The Opposite Effect
Page 1
The Opposite Effect
Shandi Boyes
Edited by
Mountains Wanted Publishing
Dedication
To my readers,
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You guys ROCK!!
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Shandi xx
Copyright
© Shandi Boyes 2017
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
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This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Editing: Mountains Wanted Publishing
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Cover: SSB Designs
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Photography: Lindee Robinson
Want to stay in touch?
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Instagram: instagram.com/authorshandi
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Email: authorshandi@gmail.com
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Reader’s Group: bit.ly/ShandiBookBabes
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Website: authorshandi.com
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Newsletter: https://www.subscribepage.com/AuthorShandi
Contents
Also by Shandi Boyes
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Shandi Boyes
Also by Shandi Boyes
Perception Series
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Saving Noah (Noah & Emily)
Fighting Jacob (Jacob & Lola)
Taming Nick (Nick & Jenni)
Redeeming Slater (Slater and Kylie)
Saving Emily (Noah & Emily - Novella)
Wrapped Up with Rise Up (Perception Novella - should be read after the Bound Series)
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Enigma
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Enigma (Isaac & Isabelle #1)
Unraveling an Enigma (Isaac & Isabelle #2)
Enigma The Mystery Unmasked (Isaac & Isabelle #3)
Enigma: The Final Chapter (Isaac & Isabelle #4)
Beneath The Secrets (Hugo & Ava #1)
Beneath The Sheets(Hugo & Ava #2)
Spy Thy Neighbor (Hunter & Paige)
The Opposite Effect (Brax & Clara)
I Married a Mob Boss(Rico & Blaire)
Second Shot(Hawke & Gemma)
The Way We Are(Ryan & Savannah #1)
The Way We Were(Ryan & Savannah #2)
Sugar and Spice (Cormack & Harlow)
Lady In Waiting (Regan & Alex #1)
Man in Queue (Regan & Alex #2)
Couple on Hold(Regan & Alex #3)
Enigma: The Wedding (Isaac and Isabelle)
Silent Vigilante (Brandon and Melody #1)
Hushed Guardian (Brandon & Melody #2)
Quiet Protector (Brandon & Melody #3)
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Bound Series
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Chains (Marcus & Cleo #1)
Links(Marcus & Cleo #2)
Bound(Marcus & Cleo #3)
Restrain(Marcus & Cleo #4)
Psycho (Dexter & ??)
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Russian Mob Chronicles
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Nikolai: A Mafia Prince Romance (Nikolai & Justine #1)
Nikolai: Taking Back What’s Mine (Nikolai & Justine #2)
Nikolai: What’s Left of Me(Nikolai & Justine #3)
Nikolai: Mine to Protect(Nikolai & Justine #4)
Asher: My Russian Revenge (Asher & Zariah)
Nikolai: Through the Devil's Eyes(Nikolai & Justine #5)
Trey (Trey & K)
K: A Trey Sequel
The Italian Cartel
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Dimitri
Roxanne
Reign
Mafia Ties (Novella)
Maddox
Demi
Rocco
Clover
Smith
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RomCom Standalones
Just Playin’ (Elvis & Willow)
Ain't Happenin' (Lorenzo & Skylar)
The Drop Zone (Colby & Jamie)
Very Unlikely (Brand New Couple)
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Short Stories
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Christmas Trio (Wesley, Andrew & Mallory -- short story)
Falling For A Stranger (Short Story)
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Coming Soon
Skitzo
Prologue
The scuffling of feet on a tiled floor captures my attention from the half-eaten corned beef sandwich in front of me. Even with requesting for them to hold the relish, my hands are covered in the ghastly orange liquid that makes me gag just thinking about eating it.
I lift my gaze from dissecting my half-eaten dinner to see Diesel leaning in the doorjamb of the back tea room. He has his extensively tattooed arms crossed in front of his broad chest, and a look of terror stretched across his face.
Pushing back from the lunch table hidden out the back of the shop, I dump my unsalvageable sandwich into the trash. Diesel is generally a cutthroat take-no-shit-from-anyone type of guy, so I find it surprising his personality seems a little askew.
“What’s up, man?”
I wash my hands in the kitchen sink while muttering a string of profanities under my breath.
How the fuck can you mess up a cheesesteak sandwich?
Diesel waits for me to snag a tea towel off the drying rack before he begins speaking. “Got a client out front requesting to speak to the manager.” His deep baritone voice rumbles in the quiet.
My lips quirk from him air quoting the word “manager.” Although I’ve held the title the past two years, it’s rarely used by any of my crew.
