by A. J. Norris
Mikey sidestepped the only painted spot on the floor. He never walked where his blood stained the cement underneath. Touching his side, he remembered the fear and tightness in his chest. His death would have orphaned his ten-year-old son.
“You Cameron?”
“Cam. Yeah,” the guy said though the glass. Mikey opened the door and allowed Cam to scoot past him.
The interviewee shucked his leather coat and draped it over the receptionist counter and body jewelry display case. Ink covered one forearm and disappeared under his t-shirt. It appeared to be a full-arm sleeve, spanning shoulder to wrist.
“Ever worked in a tattoo shop before?” Mikey grinned. “I see you frequent them.”
“Not officially. I helped out at the place my Uncle Eric used to work at in California.”
“I didn’t realize Needles ever lived in California. Is that where you’re from?”
“Uh, I’m not from there, neither is he.”
“What brought you out there?”
“Music. It was great, then not so great. Eric suggested I come out here to get away from the glitz.” Cam snorted on the last word. “I never saw any glitz, though.”
“So music’s a thing of the past for you. That’s a shame. Were you any good?”
“I thought so. I’m pretty good playing guitar.”
“How long you plan on sticking around?”
“I’ve been here about two weeks. The talent seems viable.”
“Talent?” Mikey drew his brows together.
“Women.”
“So you don’t have any plans to leave anytime soon?”
“Nope. That’s why I need the job, so I can get off my uncle’s couch.”
“Well, if you’re looking, a couple of the stores in this strip have apartments above them for rent. One has a vacancy.”
“Does this mean I got the job?”
“We’ll try it out, yeah. Your resume’s decent. You can start this Monday provided you pass the background check.”
“Fair enough. I’m clean.”
Grace had insisted Mikey have all new employees screened. She was not only his fiancé but his accountant and business advisor.
They chatted for a few more minutes. Mikey gave him the landlord’s name and number then showed Cam out after grabbing his jacket from the closet.
“Thanks for the landlord’s number. See you Monday.” Cam waved and got into his car.
Mikey had a remote start installed, so when he jumped in his Ford SUV, it was nice and toasty inside. He shivered anyway. January sucked.
The sloppy streets made traveling home slow going. Normally the drive took twenty minutes, tonight it took damn near forty-five.
His son Brayden greeted him at the kitchen door. He always did that ever since Mikey nearly died. After seeing him safe, his son went back to whatever he had been doing.
Grace stood over the stove stirring a pot of chili. “How’d the interview go?”
“Good. He signed off on the background search. If all clear, he starts Monday.”
“Natalie said it’d be all right for Brayden to stay with her Friday night.”
“Good.” Mikey slid in behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
“Too bad, I’m not having a winter wedding.”
“We can go to Vegas.”
“Stop playing, I’m not doing that.” She smiled.
“It’d be over quick and it’s so cheap.”
“Exactly.”
Mikey and Grace had already booked their wedding at the mayor’s office, with a small reception at the only country club in Webster for July.
“Chili smells good.”
“Thanks, and it’s ready.”
“I’m ready too,” Mikey said, running his hands up her rib cage, palming her breasts.
Brayden cleared his throat from over by the doorway. “Seriously, you’re gross, Dad. There’s also an impressionable young boy living in this house, you know.”
“One day you’ll understan—”
“As much as I wouldn’t mind another kid around, I don’t want one that badly.”
Grace blushed and snort-giggled.
“How old are you again?” Mikey asked.
“Almost eleven.”
“Oh. That’s right, you’re eleven. Now go sit down at the dinner table.”
* * *
Right on cue Brayden fell asleep in front of the TV. Instead of waking him, Mikey laid a blanket over him and led Grace to their bedroom.
“I missed you today,” she said.
“Sorry to hear that. How can I make it up to you?”
“You have to ask how?” Grace stripped down to her bra and panties.
“How come you’re getting naked?”
She giggled. “How come you’re not?”
“Good question.” He pulled his black t-shirt over his head then shucked his jeans and socks, careful not to knock the clear bandage on his left thigh.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
She pointed to his upper leg. He shrugged.
“I’m a tattoo artist. Did you expect me to stop getting inked?”
“No, just…” She looked at the floor.
“They’re magpies.” He removed the tape and cellophane.
“It’s like they’re flying around each other.”
“Like lovers?” he said, winking.
“Yeah. I love the colors. Blue, green, is that purple in there too?” Grace came closer and inspected the tattoo for a minute. “Okay, I’m done, take your boxers off.”
Mikey laughed. “Just like that, huh?”
“What part of ‘I missed you today’ didn’t you understand?”
“The part where you only missed my hot bod.” He fake sniffled. “I’m not just a pretty face, I have feelings.”
Grace smirked. “You’re such a goof.” She ran her hands over his pectorals and down his front. She latched onto the waistband of his Hanes and pulled them off. He helped her not drag the fabric over his new ink. A tattoo Needles didn’t do. The guy had a way of adding darkness to every design. There was a market for it, and he was a talented artist, but Mikey wasn’t a fan.
