Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Rockstar Collection

by Cari Quinn

  “Can’t let him out of your sight? Shows you don’t trust him.”

  Margo swallowed down a bit of acid, and simply stared her down. She trusted that Simon wouldn’t do anything with a woman while she was right there. He wasn’t callous in that way.

  But she wasn’t exactly sure of her place in his world. He’d told her he loved her, but that word held little meaning to some people. Certainly not her father. He’d had a mistress for as long as she could remember.

  They came and went, but she always knew when her father had a new love interest. Especially when he had a lot more conferences. As a semi-retired surgeon, he kept up with the changes in his field, but certainly not to the level he often portrayed.

  Her mother knew.

  Just turned a blind eye.

  They all did.

  The Reece name held forgiveness for the males. It was still very much an old world of combined family pedigrees and outward appearances. Infidelities were as common as red wine at a party.

  She shook off that thought and lowered herself into a stool on coasters in the corner.

  Lucy simply shrugged and snapped a rubber band around her braids to keep them over her shoulder. “All right, mute boy, I think you and your girlfriend will have to do this as a joint venture.”

  “What?” She had no intention of doing a tattoo.

  “You walked into my shop, and wanted work done, this is how it’s going to go. I only do work that has meaning. You’re not going to get a cute little butterfly on your ankle when you come in here.”

  “And you’re on the boardwalk? Isn’t that a standard tattoo?”

  Lucy snapped on black gloves. “We can collaborate on something with meaning or you get what I give you. You don’t like it, I’m not holding you down.” She looked down at Simon with one hand resting on his ribs. “Well, I won’t keep holding you down.”

  Simon crossed his arms behind his head. He smiled toward Margo.

  Margo sighed. “Like what?”

  Lucy swiped her hand down his ribs to just beside the vee peeking above his board shorts. She turned on her stool and rolled over to Margo and curled her fingers inside her elbow, dragging Margo and the stool to Simon’s side. She flipped her wrist up. “It doesn’t need to be big. I like the idea of an incongruous tat on people who aren’t the type.” She looked into Margo’s eyes. “Sometimes all it takes is one tattoo and suddenly you have a sleeve a year later.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “We’ll see.” Lucy grabbed a sharpie off her tray. She made a sweeping mark just above Margo’s inner wrist up into her forearm. Less than a minute later there were light lines for a feather that was less than two inches long. It was small and elegant.

  “This is going to be a phoenix feather. I’ll use red and orange with a glow of flame without putting one there. A piece of him and the changes going on here.”

  Margo’s breath slowly seeped out.

  It was them.

  Exactly them. So many changes, both in their relationship and what the future was going to hold for them. For Simon, especially.

  Lucy spun to Simon. “And of course, a phoenix for you. Still on fire with a bit of the transformation started at the foot. A little arrogance. Lots of color.”

  Simon’s blue eyes burned and he blinked away a bit of shine.

  As much as they were changing, Simon was in a curious sort of limbo that no one else could really understand.

  Except this woman. Without even knowing the story, she understood.

  Either she was intuitive as hell, or a witch. Margo wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

  Margo met Simon’s gaze. He nodded to her. She turned to Lucy and took a breath. “Let’s do it.”

  Eight

  His tattoo artist was decisive as Margo was about creating a chord progression. Intense and focused—and a little scary. She wielded the tattoo gun as if it were a pen and not a huge fucking needle.

  She switched out needles and colors and dabbed at him with antiseptic ointment, then just as suddenly she’d turn to Margo and work on her. It didn’t make sense to anyone except Lucy.

  He looked down at the skeleton of the bird on him. It was a wash of half a dozen yellows and oranges. She seemed to be building the color up as she went. Right now she only had the bridge of her song, and it was looking damn good.

  Simon breathed through the burning heat on his skin. Deak had full coverage tats on his back and arms, but he’d confessed to Simon that anything near bone was a bitch.

  He was fucking right.

