by KB Winters
Besides who in the hell would stalk me? I was a party planner. A damn good one, but still, not exactly living a high-risk lifestyle.
“Hey, you okay?” Tate looked at me halfway through dinner, his gray eyes shining with concern.
I slapped a smile on my face, which he clearly didn’t buy, and nodded. “Yep, I’m good. Thanks. How are you?”
His lips twitched with amusement. “Getting better every day.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said and tapped my glass to his beer bottle. “To getting better.”
He grinned and tapped my glass again.
By the time the meal was over and the dishes were done, I felt better but still uneasy. That gift had me rattled and I’d learned in the early days of my modeling career to listen to my gut. It was how I avoided being left alone with certain photographers and models, and why I had a reputation as a good girl, because I didn’t go to parties where kids had no business being. Right now, I was getting those same vibes.
“Hey, are you sure you’re all right,” Jana asked.
“Just a little frazzled. I’ll be fine after a good night of rest.”
“Okay. If you’re sure,” she said but she didn’t believe me. “I’ll let that answer slide. Tonight. Tomorrow, we’re talking about it.”
“Damn, look who’s gotten bossy as hell.”
“Between you and Max, I had to adapt.” The pink on her face and neck told the whole story. Jana was still getting used to voicing her opinions. “Tomorrow,” she said and pointed a finger my way.
“Tomorrow,” I agreed as I stepped out into the slightly cooler, but still warm, night air.
“Hey, you want me to follow you home? You seem spooked.”
Dammit, was Tate a decent guy too? “Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine. I swear.”
“Be safe,” he said as he hopped on his bike, started it and drove off like a rocket.
I appreciated the gesture, but I’d been on my own for a very long time and whatever this was, I would handle it. But inside my house, I double-checked every door and window just to be safe. Everything was locked up tight, the security system was armed and I headed upstairs to get ready for bed.
By the time my head hit the pillow, every sound I heard was a potential serial killer coming to do me in.
Tomorrow, I’d have a drink before bed.
Chapter 3
Tate
My new favorite place in all of Mayhem was my shop, GET INK’D. This time of day, when the guys were probably still sleeping from a long night of drinking and fucking at the clubhouse, the place was quiet. I was alone to survey this thing I’d built with my hands. And the government’s money. Looking around the deep red chairs, the shiny chrome tattoo guns and the disinfecting station. Yep, this was all mine and no one could take it away.
As I unpacked the alcohol pads and bandages, I thought about my brother’s life with Jana. They’d gone through some shit to get together, but somehow they’d come out the other side stronger and happier. Never in my life would I have imagined that lovey-dovey shit would appeal to me – marriage and ankle biters.
Hell, before I’d gone to prison I was a playboy through and through. There was a different girl, sometimes two, in my bed wherever and whenever I wanted and I was fucking proud of it. But now, that shit felt like a waste of time and I couldn’t see why. I was sure some headshrinker would tell me it had to do with a need to make shit count and not waste my time since so much of it had been stolen from me.
Cross’s words had pissed me off too, like I didn’t want to get laid. What red-blooded man with a working cock wouldn’t want to bury himself into a warm, willing cunt? But the Reckless Bitches weren’t doing it for me and the last thing I wanted was to go be a freak show at a bar or restaurant. Teddy was interesting, but I couldn’t shit where I ate. She was like family and that meant she was off limits.
So, it was just me and my hand, like it had been for the past six years.
And that thought made me angry all over again. I’d give anything to get over the fucking anger. It didn’t help shit and I worried that it might land me back to a fucking cage. I needed to deal with it, but I couldn’t bring myself to see a shrink, no matter how much Max pushed. He’d given me the number of his doctor, but I wasn’t ready to bear my soul to Dr. Singh. Not yet.
The bell chimed and I looked up, a groan following nanoseconds later as one of the Reckless Bitches sauntered in wearing a skintight mini-skirt and one of those bustier tops that showed off her leathery skin from too many hours in a tanning bed. “Hey, Golden Boy,” she cooed, doing her best to sound like a woman half her age.
“What do you want, Sheena?”
“You,” she said, her gaze as straightforward as her words.
I sighed and clenched my fists. “I don’t have time for your games. State your business or leave.”
She pouted and came closer until her tits rubbed up against my arm, pushing up on the balls of her feet in an attempt to nibble my ear, but I stepped back and she nearly fell. “I’m here for you, Golden Boy. For anything you want.”
I took several deep breaths and counted back from ten, the way one of the students who’d help free me had taught when my anger got the better of me. I put three feet between us and crossed my arms. “I’m not fucking around with you, Sheena.”
She flicked her brown hair full of too many acid-blonde streaks behind her shoulders and closed the gap between us, sliding the tips of her fingers into the waistband of my jeans. “I said anything, Golden Boy. You’ve been locked up a long time,” she began and licked her lips.
I started counting back from twenty.
“Unless, maybe you love cock now.”
My hand wrapped around her wrist and pushed her back until she stumbled. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“But Golden Boy,” she began, long red nails sliding up and down my chest.
“I said, get the fuck out! Now! Or I swear to fuckin’ God I will put you out.”