After hanging the tea towel on a hook attached to the microwave, I gesture for Diesel to lead the way. The buzzing of tattoo guns and a the groans from idiot kids walking in the door the day they hit eighteen for their first tat sounds through my ears as I stride through Inked Tattoo Shop.
I run my fingers through my long hair when I spot Charity tattooing another Pokémon figure on a kid who looks barely old enough to drive, let alone permanently mark his skin with the latest fad.
Little does that kid know, when the hype dies down, it will take a tattoo four times that size to cover up Pikachu or whatever the fuck Pokémon character it is. And by the look on the kid’s face, and the tears staining his cheeks, I’m certain having it covered won’t be a walk in the park for either him or the tattoo artist assigned to the job.
When we reach the foyer of the shop, I scan the area, seeking the guy who felt the need to interrupt the “manager” during his measly half an hour lunch break.
Failing to locate the irate face I usually see when a client realizes their home-botched tattoo will cost over a grand to fix, I shift my eyes to D
iesel. “Where is he?”
Diesel smiles a grin I only see on his face when he’s wrapping his arm around one of the bar bunnies at the end of a Saturday night shift. “It isn’t a he. It’s a she.”
Still grinning, he points his index finger to the corner of the room.
Tilting my head to the side, I clear the vast girth of Johnny’s shoulders to catch the quickest flurry of blonde. My heart rate kicks up a gear—as does the pulse in my cock—when my eyes roam over the slender blonde sparring with Johnny.
Her platinum hair falls to her shoulders like a satin waterfall, and her expensive-looking threads showcase every curve of her fit, petite body. Her face is fresh with a slight sprinkling of makeup, and every strand of hair on her head has been meticulously placed.
Although I can’t hear a word she's speaking, I know she’s giving Johnny as good as she’s getting. If the crossed arms under her ample breasts and stiffened stance isn’t enough indication, her resting bitch face is a sure-fire sign. This woman is two seconds from exploding.
Deciding I don’t need a bomb detonated in my shop on a busy Saturday night, I pat Diesel on the shoulder before heading to the attractive blonde.
A rich floral scent with the slight aroma of spices filters in my nose when I stand next to Johnny. I’m fairly sure the floral scent is coming from the cute blonde, but I can't one hundred percent testify to that.
Johnny is very generous with the discount he offers female clientele. If his discount is cut from his takings, I have no concerns about him accepting payments for services rendered in the form of extra-curricular activities.
“I’m pretty sure you're sitting at around two seconds,” I interrupt when I overhear the blonde telling Johnny she's five seconds away from having his “moronic ass fired.”
“Great.” Her eyes snap to mine. “Another beast added to the mix. What is this, a poorly scripted rendition of Beauty and the Beast?”
Her three friends standing behind her break into an ear-piercing drunken cackle. Surprisingly, the blonde holds my gaze. I’ll give it to her; I'm impressed by her ability to maintain my eye contact. Most women’s eyes absorb my face before dropping to sample the rest of the package. It doesn’t matter if they’re screaming nothing but wealth like the princess standing before me, or they don’t have a nickel to their name, the routine never alters. So yeah, I’ll admit it, she gets cred where cred is due.
Propping my elbows on the counter, I lean on the glass cabinet, bringing my six-foot-two height down to her I’d guess five-foot-seven stature. “What can I do you for, Princess? Unlike you, some of us have to work for a living.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not according to. . .” She waves her hand at Johnny, sending a multihued glimmer of light across the cabinet from the diamond tennis bracelet on her delicate wrist. “Him—”
“Johnny,” I interrupt.
She rolls her eyes again. “Whatever you call him. No one cares. I came here to get a tattoo.” She points to the tube tattoo light hanging from the shop awning. “This is a tattoo parlor. But. . .” She returns her eyes to Johnny. “He is refusing to serve me. I don’t know about you, but in any other industry, that would be a call for instant dismissal.” Her eyes narrow into thin slits as she snarls at Johnny.
I smirk. “Lucky for Johnny, we aren’t just any other industry.” My tone has an edge of annoyance smeared in it. “If Johnny is refusing to tattoo you, it would be for a reason. So, what is it?”
She digs her hand into the front pocket of her designer jeans that look like they cost more than my entire wardrobe. “Other than Johnny being a moron, I have no clue why he's refusing my request.”
“It’s beca—”
I raise my hand into the air, cutting Johnny off. His ex-wife packed her bags and headed to Reno nine months ago, leaving him the sole guardian of their two children. I know he wouldn’t have refused the chance to make a quick dollar without having a legitimate reason. Just by looking at the blonde’s overpriced shoes, designer handbag, and perfectly swept hair, I have no doubt he could have charged her triple the regular hourly rate, and she’d be none the wiser. He’d never turn down an opportunity like this without a solid reason.
