the information he needed. He scribbled directions on a sheet of paper and took off to find Abigail.

  Three hours later, he slowed his truck and turned onto a driveway that was more dirt than gravel and more holes than flat surface. Abigail’s old GTO sat in front of a dilapidated singlewide trailer among the debris and plant life time collects. Her silhouette was visible in the waning afternoon light, standing alone between her car and the age-ravaged trailer.

  Abigail didn’t acknowledge his presence as he drove up the drive or when he parked, shut off his truck, and got out. She held a medium-sized cardboard box in her hands and stared at a faded strip of crime scene tape tied to the front door handle with one end whipping in the breeze.

  Jed approached her, silent but for his booted steps across the grass.

  “I should have sold this dump years ago. The deed transferred from my father to me when I turned eighteen but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything with it.”

  They stood in silence while the sun sank lower and the shadows lengthened.

  “He kept pictures of me. Why would he do that?” She turned and looked at Jed for the first time since his arrival. “Why?”

  Her eyes were clear, confused and hurt but not full of overwhelming sadness. Jed took the box from her, set it on the ground, and wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Does it really matter why he did it?”

  She shook her head against his chest. He ran his hands up and down her back, thankful to be able to touch her, to love her.

  Abigail pulled away. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” She picked up the box and climbed the steps to the trailer. She had to give the door a hard shove with her shoulder before it would open.

  Jed was about to call her back, tell her not to go inside, it wasn’t safe. The floor could be rotted or the memories could be too much. He didn’t get a chance.

  She tossed the box inside, pulled a small container from her back pocket, poured out the contents and tossed the empty container inside. She stepped back onto the stairs, pulled a pack of matches from her pocket, struck one and tossed it inside. Flames shot up from the fluid she’d spilled.

  “Move your truck,” she shouted, jogging toward her GTO. “Park at the end of the drive.” She jumped inside her car and gunned it in reverse, sending the few stray pebbles of gravel left in the drive flying.

  A whoosh and a wave of heat poured out of the trailer, sparking Jed into action. He climbed in his truck and sped down the long drive to park next to Abigail, closer to the road.

  He turned off the truck and went around to meet Abigail at the tailgate as she unlatched it. They hopped up and sat on the open tailgate, watching as her childhood home was swallowed by the fire she’d set. They’d recently had rain and the ramshackle building was too far away from the woods to cause any problems. Content to watch it burn, Jed slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in tight. “The thing with Sherrie—”

  “I know. I believe you.” She clasped his thigh with her hand and allowed her head to rest against him.

  “Good, because I love you, Abigail. I don’t ever want you to
doubt that.”

  She lifted her head, her eyes appeared black in the dim light of dusk. The fire cast a subtle warmth over her fair skin and made it appear as though she were radiating life. Love. “I love you too, Jed Weston.” She planted a firm kiss on his lips then leaned back. “If that skank Sherrie ever puts her hands on you again, I’ll break them.”

  She grinned. Jed laughed until his cheeks hurt and his heart overflowed with love for her. Unable to resist, he captured Abigail’s lips in another kiss. As she melted against him, a growl escaped his throat and suddenly he had to be closer to the woman who meant everything to him.

  He gripped her shoulders and guided her backward until she lay with her back flat on the bed of his truck, her legs hanging off the open tailgate from the knees down. After another heated kiss where tongues dueled and mouths possessed, demanded, he rose up and climbed out of the truck. At Abigail’s stunned gaze and confusion-drawn brow, he gave her a devilish grin.

  Pushing up to her elbows, Abigail cocked her head to the side, her tousled hair tumbling over the delectable skin of her shoulders. “What’re you doing?”

  “Baby, I’ve never been in love before. I find myself wanting to know what love tastes like.”

  Before she could ask any more questions, he grabbed her under both knees and jerked her toward him. The action was a little abrupt, a bit rough, but the sudden flush of desire coloring Abigail’s cheeks and the glazed look that rolled over her midnight eyes reassured him his woman was entirely on board.

  Jed worked the snap and zipper on her jeans with hands he was proud to say shook only slightly. He was so anxious to get Abigail naked beneath his seeking tongue, he wasn’t sure how he managed to undress her without simply ripping away the offending garments like a madman.

  He tugged the jeans down her smooth legs, pulling the small thong she wore right along with them. As he tossed her pants and panties onto the ground, Abigail quickly removed her shirt, just as anxious as he.

  Jed dropped to his knees without care for the sparse gravel digging into his knees through the fabric of his jeans. Nothing would distract him from tasting his woman, bringing her the same amount of satisfaction she brought him simply by being near, by being his.