  Fucking ow.

  But damn, it looked cool.

  Margo was stoic with her huge dark eyes widening when Lucy got to the edges of the gorgeous feather. Not a damn peep out of her. And just like his own ink, it matched in color and vibrancy.

  A way to have a matching tattoo without the breakup anvil hovering over their heads. Superstitions happened for a reason and he definitely didn’t want to give anyone—even the cosmos—any reason to help fuck up their relationship. He was afraid he’d take care of that all on his own.

  When Lucy turned back to him, the gleam of concentration in her eyes, he braced for the pain. Oddly enough, it centered him. He breathed slowly as the buzzing needle dug into his skin. There were different pressures as she created whatever it was in her head. She’d barely drawn on a sketch before she just went at him.

  It was nerveracking, but he trusted her work on the walls and the photos that were pasted on every surface. Some might see it as arrogance, but he knew she was just proud of her art.

  Something he understood. He’d sing anywhere and everywhere when he was a teen. The one thing that he’d always been proud of. He’d never had to worry if he was good enough, that someone would tell him to shut up. They’d always wanted to hear his voice.

  He swallowed as she slowly moved over his ribcage and back down with the darker color. His nipple was rock hard with the pain and the coolness of her studio. His nipple ring felt like fire and ice were making babies inside him.

  He hissed and Lucy gave him a bland look. “Wimp.”

  It wasn’t like he could say anything. Not to mention sucking air between his teeth made him want to cough. And that was even more of no-no than talking.

  He swallowed and lay his head back. Margo stood and handed him the bottle of water from earlier and he relaxed again.

  Having her wait on him was a new experience. He couldn’t say he hated it. Of course he didn’t know if it was a pity thing or if she was actually trying to just make him feel better. The soft look in her eyes was disarming and made his gut cramp.

  Was that what love looked like? Or pity?

  He wished he could tell the difference.

  Lucy sat back. “Okay, stand up. I need to make sure it’s straight and see the colors yada-yada. Artist stuff.”

  Simon slid off the dentist chair contraption and stretched out the kinks in his back. Lucy crossed her arms and stood. Walked around him, then waggled her fingers at Margo.

  “Stand by him.”

  What the hell were they in, a pageant, for fuck’s sake?

  Lucy drew Margo’s arm up beside him, then pushed her into a chair. Simon peered over her shoulder. The lines were gorgeous. Thin dark lines made up the spine of the feather and various dark lines made the shape come alive.

  He turned to the mirror at the door and Lucy grabbed his arm. “No looking until it’s done.”

  Simon sighed. He could see some of it looking down at himself, but it was a little distorted thanks to his ribcage. He dropped back into the chair and stared up at the ceiling. Christ, even that was full of art.

  Margo and Lucy talked a little, but he kind of zoned out. The day was catching up to him. Just a few days out from surgery and he was acting like an old man who needed to be in bed before eleven.

  Just as he was drifting, the scrape of the needle dragged him back. He closed his eyes against the pain. She was tracing lines, not the wash of color and shading she’d been doing.<
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  What the hell was she doing? Carving it into his goddamn skin?

  “Breathe shallowly, please. I’m doing something right on your ribs.”

  Like he had a choice? He was going to start breathing like a chick having contractions in a minute. It felt like a million years, but she finally slid back and dabbed her forearm on her forehead.

  “There.” She wiped over his skin and patted him down with a cool cloth. She rolled over to a set of shelves and pulled off a jar of green stuff. “Use this. It will cut down on healing.”

  “What is it?” Margo asked.

  “Just use it.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Simon grinned. His little tiger.

  “It’s a blend of essential oils and healing salves. It’s good for you and will make your tat heal a lot faster.”

  “All natural I can get behind.”

  Simon uncapped it. It didn’t smell rank, at least. It was spicy with a hint of…lavender? Margo leaned down for a whiff and hummed in her throat. All thoughts of being tired fled and he brushed his nose along her neck.