She frowned, a look of hell in her brown gaze. “Damn, Tate! You used to be fun. Hot and always up for a good time. But now you’re just a boring piece of shit and I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
I laughed, like that was supposed to hurt my damn feelings. “Yeah and you’re still the ugly bitch you always were. Now get the fuck out and don’t come near me again!”
She gasped and hurried out, nearly bumping into Max as he pulled open the door.
Max stepped back to let Sheena pass with an amused smirk on his face. “What the hell was that about?”
I shrugged. “Same old Reckless Bitch bullshit.” I smacked the wall beside me with more force than I intended, making a small dent in the wall. “Fuck! This is why the fuck I haven’t been around the clubhouse. I can’t get a fucking moment of peace there! Shit!”
“You need to calm down Tate or you won’t be able to focus on your business. Don’t let some stupid shit distract you. This is your shot. Keep your eye on the prize.”
I nodded, flexing my hands to stop from punching a hole in the goddamn wall. Max was right. I had a to-do list as long as my arm. It kinda pissed me off that he had to remind me of what was important but that was why Max was the man. He had my back no matter what. Losing it over a piece of trash like Sheena? What was I thinking? She was nothing to me. But I couldn’t let Max think he had the upper hand with me.
“What would you know about starting a business? Think you’re my fuckin’ boss now?”
“Asshole,” he laughed and shook his head. “Got time for a quick tat?”
“For you? Always.”
Chapter 4
Teddy
“You didn’t say anything about the flowers.” Kip Riley stood in front of me with a dimpled smile and his Justin Bieber hair, his hands shoved in his pocket in an effort to appear nonthreatening. His light blue eyes did their best to have that ‘aw shucks’ look that had made him so popular.
“What...you?” I shook my head and let out several deep breaths, curl
ing my hands into fists until deep crescents dug into my palm. “That really was unnecessary and I don’t appreciate it. At all.”
One flinger slid up my arm and I smacked it away. “It’s just a little gift to show you my appreciation.”
And this guy was the reason I didn’t dedicate more than a few hours in bed to any man. “You’re paying me, and giving your bride the wedding of her dreams is enough for me. Don’t ever fucking do it again.” I pointed a French manicured nail between his eyes. “If you do, I’ll back out at the absolute last minute. Got it?” He nodded and I turned to the producer behind the camera. “You better get it too, because I’m not fucking around with you people.”
“Yeah, we all got it,” the woman said and rolled her eyes. Bitch.
“Good. We’re done here, so please get the fuck out and have a nice day.” I flashed the smile I used at the end of every runway, which usually made people forget their good sense.
Once I was free of the camera crew, I locked up the office and jumped in my Mercedes, cranking up the air conditioning and Jay-Z, because sometimes that was what a girl needed to calm down after the slimy Kip Riley and to steel myself for my consultation with Tate. Big, blond and too charming, Tate. I wouldn’t think about those searing gray blue eyes that seemed so much more intense than his brother’s, and the fact that he was so big he took up all the space in every room. He was just too much damn man and I wasn’t in the market for one of those, at least not for longer than a night or two.
There was a parking spot open right in front of GET INK’D, behind a red, black and chrome bike and I pulled in and took a few breaths before stepping out of the car. The window had big black gothic letters bearing the name of the shop, giving it that badass tattoo parlor feel. “Just a minute,” Tate’s familiar voice called out when the bell sounded over the door.
“Sure thing, I’ll just look around while you finish...your afternoon self-love session, I assume.” He chuckled as I looked around at the framed oversized drawings. They looked like pencil and charcoal, and they were done with a very skilled hand. “Did you do these drawings, because they are fantastic?”
He grunted, clearly in disbelief. “Don’t blow smoke up my ass, darlin’. I was just starting to like you.”
I jumped at his proximity, turning to him with a laugh. “I don’t blow smoke except with my brides, and believe me I don’t want anything from you to make the effort to blow smoke. You’re a talented artist. That’s a fact, not a compliment.” I poked my finger in his chest to punctuate my point, ignoring how hard his muscles were. Or at least trying to.
He laughed. “Glad we cleared that up. Now should we get down to business?”
“Might as well.” I took a step away. “Damn, do you have a furnace under your skin?”
His deep chuckle echoed in the empty shop. “What can I say, I’m just hot as hell.”
Damn straight. “Yeah, yeah. You’re totally irresistible. The cat’s pajamas and all that.”
He frowned and motioned me toward the long red seat. “So, what you’re saying is that I’m a catch in the 1940’s?”
“Totally.” My gaze focused on the golden, corded muscles of his forearm and I licked my lips unconsciously, totally oblivious to the pages he’d spread out before us.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think they’re damn good, Tate.”
“But?”
I blinked. “But, nothing. They’re really great.”
Tate grunted and shook his head. “This is a tattoo, Teddy. That means its permanent so you should make damn sure you like it. Where is this art going on your body?”
My frown deepened and I wondered if he was trying to be funny. “Are you for real?”
He froze, gray eyes darkening like thunderclouds. “Yeah. Is this one of those crazy girl things where I’m just supposed to know? Because if so, I vote tramp stamp.”
