Tattoos & Tears (Complete Collection)

by Amiee Louise

  Fuck me.

  White hot molten rage rushes through my veins, and I smash my fist into the keypad, on the machine.

  “FUCKING COFFEE MACHINE!” I roar, and I can’t seem to focus on anything other than tearing this machine apart, piece by fucking piece.

  I continue to smash my fists against the machine, repeatedly, in a fit of pure fury. I grab the top of the machine with both hands and tip it forward until it collapses with a loud crash to the floor. I feel all the anger drain from me as I lean against the wall and slide down it, until I am sitting on the floor. As the adrenaline rush starts to subside, my knuckles throb and the feeling of pure anguish engulfs me once again. The names of the people, who died start to flash through my mind on a constant loop.

  Lori, Ruby, Alistair, Lex, Blu, Riley, Callum, Grace, Joel.

  My mind starts to slowly begin to process the extent of this fucked up situation. Almost everyone we care about is dead or has a life changing injury, and it’s all because of my sister.

  Savannah Newbolt. Anna.

  38

  Peyton

  Las Vegas is plagued with bad memories for us. Two of the most horrific events of our lives have taken place there. Sin City has become a place of nightmares, a place that haunts my dreams and plagues my every waking moment. This is the very reason we have decided to return to London.

  The days that followed were spent going over and over that fateful day in minute detail. Reliving every gun shot, every scream, and the dull cacophony before everything faded to black. Even after everything she did, I have some kind of empathy with Savannah. It doesn’t excuse her actions, but an innocent child was brutally abused and then her mother refused to believe a child’s words over that of a sick fucking man who was old enough to know right from wrong. I can’t imagine the torment and hell that she went through, or maybe, I just don’t want to. Lori Newbolt is as responsible for all of this as Jed fucking Dalton. I suppose fucked in the head runs in the Dalton family. Jed was a sick fucking pervert, and his son turned out to be a psychotic, kidnapper. I think the saying is true, the apple never falls too far from the tree.

  We’ve been back in London for two weeks now, and I have given up my flat in Camden. Freddie and I have moved into Sam’s mansion in Hertfordshire. In the week that followed our return, I could feel Sam withdrawing further and further away from me; so much so that he went into his studio, and I’ve hardly seen him. The boys have holed up in there with him, and I know not to disturb them while they’re making music. Seb closed the tattoo shop for the foreseeable future, due to the death of his sister, Riley, in the massacre. So, I’m staying home with Freddie and helping Jax with his daughter, who has officially been named Thea Ruby Chase.

  For the past couple of weeks, I have felt so alone while dealing with the loss of my best friend and the people that were closest to Sam. Sam has become so withdrawn. I hardly recognise him as the man I fell in love with. We sleep in the same bed, but I feel so far away from him, and I’m terrified I’m going to lose him. I decide there and then that I am going to make an effort to reconnect with him, to show him that I’m here for him, no matter what.

  I dress in a knee length black skater skirt, a black ribbed vest, a denim waistcoat, and my black and white checked Vans. My hair is styled in thick, brown, glossy waves down my shoulders. I make my way up the stairs and down a short corridor with framed album covers and gold discs hanging on the walls, until I get to Sam’s soundproof studio. It is larger than the one he had back at his apartment in Greenwich. It has a full-size drum kit with the Rancid Vengeance logo on the front of the main drum, two electric guitars, and a microphone stand behind a wall of thick, soundproof, glass. There is a full mixing desk with two iMac computers on the table. Off to the side, there is a fairly large office, which is used for conducting band business.

  As I enter the room quietly, I see Sam lying back in a gun metal grey, oversized Captain’s chair. He is shirtless, which distracts me from my original plan. His hard, muscular, tattooed chest is on full display. He has a visible scar on his shoulder from where J.D stabbed him, and a large wound on his chest, which is healing nicely. He has one thick, corded arm resting above his head, and the other is resting on his flat, toned abs. He has his long legs, which are encased in a pair of devastatingly tight leather trousers, and his booted feet up on the glass desk in front of him. There are empty bottles of vodka scattered around along with the white powder remnants from his drug fuelled antics. He has a Bluetooth headset in his ear, and he sighs.

  “For fucks sake, I told you I'm busy. No, I don't wish to give them an interview about what happened in Vegas. I really don't give a shit, D. We pay you to be our P.A, nothing more, nothing less. Got it? No, no, listen to me. It's no one's fucking business, and leave Peyton out of it,” he growls, and my curiosity is piqued at the mention of my name.

  I step further into the room, and he suddenly moves his legs down from the desk and sits up straighter in his chair. It is as if he senses me without having to turn around to register my presence.

  “D, just sort it, please. I have a visitor, I need to go.”

  With those words, he touches his ear to end the call and throws the headset onto the table with a loud clatter. He stands up to his full six foot four height and turns around. Our eyes lock, green to blue, and he runs his hand through his wild, untamed, raven black hair.

  “Angel,” he rasps as I take him in.