  The pulse in her neck went haywire and he grinned against her shoulder.

  “Simon.” Margo nudged him back and he leaned back in his seat.

  Lucy put a light coating on his ink and he hissed. “Because it’s natural oils, you might have to put it on more often and please, just a thin coat. I don’t want you messing up my colors.”

  Simon gave her a salute.

  “Smart ass.”

  Lucy turned to Margo and quoted her a number. Simon made a whistle and dug out his wallet from his duffle beside the chair. He flashed a credit card and Lucy snapped it out of his hand.

  “I don’t take tips on the card.”

  Simon shook his head with a grin and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and tucked it under her Sharpie. He headed for the mirror, dropping a kiss on the nape of Margo’s neck.

  He looked over her shoulder at her tat. It was elegant and small. The colors were unbelievable. He rather liked that a piece of him would be with her at all times. That this moment would be forever inked into her. She’d look at that bit of sunshine and bronze and know it was because of him.

  He brushed his nose up the little curls that had gathered from her ponytail. He wasn’t used to the softness and he had to admit he really liked it. It made him want to nuzzle in and stay.

  When she slipped her fingers into his hair and dropped her chin lower, he let the nuzzle last a little longer. He hummed against her neck and she gripped his hair.

  “No noises, sir.”

  He skimmed his fingers over her belly and under the hem of her shirt.

  She gripped his hand. “Bad, Simon. You have to wait until later.”

  He slid higher to the flimsy triangle of her bikini top and flicked the string against her skin. She elbowed him low and grazed his tat. He hissed and she simply raised an eyebrow at him.

  Little minx was well aware that she’d gone for blood. He’d remember that.

  She turned in his arms and made a little sigh. “It really is gorgeous. I wasn’t sure about all the gold and yellow she kept using. I thought you were just going to have a big ol’ splotch there. But wow.”

  He slipped around her and went to the mirror. It followed the line of his ribs and the tail slipped along his hipbone. The bird was stretched out and the flames were subtle. More like the sun was behind it and glowing harsh and bright like a day on the beach. As if you couldn’t look at it.

  But the body inside was lean and strong and burning into the now.

  Everything he didn’t feel, but wanted to.

  This was what he was supposed to be. A tattoo to grow into, he thought with a huff of laughter.

  Margo stood behind him. Her fingertips had the salve on it. She slid it along the edges that were so red and raised. Her lips coasted over his shoulders and her gentle fingers continued to follow the lines. When he drew in a breath, she stilled and gentled her touch.

  When she reached the tip of the tail, she slipped her fingers into the band of his shorts and scraped her nails over the hair above his suddenly very interested cock. He mouthed the word, “fuck,” into the mirror. Her chin was hidden, but her dark chocolate eyes were playful.

  When the sound of flip flops echoed in the hall, she pulled away.

  Dammit.

  He pulled the tail of his shirt out of his pocket and slipped it on. He backed up enough for the door to swing wide.

  “Got a look, huh?”

  Simon leaned in and hugged her, picking her up.

  Lucy squeaked. “Okay, music boy. Down. And if you think that kind of tip is going to make my heart flutter, you are sorely mistaken.”

  Man, she was very excited about the prospect of a tip. He nodded to her station and she spotted the bill.

  “Well, now. You officially get to come back in whenever you like.”

  Figures. He grinned and gave her a thumbs up.

  “So how long until he gets to talk again?”

  Margo picked up his bag and her own. “Believe me, you are being saved.”

  Simon snapped his fingers and Margo gave him a look that chilled the boner right out of him.

  “I know you didn’t just snap at me. You might not play guitar as much as you used to, but I will break one of your less important fingers.”

  He held his hands up.

  Lucy smiled—her first non-money-induced smile. “I like you.” She nodded to Margo. “Her, not you.”

  Simon grabbed the marker at the white board station near her door. Since there were no appointments listed, he figured he was good to go.