Mikey lifted her and she wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his hips. Grace fused their lips together.
His stiff cock nestled at the apex of her thighs, flush to her sex. She moaned, her lips vibrating against his. He laid her on the bed and settled between her legs.
Brayden knocked on the door and Mikey groaned.
CHAPTER THREE
Grace
Grace had to hand it to the kid, his timing was awesome.
Mikey groaned. “What do you need, kid?”
“Dad?” Brayden said through their bedroom door.
“Yes?” Mikey looked down at Grace cross-eyed. She giggled.
“I’m going to bed now.”
“All right. Thanks for telling me.”
“Are you sleeping? Can I come in?”
“No, you can’t come in.” Mikey grinned. “Go to bed, I’ll check on you later.”
“Aren’t you going to tuck me in?”
“Not right now.”
“You should probably just go do it,” Grace whispered to Mikey.
He glanced down between them. “I kinda can’t right now.”
“Brayden, sweetie, can you give your dad about twenty minutes?”
Mikey pushed his hips forward and she whimpered. “Make that two,” she whispered so only her fiancé heard.
“Okay.” Brayden shuffled his feet down the hallway. His bedroom door squeaked open and shut.
Grace adored Mikey’s son. She didn’t mind the kid being around and looking after him. She suspected he was smarter than anyone she knew.
“Now, where were we?” Mikey asked.
“You were about to convince me that you missed me today too.”
“He didn’t kill your mood?”
�
�Are you crazy? Do you know how hot you are?” Grace grabbed his butt. The muscles undulated under her palms when she squeezed. She knew all his ticklish spots.
He gasped, angled his hips, and pushed inside her silky channel.
Grace moaned his name. “Mikey.” She arched her back and let herself be free with him. She trusted Mikey, he took care of her heart and body like no other man had. Things between them progressed quickly last summer, but they had been through a lot which brought them closer together, although there was a time she wasn’t sure their relationship would survive his omission about being a serial killer suspect. Her father had been the lead detective. In truth, she had told a lie of sorts too. Mikey didn’t know her father was a cop. Grace credited Brayden with saving their budding relationship. He saw the love she had for his father and called her on it.
Mikey kissed her throat, nibbled on her earlobe. Warmth between her legs spread throughout her core. The intensity of his stokes increased. His breaths roared in her ear. A hand slid under her bottom, holding her for better penetration.
“Oh, God!” she cried out. She clutched his thick biceps, and wondered if his magpie tat was getting ruined from the strain his legs must be under. Silly thing to think about right now. It was just so beautiful, she even wanted one, and Grace hated needles to the point of aversion. Okay, she was deathly afraid and got woozy looking at the needles in Mikey’s tattoo supply catalogs.
He placed one of her legs on each of his shoulders. Over her head, he gripped the headboard. The veins in his neck bulged. His eyes squeezed shut.
Her breath caught in the back of her throat when she parted and licked her lips. The beginnings of an orgasm weakened Grace’s arms and legs. “Never stop…oh, oh, yes!”
“Oh, fuck me, Grace. God, you feel so good.” He bit his lower lip and moaned. The bed banged the wall as he bucked inside her. His whole body tensed then released.
While still joined together, he laid his head on her chest using one of her breasts as a pillow, breathing heavily.
CHAPTER FOUR
Harry
“Why are we stopping here?” Harry asked.
“I’m hungry. Our dinner’s cold by now, and besides, it’s too late to cook. Oh, and it’s my birthday.” Natalie put her car into park at her favorite restaurant, Cocoa. He could strangle his daughter for introducing her to the place.
Harry rolled his head around, blowing a raspberry into the air.
“Don’t do that. You owe me for tonight.”
“Thought you weren’t mad at me?”
“I’m not.”
“Why does this feel like a punishment then? Can’t I kiss your feet instead?”
“Tell you what, I’ll let you kiss my behind later.”
“How about now?” he smirked. He liked when she talked dirty, even when she hadn’t meant it that way. “I’ll put my face in your pus—”
“Harry Hunter. Git your grumpy self out of this car and into a booth inside that restaurant.”
“Yes, ma’am. I love it when you boss me.” Harry smiled despite himself and climbed out of her car. His joints didn’t crack as much as they had six months ago. After Mikey’s snarky comment about his waistline, Harry had taken up jogging again and did 150 crunches daily. Not bad for a 55-year-old. He felt eighteen again. Mostly.
Andrea Winston, the owner’s wife, greeted them at the hostess stand. “Nice to see you again, Natalie.” She gave Harry a stiff nod. The woman begrudged him for harassing her husband’s best friend, Mikey Hardin. Would Grace take his last name after they married? Of course, she would. She’d taken on that asshat first husband of hers last name, Bell. The things Harry thought about made no sense when he was overtired and stressed.
Andrea seated them at a quiet booth in the corner. Brown satin flowed down the walls like the room was one giant chocolate fountain. A waitress came by and took their drink order, except she came prepared with a pot of coffee and poured him a cup. Had they frequented Cocoa enough that the wait staff knew what he’d ask for?