I lock my eyes with Johnny. “Why don’t you head out back and keep working on those sketches you started last week? I’ll man the counter. Next client who enters is yours.”
Johnny nods before sauntering to the manager’s office stationed next to his cubicle. Once he enters, I return my gaze to the blonde. She has a victorious look etched on her face, and the bitch pose she’s already perfected escalates.
Standing from my slouched pose, I shoot my eyes to a sign attached to the side wall of the room. “We refuse to tattoo people under the influence of alcohol, drugs, or peer pressure.” I tap my fingers on the big black letters scrawled across a sign at my side. Even someone with their eyes as thinly slit as hers would still be able to read it.
After scanning the sign, she scoffs. "I'm not drunk," she denies, crossing her arms over her chest.
Dragging my eyes away from her impressive rack, I peer past her shoulder to her intoxicated friends. The snarky beast comment the blonde made was over five minutes ago, and her friends are still cackling like a bunch of chooks holding an annual meeting at a members-only country club.
The curve of my brow enlarges when I see the only brunette in the trio is clasping an open bottle of champagne.
Running my hand over my jaw, which is marked with a few days of stubble, I shift my eyes back to the blonde. When I arch my brow, a deep rustle escapes her nose before she cranks her neck to her friends.
Even copping the wrath of her furious stink eye doesn’t dampen their laughter the slightest. If anything, it increases it.
Realizing her friends aren’t helping me believe she isn’t under the influence, she gestures for the trio to leave. Just before she emerges onto the sidewalk, she shifts her gaze back to me. My shit-eating grin adds a sprinkling of salt to her freshly opened wounds.
When a black town car slides onto the curb at the front of the shop, I swing my eyes to Diesel. “What was so hard about that?” My tone is dripping with cockiness. “You need to stop spending your days off entertaining bar bunnies and wrestle with a few rich chicks occasionally. They give a bit of lip, but it’s from the same mouth that will be screaming your name later that night.”
Lifting my arms to protect my face, I throw a few rapid-fire jabs into Diesel’s t-shirt-covered torso. A grin tugs on Diesel’s lips before he spars up, priming to go an impromptu round of boxing in the foyer.
Usually, we would host these types of events in an old gym at the back of the shopping complex in Ravenshoe. It’s a rundown establishment, but the guy behind the outdated equipment is a brilliant trainer.
In just a few short weeks Hank has dragged Diesel from the level of backyard brawler to a low-ranking fighter. Fighting is not something I’m interested in, but I turn up to show my support to Diesel.
Although, I will say one thing, the increase in energy from going a few rounds in the ring with Diesel has aided my bedroom antics.
My neck cranks to the side, and my jaw pop when Diesel plants a hard knock to my chin, using my distraction of the shop's bells to his advantage.
Working my jaw side to side, I turn my furious eyes to Diesel. His pupils widen as he holds his hands out in front of his chest.
“Sorry.” The shortness of his apology is unable to hide his laughter.
Rubbing my hand along my now throbbing jaw, I drift my eyes from Diesel to the door. “Welcome to Inked. . .” My words fall short when I'm confronted with the same pair of icy blue eyes that stormed out of here mere minutes ago.
The bitch is back.
When the blonde finalizes her surveillance of the rest of my package, I give her a cocky wink. “Back for round two?”
My jeans tighten when she laughs. It’s a dainty little laugh full of poise and perfection—just like its owner.
“Unlikely.” Her words ar
e as icy as her eyes. “I don’t wrestle with Neanderthals.”
Ouch. If I didn’t have my ego stroked by a pretty blonde out back thirty minutes ago—the same blonde who brought me my sandwich—this blonde’s taunt may have bruised my ego.
Lucky for me, I have a gigantic shield protecting my even bigger ego from spoiled little princesses and their vindictive tongues.
“Unless your daddy found a cure for drunkenness, your desires will not be granted in this fine establishment this evening.”
Her eyes narrow at the mention of her father, exposing her first flaw of the night.
“I'm not drunk.” The crispness of her words adds strength to her statement.
Holding my gaze, she saunters closer to me, allowing me to see the frankness in her eyes. It isn’t that her hardhearted eyes are truth-exposing; it’s the fact there isn’t a single sign of life in her eyes, let alone the drunk shimmer most inebriated people get. Her eyes make it feel like I'm peering into an empty pit. They’re void of any type of soul.