  Now that you have my money, you’re done with me?

  Lucy nodded. “Now you’re getting it. Out you go. You have gummed up the works and now I have to stay late for that sweet girl you made cry.”

  Simon tipped his head back.

  “Hey, don’t sweat it.”

  He set the dry-erase marker down and grabbed the Sharpie off her tray. Without thinking about it too hard, he went out the door and down the hallway to Sabina still sitting on the couch.

  She stood up. “Did you get your tattoo?”

  He nodded and pulled up his shirt.

  Her eyes went huge and glassy before she focused on the actual artwork. “Oh, wow. That’s…wow.” She looked up at him. “That’s an original. You’re going to end up on the walls.”

  Simon did a thumbs up and the girl blushed.

  “Sorry. I know you can’t talk. But thanks for showing me. That’s amazing.”

  He held up his Sharpie.

  She squeaked and went for her bag. “Oh my God. Will you sign something?”

  He nodded.

  She pulled out an iPad mini in blasting pink. But instead of handing it over, she popped it out of the case and flipped it over. The brushed gold of the pristine back made him smile. Smart girl. This would stay.

  He took his time to scrawl his signature semi-legibly. Then wrote a quick note to her along the bottom in block print. He handed it back and the girl went from smiling to instant mascara drip.

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” She sniffed. “That’s just so…wow. Nice.”

  He shrugged. It was the least he could do.

  She tucked the iPad away and curled her fingers into her hand. “Could I…”

  He tipped his head to let her know to go on.

  “Could you sign my wrist? I want to incorporate your name into my sleeve.” She pulled back her black long-sleeved shirt. A showcase of huge purple roses and a detailed blackbird curved around her forearm.

  He grabbed a magazine off the waiting room table and flipped inside until he came to a light-colored page.

  You sure you want my signature ruining that?

  She bobbed her head. “Not ruining it, making it special.” She whipped her shirt up and over her head and Simon blinked. Thankfully, she had a tank under it. The top of the sleeve was all music notes and names of songs amongst the roses.


  “The Becoming” was labeled in huge, scrawling letters and he swallowed hard. Just the idea that a fan would care enough to put their song on her skin forever was enough to make him blink away a mist of tears. Their song was among others, from Led Zeppelin to The Doors and The Beatles. He tapped her Rebel Rage song and gave her a thumbs down with a wink.

  She giggled.

  He wiggled his fingers and she lay her hand in his palm. He met her gaze and motioned across.

  She nodded. “Yes, so people can read it.”

  He gave his signature a little extra flourish and added his demon horns over the S. She grinned and kissed his cheek.

  Simon patted her hand and kissed the middle of it. He looked up to see Margo. Her eyes were soft again.

  He stood up straight and held his hand out for Margo. She came to his side and slipped her hand in his.

  He mouthed, “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  He took his duffel from her, waved to the girl and Lucy and walked out of the quiet space into the bustle of the boardwalk.

  “So, you haven’t asked about my trip to Boston.”

  He shot a look at her and she laughed.

  “Even on the marker board.”

  He really hadn’t wanted to know. He figured if the news was good, she would have started with that. They’d find something to do and some way to hide him.

  “How would you feel about spending a few weeks in St. John?”

  He stopped in the middle of the rapid current of pedestrians. A few people swore and went around him, but he didn’t give two shits about them. The only traveling he’d really done was with a bus or the occasional plane ride, and none of those travels had a white sandy beach destination.

  And maybe he had a secret folder on his phone labeled porn that made Nick laugh, but he never went in there. It wasn’t dirty pictures, it was his favorite kind of porn. Naked chicks and sex were available when he wanted them. This was not. Beaches and water were as important to him as air.

  The Virgin Islands were definitely in his purview. As were the shores of Greece and Hawaii, as well as any other beach or waterway he could find mention of.

  She smiled. “I’d say that was a good feeling.”