by Shandi Boyes
“To your apartment?” Clara queries, her voice high and laced with worry.
I shake my head. “He's taking you home, Princess. To the side of Ravenshoe you belong.”
“I thought. . . I thought you said I was staying with you until all this blew over?”
Her confusion intensifies when I shake my head. "I said you were staying with me until the men who mugged you were held accountable. That has happened, so there's no reason for you to stay with me anymore." My words come out strangled since I had to fight my mouth to relinquish them.
“You don’t want me to stay with you?” Although she could mean staying with me at the hospital, her eyes aren’t relaying that.
"No. I don't." Pain hits the middle of my chest the instant the words seep from my lips.
Clara glares into my eyes, searching for any untruth in them. The only reason she fails to detect any is because deep down, I knew this day would eventually come, I just never wanted to believe it. But by manning up and stepping away from the plate I’ve been guarding the past four months, Clara’s silver spoon will find its way back into her mouth, and she won’t have to keep fighting the struggle she’s been battling the past four months. I care enough about her that I’m willing to give her up to ensure she's safe and taken care of.
Clara’s lips twitch, dying to speak, but not a word spills from her mouth. Her confused eyes missile to the door when it flings open and Cormack steps into the room.
Releasing a deep exhalation, she turns her eyes back to me. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
It kills me, but I nod.
She gives it her best fight to hold in her hurt, but a rogue tear rolls down her cheek before she mutters, “Okay. Goodbye, Brax,” before making a beeline for the door, exiting without a backward glance.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It is a little after 3 AM before I'm striding towards the double automatic doors of the hospital. I'm beat—both mentally and physically. Ryan was in surgery for a little over three hours. After spending the next four hours in recovery, he was wheeled into a double private suite in the Intensive Care Unit. Although he was awake, he was barely lucid. But, thankfully, even with his words slurred worse than the weekend Chris and I spiked his cans of coke with vodka, his doctor assured me he will have a full recovery.
But even being informed Ryan will have no long-term health issues from his bullet wound, the twisted sick feeling in my stomach didn’t lessen the slightest. I haven’t been able to shake off the guilt I feel for hurting Clara. I spent the last forty-eight hours renewing the spark of life her eyes lost when she was mugged, all to snuff it out by lying to her face. I know stepping back is the best thing I can do for her, but it doesn’t make it any easier to do. It took all my strength—and then some—to keep my feet planted on the ground when she bolted out of the hospital waiting room. If it weren’t for a uniformed officer arriving to take my statement, I have no doubt my fight would have been lost.
My brows become lost in my hairline when I stride out of the double doors of the hospital to discover my bike is still parked in the emergency vehicle only bay I left it at hours ago. I already have my cell in my hand, prepared to call a taxi as I had expected it to be towed by now. Shrugging off my confusion, I make my way to my bike.
I'm walking into my apartment twenty minutes later. The heaviness that has been sitting on my chest the past eight hours amplifies when my eyes zoom in on the puddle of blood in my entranceway. Just seeing how much blood Ryan lost makes the reality of the situation crash into me. I nearly lost him today. He almost died protecting the woman I love, and I thank him by pushing her away from me. I'm a fucking idiot.
Call me a pussy, a soft-cock, or any other derogative name you like, but I'm not going to lie, tears are inundating my eyes and threatening to spill down my face at any moment. Ryan is the closest thing to a brother I have. He's my family. That is why it is even more devastating that his own brother shot him. I don't know what is going on in Damon's life, but it must be pretty fucked up if he thought his only way out was to harm his brother. And if all that wasn’t already enough to have my mood hitting an all-time-low, knowing the gun that shot Ryan was pointed at Clara’s head only seconds earlier utterly destroys me. Her frightened face when Damon held his gun to her head will forever haunt my dreams.
Ignoring the pit forming in my gut, I drag a bucket and mop out of my laundry room to clean up Ryan's blood that’s soaking into my wooden floor. I run the back of my hand over my cheek, angrily removing a stupid tear that escaped my overfilled eyes before clearing away the mess.