  He looks as if he hasn’t slept in a while, and he has large dark, circles underneath his eyes. He has at least a weeks’ worth of stubble on his chin, and he looks pale.

  “Can I help you with something?” he says gruffly.

  I feel my inner vixen stir as I step towards him, until I am within touching distance. I run my finger down the centre of his chest and stop at the waistband of his trousers.

  “I’m not sure, but I have something that needs…tending to, as a matter of importance,” I whisper enticingly.

  He growls as I slowly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his trousers.

  “And what might that be, angel?”

  The low seductive tone of his voice causes my pussy to flood violently, and I’ve never wanted him inside me as badly as I do right now. He reaches down underneath my skirt and swallows harshly.

  “Fuck, you’re not wearing any underwear.”

  The grin I flash him makes his cock jump in his deliciously tight trousers, and I cup him in my hand. His eyes turn smoky with desire, and he grips my hand tightly.

  “Angel,” he says with warning in his voice, and I look up at him.

  “Take me to bed and make love to me, rock star.”

  He doesn’t say another word, he just backs me into the wall and presses his lips to mine, desperately kissing the life out of me. He kisses me breathless, and by the time he pulls away, we are both panting with need for one another. Sam lifts me up in one swift motion, and I lock my legs tightly around his waist as he carries me out of his studio. He strides with purpose down the corridor, and the only thing that is fuelling me is my pure unadulterated lust for this virile man holding me in his arms.

  I cling to him and nip his earlobe between my teeth as we make it to our bedroom. He enters the room and kicks the door shut with his boot. He lays me down on the king-size bed we share and straddles me, his muscular thighs on either side of me. He takes both wrists in one of his hands and pins them above my head. He presses his body against mine, and I love the feel of his weight on top of me. He kisses my neck, and the feel of his stubble against my bare skin causes goose bumps to erupt on every inch of my body.

  “Jesus,” he rasps as he kicks off his boots and begins to pull off his trousers and his boxer briefs.

  He is naked in record time, and I take a moment to admire his rippling physique. I will never get tired of seeing him naked in front of me; it is a remarkable sight.

  “I need you naked,” he says with a rough edge to his voice, and I do as he says.

  I take off my skirt, my
vest top, waistcoat, and kick off my shoes. Soon, I am lying on the bed in my bra. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me once, and the look of admiration in his blazing green pools makes my heart slam against my ribcage.

  “Fuck, you’re so...fucking beautiful.”

  His voice is a low purr, and the admiration is evident as I feel my arousal slick between my thighs.

  “Sam,” I say desperately as he releases my hands from above my head.

  I take that as a green light, and I let my hands roam shamelessly over his body, feeling closer to him than I have in weeks.

  39

  Sam

  The feel of her hands on me is welcomed, and I am suddenly filled with such an overwhelming regret at my behaviour since our return from Las Vegas.

  “Sam,” she mewls as she runs her hands through my hair.

  I press my erection into her stomach.

  “Do you feel that, angel? You have no comprehension of the effect you have on me.”

  I flash her my dimpled grin, and she bites her lip between her teeth.

  Fuck me, does she not realise that she’s it for me? She always has been.

  All I want to do is to apologise for my shitty behaviour, but words aren’t needed right now, so I guess I’ll have to show her.

  “Tell me you belong to me, tell me you’re mine.”

  She writhes beneath me, and she wraps her legs around my waist.

  “I belong to you, Sam. I’m yours, always yours.”

  I nod.

  “Good girl. There’s no one here, the boys are out, so it’s just you and me. I expect you to take full advantage of that; make sure you scream my name when you come,” I say huskily.

  Her touches become more frenzied as I grasp my erection and slide it gently into her. Her pussy is like a vice around my cock as she pulls me deeper inside her.

  “Oh God,” she moans softly, and I thrust my hips forward.

  The rhythm I set, is unhurried and punishingly sedate. As I plunge my cock into her, at a slow pace, tears begin to stream down her cheeks, and the look in her eyes breaks my fucking heart.

  “What’s wrong, angel? Do you want me to stop? Am I hurting you?” I say with a panicked edge to my voice, and she shakes her head as she continues to sob softly.

  “I don’t want you to stop, Sam. Please don’t stop,” she says with desperation in her voice. “Make love to me like you used to, Sam, please,” she pleads, and I agree without saying a word.

  I lean down and kiss each and every one of her tears away as I continue to drive my cock into her, quickening my pace with each measured thrust.

  “Sam, Sam, Oh, Sam,” she whispers.

  “Are you close, baby?” I ask as I feel the familiar flutters, and she nods.

  I place soft kisses down her neck, shoulder, and across her collarbone. I knead her breast in my large tattooed hand while keeping up my gentle tempo. I reach down and find her wet, sensitive nub and stroke her in leisurely circles while she detonates violently around me. She screams out in unadulterated pleasure and tightens her legs around my waist, squeezing me between her silky thighs.

  Fuck me, I’ve missed this.

  “I’M COMING! FUCK! SAM! OH GOD! SAM! SAM!”

  I find my release seconds later as I spurt my hot seed into her.