Damn Tate and that handsome face. “No,” I sighed. “It’s not that, but...shit, now I’ll sound like a dick. But remember, you asked Golden Boy.” He nodded and I took a deep breath. “I used to be a model, a pretty famous one actually which is why I thought you knew, not because I’m an egomaniac. Anyway, I did it all, runways in Paris and Milan, covers on every fashion magazine from Toledo to Tokyo. From the age of sixteen until about three years ago.” I looked at Tate just to see his reaction. There was usually pity or disgust, both fucking pissed me off.
“Really? I mean you’re hot, but you’re not all stuck up like I expected a Paris and Milan model would be.”
“Former model,” I corrected him with a smile. “One day I was crossing the street on the Upper East Side, headed to a lunch meeting to be the new face of Chanel when a fucking cab jumped the curb and plowed right into me and nine other people. I took the brunt of the hit, leaving my left leg shattered in multiple places and resulting in a limp that pretty much ended my career.” I let out a long, slow breath, my gaze fixed on the black and white tiled floor.
“Shit, what about like magazines and shit? Plenty of models don’t have to walk.” He frowned and in that moment, I liked Tate a lot more than I realized.
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” But like me, he would have been wrong too. I lifted up the wide-leg black linen pants I wore until the whole scar — from the middle of my calf all the way up to my hip — all twenty-one inches of it, was exposed to his gaze. “I want to, not necessarily cover it but …” I trailed off, not sure how to explain it.
“Decorate it?”
I smiled. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
He nodded, letting out a breath of relief, probably since he hadn’t been expecting such a show of emotion from me. “Okay. First, what do you need? A hug? A drink? A primal scream therapy session?”
“If I say yes to all three?”
“I’m in. Always up for two out of three of those.” When he smiled like that, Tate looked like a little boy, so light and carefree. Such a contrast from the shadows he constantly wore.
“Not much of a hugger?”
He shook his head and stood. “Look at these, smartass.”
I did, taking a look at the various designs. Some were vines done in a Celtic style, others were thorny vines with roses that hadn’t yet bloomed and a few others were similar in theme. “This is beautiful,” I said out loud as I took in the long peacock feathers.
“Take this,” he said gruffly to cover up the sweet gesture of him bringing me a drink.
“Thanks, Golden Boy.”
He smirked but bit back whatever comment was on the tip of his tongue. “You like the feathers?”
“I do, but I’m not sure how that can work with all this,” I told him, gesturing to my leg.
Tate sat on the stool and motioned to my leg, which I laid across his lap. “I’m a fucking pro. Peacock feathers are long so we can start here,” the pad of his finger began two inches below where the scar started, and I got goose bumps at his touch. “And they can fan up to here,” he stopped at my hip. “What do you think?”
“You’re being very not weird about this, Tate.”
He let out an unamused laugh. “I’ve seen a lot worse than a long skinny scar on a great pair of legs. Honestly, your legs are more distracting than the scar.”
A laugh bubbled up out of me. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“That’s me,” he rolled his eyes. “Sweetest motherfucker around.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Golden Boy. You’d be surprised at the shit people say to me.” I took the drink and then, feeling uncomfortable, changed the subject. “How long will this take?”
“I could do it in one session if you’re okay with that, otherwise it’ll take two, about four hours each.”
“Four hours! Each? Is this surgery?”
“Not quite, but it is art.”
Right. “And art takes time. Got it. Now I have another question and I need you to promise you won’t judge me.”
“You wanna
know how bad it hurts?”
I shook my head. “Yes and no. I want to know if it will hurt when you go over the scar tissue.”
“Shit, of course. It depends on how fresh the scars are, Teddy.”
To me they always felt brand new, like it happened last week, not three years ago. “Well, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
He flashed a smile that I felt all the way down to my long neglected pussy. “As soon as you set a date.”
“I’ll let you know.” I wanted the tattoo. I needed to get it, no matter how much time it took. Or how bad it hurt. We sat there in a comfortable silence for several long moments, me staring at the peacock feathers and imagining the end result. Tate stared at the tiles, lost in his own thoughts. “So, can I ask you a question without you getting your panties in a twist?”
He grinned, looking every inch the big, tough, biker he was. “Guess it’s a good thing I left my panties at home.”
That was another thing I liked about Tate, he didn’t take things too seriously. “Self-defense. What do you know about it?”
“Uncle Sam taught me to fight. Hand to hand combat, plus a little martial arts. I can help you. If you can help me.”
I stiffened, ready to slice him open with my tongue as soon as he made the inappropriate comment.
“Calm down, Teddy. I want you to help me plan a wedding for Max and Jana. That’s your thing, isn’t it?”
Damn, I was right back to liking him. “Yeah sure, I can help you with that. But be prepared for details. Lots and lots of details. Okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“No problems. Thanks for the awesome artwork, Golden Boy.”
He grinned. “Anytime, Cover Girl.”
I smiled as I left the shop because when he said those words, it didn’t feel like a reminder of who I used to be. It just felt...amazing.