Just as I’ve finished mopping up Ryan’s blood, tiny feet padding down my stairwell jingles through my ears. When I crank my neck to the stairs, I recoil and take a step backward.
"Princess?" I ask, certain I'm seeing things. I haven't slept, eaten or had a clear thought in well over ten hours, so a stint of insanity could be surfacing.
Clara glides across the living area wearing nothing but one of my plain white short-sleeved t-shirts. Her hair is damp and hanging loosely; her eyes are brimming with tears, and her face is void of makeup. The only difference between the Clara who left the hospital hours ago and the one standing before me is this Clara’s eyes are sparked with the gleam I thought I snuffed. They're bright, determined, and 100% relaying she's not leaving this apartment until she gets what she came here for.
“What are you doing here, Princess?”
The smell of freshly shampooed hair overtakes the ghastly scent of blood when Clara stops to stand in front of me. "I wanted to clean that up before you came home, but, in all honesty, I didn't know how to do it." Her nose screws up, and she looks genuinely mortified that she doesn't know how to use a mop and bucket.
The most inappropriately timed chuckle escapes from my lips. Yes, I’ve definitely hit the insanity stage of my anguish. I can’t help it though. Clara’s statement abundantly proves she's a real-life princess. No fucking doubt.
Ignoring my erratic behavior, Clara removes the mop from my hand, places it into the bucket and stores it back into the laundry. Not speaking a peep, she encloses her hand over mine and guides me to the stairwell of my loft bedroom.
“What are you doing here, Princess?” I ask again, my voice relaying my disbelief.
Clara continues walking while muttering, “You’re in shock.”
She stops pacing when we reach the base of the stairs. “You're shaking and shit. So, unless you can give me the address of a family member or friend I can take you to, I’m staying with you. I’m going to take care of you.”
I arch my brow. “You want to take care of me? That’s why you're here?”
She nods without hesitation before locking her determined eyes with mine.
“Why?”
"Because that's what a woman does for the man she's falling in love with. You look out for them, even when they don't want you to," she answers, her truth-bearing eyes adding strength to her statement.
The massive weight sitting on my chest vanishes in an instant. She has no idea how much I needed to hear that right now. I was barely hanging on by a thread, and she just lassoed a rope around my waist and pulled me back in. I knew I wasn’t the only one falling.
“I want you here, Princess, more than anything, but what about your silver spoon?”
She shrugs her shoulders. "What about it? I have food in my belly, a roof over my head, and clothes on my back. What more do I need than that?"
She rakes her eyes over the length of my body. "Well, there's one other thing I need. But, lucky for me, it's free.” Her arctic blue eyes stare into mine as she climbs the spiral staircase. "And lucky for you, I don't have any concerns about messing with a member of my crew while they're in shock."
Keeping my eyes locked with Clara’s, I shadow her into my bedroom. My heart is beating a million miles an hour, but my mind is the clearest it’s ever been. Clara’s gorgeous scent filters through my nose when her hands move to the hem of my blood-stained shir
t to yank it over my head. She works on the belt of my jeans as she guides us across the room. Once the fastener has been unbuckled, she slides my jeans down my thighs. My cock twitches when she lifts her hankering gaze to me. Her eyes relay her intentions without a word needing to seep from her lips.
“Princesses don’t kneel for no one,” I mutter, my deep tone conveying my wavering constraint.
She sighs softly. “I want to take care of you, Brax, to make you forget the image you should have never seen.”
Who the fuck is this woman? She just saw straight through me. Only one other woman has been able to do that. My grandma.
I cup the edge of Clara’s jaw and peer into her shimmering eyes. “Just you being here is already doing that, Princess. You don’t need to kneel before me.”
My cock leaps in my briefs when I catch sight of the determination brewing in her gaze. “Get on the bed, Brax,” she demands, her voice throaty and ball-tingling sweet.