  “OH, JESUS FUCK! SHIT! PEYTON! PEYTON!” I roar, and it feels as if both of our orgasms last longer than usual.

  I let out a staggered breath as our orgasms dissipate. A few moments of silence passes as our breathing returns to normal. She winces as I pull out of her sensitive pussy, and I lie down next to her. I tuck her under my arm and pull her close to me. I idly trace random shapes on her arm, and she snuggles against me, as if she can’t get close enough. The connection that has been missing for the past few weeks has returned, and even though the post orgasmic haze between us is still lingering in the air, I can’t help the guilt that washes over me.

  The reason I’ve withdrawn and distanced myself from her for past few weeks, is because I feel like this is all my fault. That if I hadn’t met Peyton, none of this would have happened. I know that the only person to blame for this was my sister, Savannah, but I can’t help feeling partly responsible. As I feel her breathing even out, I feel like a complete prick for withdrawing from her when all she ever wanted was to be there for me, to comfort me in my time of grief. In my own way I’m grieving, for the loss of my mum and my sister, but I also hold them both equally responsible for this entire situation. I can’t forgive either of them for setting this chain of events in motion, and I probably never will, but I’ve made peace with that.

  As I turn to face Peyton, I find her sleeping next to me. She looks like a Goddess with her hair fanned out on the pillow. The distressing whimpers that escape from her cause my heart to shatter a little bit more. I slowly get up out of bed, without waking her, after sleep has evaded me for the past five hours. I pull on a pair of loose grey jogging bottoms, which hang off my hips, and pad silently out of the bedroom. I make my way into my recording studio and I quietly observe Jax singing softly to his daughter. I recognise the song, as Daughtry Life after You and the sad, melancholic tone in Jax’s voice causes my heart to slam against my ribcage. It brings back awful memories for me.

  “I need you, Ruby. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing here. She’s this helpless little thing who reminds me so much of you every time I look at her. I feel so much love for her that it overwhelms me; this wasn’t part of our plan, buttercup.”

  He puts his hand to his head, and as I continue to watch the touching scene unfolding in front of me, I feel like I’m intruding on an extremely intimate and private moment. At that moment, a flash of inspiration hits me like a freight train. I’ve spent two weeks in the studio writing and composing with the boys, but this…this is something special.

  I can feel it deep in my gut. I can almost hear the melody and the arrangement, the lyrics are flowing like a torrent in my head. I have to get this down. I make my way further into the studio and sit down on the low, brown, buttery leather chair. I pick up my acoustic guitar, begin to strum out a melody, and hum softly. As I close my eyes, I lose myself in the music. All sense of time abandons me, and everything else is insignificant. All that exists in my head is the music and the lyrics.

  Unexpectedly, I hear a steady drum beat and the accompaniment of an electric guitar. A few moments later, I hear the haunting melody of a piano, and I look up to see that Jax, Brody, and Lucas have joined me in the studio. I smile, and Brody flashes me an encouraging wink.

  “We will weather the storm and dance in the rain, we’ll raise a glass to numb the pain,” I sing as my fingers dance up and down the fretboard.

  The boys keep in time with every riff, and in that moment, I’m grateful that they know me so well.

  “We’ll break down the walls, risk it all, stand tall, when the angels come to call. Stitch by stitch, stone by stone, we will never be alone. Fly free and we will be, dancing in the rain.”

  The grin that spreads across all of our faces is the happiest we’ve been in two weeks. We continue writing and jamming well into the night, doing what we love best.

  40

  Peyton

  Time is never finite. Time is precious, and I cherish those treasured moments between sleep and wakefulness. For those few minutes, everything, is as it was before. Normal. As soon as I open my eyes, it hits me like a double-decker bus. My best friend, Ruby, the scared girl from the climbing frame, turned tough, ballsy woman…she’s gone. It is like my heart breaks all over again, and the pain threatens to choke me, drown me. Life is fragile, like the little girl with the big, expressive, hazel eyes, who is the mirror image of Ruby. She is a part of Ruby that will live on, with her blood running through her veins. There isn’t a day goes by where I don’t think of her and miss her, the treasured memories we made together and, the unbreakable bond we had.

  She wasn’t just my best friend, she was my sister.

  The rain is pouring as I stand a
solitary figure at the floor length window of our mansion, looking out across the acres of green land that seems to go on for miles. I watch the rain pound on the window and follow a lone drop as it tracks its way down.

  Life isn't fair.

  I clutch a mug of coffee in one hand and hold my son in the opposite arm. Today is the day we bury my best friend, Jax’s fiancée, and beloved member of the Rancid Vengeance family. I am wearing a figure hugging, lemon yellow dress, with a black belt around my waist which accentuates my slight frame. Ruby and I once talked about what we would like at our funerals during one of our many alcohol fuelled nights. She said that she didn’t want anyone to wear black, she wanted everyone in bright clothes and uplifting music playing. I smile to myself as I think of that moment, which seems so far away now. My thoughts are interrupted by Sam sliding his hands around my waist and nuzzling his face into my neck.