Harry scanned the bar along the back wall. Lights backlit the liquor bottles lining the two-tier glass shelf. It made the glass look like ice. Surprisingly, his desire for a drink remained relatively tame. Manageable. He caught Natalie eyeing him, more out of curiosity than suspicion. He squeezed her hand, reassuring her that he was okay.
“I know this is a stupid question, but do think you’ll ever be able to have a drink without worrying you can’t stop?”
He shook his head and sipped his coffee. Thank God she wasn’t a drinker. That, he couldn’t handle tonight.
“Cody’s sentencing is next week, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Lance. His name’s Lance.”
“He’s still not talking?”
Harry linked elbows with her and pressed his lips to her temple. This grounded him. He never wanted to disappoint her, she deserved a sober boyfriend. “I didn’t think he would. Gave it one more shot.” Harry didn’t discuss many specifics. However, the Tattoo Killings made national headlines.
The waitress sidled up to their table and took their order.
“Grace asked me to be her maid of honor and Andrea to be her matron of honor,” Natalie said, breaking the silence after the waitress left.
“I guess this means I get to walk you down the aisle.”
“If you behave, I’ll let you get frisky with me in the coat check closet.”
Harry chuckled.
* * *
Natalie slipped into her bed beside him. There were too many good and bad memories at his house across the street. Harry stretched his achy legs. She rolled onto her side, facing away from him. He pulled her back to his front. “Are you still in the mood, birthday girl?” He smoothed his hand over her hip and bare thigh, and up her nightshirt. “You’re not wearing any underpants.”
Natalie twirled then straddled his hips. She leaned down and kissed him.
“Take this shirt off,” he said.
“No. I’m old.”
“You are not,” he said, running his hands along her ribcage under the shirt. “You act like 50 equals 100. You’re still young enough to have a baby.”
“What? Are you crazy? I am not. Have you seen how thin the skin on my hands are?”
“What do your hands have to do with the functionality of your womb? You’re not menopausal.”
“Can we discuss my womb another time? Like never?”
“How come you and McDingleberry never had kids?”
“I wanted to, but by the time my mind was ready, my body wasn’t. Forty was too old for me and then he left.”
Harry cupped her breasts and flicked the nipples with his thumbs. She released a sultry breath. Who needed Viagra? He couldn’t get any harder. His lips parted as she stroked the underside of his manhood with her wet lady parts.
“You tease…Natalie…” He reached between them. Her hand found the back of his and she took over, guiding him where he wanted.
A delicious pressure eased down his shaft. He throbbed inside her at the same beat as his heart. Thrusting his hips up toward her, he gripped her small waist. She was on the petite side, yet strong and scrappy. Another characteristic different from Annie. His late wife had stood tall for a woman.
Harry pushed aside thoughts that had no business in this bedroom, or maybe even in this house, and enjoyed Natalie. They moved in sync, giving and taking with their bodies.
Natalie placed her hands on his chest, holding herself upright. She moaned and her pants came faster, as did his. What a great end to a shitty day. They tipped off the orgasm cliff together, holding hands during the freefall.
He loved her, yet had trouble saying the words out loud. Did that mean letting go of Annie forever? Would she disappear? The thoughts were irrational, although that didn’t stop him from obsessing over them.
CHAPTER FIVE
Thursday 6:10 AM
Nestled in the snowbank, cradled by a halo of ice, the body of a young woman lay dead. The warmth of her melt
ed the surrounding snow, but as her temperature dropped, ice had formed.
The sun peeked through the evergreen trees. Drops of water fell from the branches onto her bare chest. Her shirt was torn, and now only partially covered her tits. The killer had pulled her jeans back up, although left them undone.
He wiped spit from the corners of his mouth. Normally, he didn’t return to his crime scenes because they were out in the open, unlike this one. It had been six months since he’d killed, that Felicia chick Mikey had fucked once. The killer thought she’d be easy to get close to. And he was right. So insecure, and she fed into his flattery. She’d surprise visited Mikey at the tattoo shop. Not cool. The owner ended things on the spot. Then he’d swooped in and rescued her on the street in front of the shop.
Blood stained the snow and had leeched out from the prone girl’s head. The rock used on her skull, he’d pitched into the flowing creek with a plunk. The axe he’d brought to chop wood for her fireplace lay next to the tree he’d leaned it against, two days ago. He never used it. Some of her fingers were missing the tips. Coyotes or something had eaten them. Her cloudy eyes were open and fixed.
A dog barked nearby. The killer took off running the second he caught a glimpse of the top of a red plaid hat. The man, likely a rabbit hunter, whistled to his dog. “Whatcha into girl?” he shouted.
CHAPTER SIX
Harry
Harry noted the numerous paw prints around and squatted next to the female, age 20–30, with blonde hair. The Jane Doe’s eyes were too milky to identify their color. He took a deep breath and coughed into his sleeve. The coffee he drank this morning made a bid for escape. The sight of the dead woman didn’t bother him as much as how her family would feel when they were given the news. It took all his strength not to call Grace just to hear her voice on the other end. He’d asked what color the victim’s hair was before driving out, praying it wasn’t dark brown.