I arch my brow, feigning shock, but in reality, I’m loving the feisty spark brightening her eyes. There's nothing as captivating as a princess in battle. Clara watches my every movement as I make my way to the bed and sit on top.
“Do you have any objections to me kneeling above you?”
The thickness of my cock grows, as does the vibrancy in Clara’s gaze when I shake my head. My eyes drink her in as she slowly prances towards me, her hips swinging, her chest panting. A brief chuckle rumbles from my mouth when she pushes on my bare torso, sending me toppling onto the mattress. My laughter comes to a screaming halt when she climbs onto the bed and frees my cock from the tight restraints of my briefs in one quick motion, like a woman starved of my taste. Time comes to a standstill when her lips hover over the glistening crown of my rock-hard cock.
After rolling her tongue over the crest of my stiffened shaft—gathering a drop of pre-cum beading on the end—she bores her full-of-life eyes into mine. Tonight, her eyes are so readable, they not only expose fragments of her personality I’ve yet to witness, they also reveal she isn’t just offering me her body, she's offering me her heart.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t as happy as a pig in mud to accept her offer.
Epilogue
Six Months Later. . .
My head lifts from a sketch I’ve been working on the past eight weeks when a set of knuckles rap on the wooden door of my office. Diesel props his shoulder onto the wall before locking his hazel eyes with me.
“We have a client out front requesting to speak to the manager,” he advises, his tone gruff.
I arch my brow and glare into his eyes.
“Don’t even fucking ask,” he mutters to my questioning expression.
I push back from my desk and stand from my chair. Gesturing for Diesel to lead the way, I shadow him down the corridor of Inked. Charity smiles a greeting before gesturing her head to the gang-related tattoo she's placing on some young punk's rake-thin bicep. I run my fingers over the top of my scalp and shake my head. Although we haven't had any more incidents occur at Inked the past six months, we’ve noticed an increase in gang-related tattoos. Doing our bit for society, my crew inks the tattoo as requested by the client, takes a copy of the design, then sends the client on their merry way. What our customers don't know is that once they sit in a chair at Inked, they relinquish the rights to their tattoo design.
Any tattoo we believe to be gang-related is uploaded to a private server Hunter created specifically for Inked. If a gang-related crime occurs within the vicinity of Ravenshoe, we can scan the tattoo references into our database. If a compelling match is found, our information is handed to the Ravenshoe Police Department. Although it may seem deceitful to our clients, I don't give a flying fuck. Women like Clara should be able to enter a back alley without fear of getting jumped. Until that happens, I will continue my endeavor to clean up the streets of Ravenshoe.
When I enter the foyer of Inked, I swing my eyes around the room. A broad grin stretches across my face when my eyes lock in on a feisty blonde going toe-to-toe with another attractive female. My cock jumps, spurred on by Clara's strong stance.
I’ve always loved a woman who gives a bit of lip, let alone a fiery-tongued princess.
Things between Clara and I have been staggering the past six months. Although Cormack kept his word by giving Clara back her silver spoon, nothing between Clara and me changed the slightest. She still lives with me in my loft apartment; she still works at Inked, and she still continues to shock me every single day. The only thing that has changed is that I'm no longer falling in love with Clara. I love her. No doubts. No limits. 100% fucking gone. So does my grandma. Although if she keeps nagging Clara for grandbabies, she may see a side to Clara she has not yet had the pleasure of witnessing.
I’ve not yet found Clara’s necklace, but I won’t give up until I do. I keep in regular contact with the pawnbrokers servicing the Ravenshoe area, and I called in a few favors so I have ears close to the ground throughout the entire state. When it surfaces, I have no doubt I’ll be the first to hear about it.
Ryan’s recovery, although rocky, is complete. His relationship with his brother. . .. that’s a whole other story. Unfortunately, Sophia’s recovery is still a slow process. Although she continues to make advancements, it doesn’t appear that her level of care will be changing anytime in the future.
After giving myself a few minutes to absorb the beauty of Clara in her element, I make my way across the room. Her rich floral scent engulfs my nostrils and stirs my cock when I stop to stand next to her. "I heard someone needed to speak to the manager."
The petite blonde with a pixie style haircut and piercing blue eyes shifts her gaze to me. “Yes. Becau—”
Clara shoves her hand in front of the blonde’s face, stopping her midsentence. “We don’t need the manager. We just need someone to give this idiot a hearing test. No matter how many times I tell her she will not be served at Inked this evening, this moron doesn’t seem to understand what I'm telling her.”
I sling my arms around Clara’s waist, being cautious not to touch the newly inked skin on her hip and pull her in close to my side. “What have I told you about insulting the customers?”
Clara's icy blue eyes blaze into mine. "I wouldn't need to insult her if she wasn't stupid," she says loud enough to ensure the blonde can hear.
The unnamed blonde’s mouth hangs open; shock is all over her face. My cock firms when Clara maintains her ground, not the slightest bit intimidated by the vicious snarl the blonde has bestowed upon her.
Keeping her eyes locked with me, Clara hands me a sheet of paper. “If you tell me this isn’t a design only a stupid person would have inked on their skin, I’ll apologize.”
I drop my eyes to the sheet of paper. A grin curls on my lips when the reasoning for Clara's fighting stance becomes apparent. Not only is this tattoo hideous and overly floral, but it also has a name in thick red ink smack bang in the middle of it.
“I’ve explained on numerous occasions the repercussion of having a person’s name inked on your skin, but no matter how many times I spell it out to her, she isn’t listening,” Clara advises me. “There's no cure for idiocy.”
She spent four hours earlier this week in my tattoo chair having her princess tattoo covered with a new tat I designed for her. I had been working on the design from the day she stormed out of Inked rambling that she would sue me for every penny I had. Although the design was finished before she started working at Inked, I never showed it to Clara, worried I was exposing my hand too early, but in all honesty, even if I had shown her the tattoo, it wouldn't have changed a thing. Clara has had me over a barrel from the day I met her. She knew it, and so did my cock. It just took me a little longer to submit to the idea.
It was my tattoo design that brought us back together. It was the sole reason Clara was waiting for me at my apartment the night Ryan was shot. After nursing me through my shock by using only her body, Clara admitted she found it while packing her belongings throu
gh a haze of tears. I’ve never been more grateful for my inability to leave work at work as I was that night.
I give Clara a cocky wink before turning my eyes to the unnamed blonde. “Is this your father’s name?”
The blonde places her tiny hands on her even smaller hips before shaking her head.
“Your grandfather? Brother? Deceased uncle? Any type of male relation?” I query, staring into her squinted eyes.
When she once again shakes her head, I say, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t do your tattoo.”
“Oh, come on. Not even for a family member?”
I chuckle a hearty laugh. “Nice try, but I don’t have any siblings.”
The blonde scrunches her brows together. “Not your sibling. Hers.” She hooks her thumb to Clara.
I drift my eyes between Clara and the unnamed blonde. Now that I've managed to drag my eyes away from Clara's mouthwatering curves, I can notice a lot of similarities between them. Same wintry blue eyes, platinum blonde hair, and flawless skin. The only difference is their personalities. This blonde is a little firecracker about to explode at any moment, whereas Clara is full of class and elegance. Even when she's dishing out insults like they're grenades.
“Cate-with-a-C McGregor,” the blonde introduces, holding her hand out in offering. “This ice queen’s baby sister.”
Clara rolls her eyes are Cate’s snide comment, but surprisingly, doesn’t react to her taunt.
I accept her handshake. “Brax.”
“So you’re the famous Brax I’ve been hearing about. The man who thawed Clara’s heart. What do you have? A magic heart-thawing penis?” Cate replies, indecently raking her eyes over my body.
This time, Clara reacts. If I hadn’t tightened my grip on her waist, I have no doubt she would have leaped over the counter and strangled her sister. My cock hardens more. Fiery Clara is beautiful, but jealous Clara. . . she's downright out-of-this-mother-fucking-universe beautiful.