by Tess Oliver
It hadn’t always been that way. At one time, I’d looked at him as my savior, my only true family, but slowly his arrogance, his cruelty, and his sense of entitlement had pushed away any feelings I’d had for him. I’d tried for a long time to feel nothing around him. Feeling nothing had been a skill I’d perfected after the accident. It was the easiest way for me to cope with the horror of it all. I’d honed the skill further during the year of hell I’d spent with my dad’s sister, Marcie, a woman who’d taken me in only because she worried that God would smite her if she didn’t. She was rigid and harsh and so completely the opposite of my free-spirited dad, it was hard to fathom how they’d grown up in the same family. A year of her strict rules, hours of reading the bible, and her constant criticism of my parents’ wild ways was too much. I ran away. And not surprisingly, Aunt Marcie hadn’t followed.
When Lincoln had rescued me from the streets as a half-starved sixteen-year-old junkie, I’d allowed myself to feel for the first time since I’d lost my family. And it felt good at first. But after a year, it dawned on me that I’d left one hopeless, ugly situation to be stuck in another. This one came with gourmet dinners instead of the soup kitchen, and silken sheets instead of a cardboard box, but it was still just as unbearable. In fact, there were times when I longed for the filth and hardness of an abandoned park bench.
I picked up the pad of paper and pen that I kept on the nightstand.
Lincoln creased his brows. “What happened to the tablet I bought you?”
I shrugged and hugged the paper pad to my chest to show him that I preferred the paper and pen. I scribbled a sentence. “I’m not really in the mood to swim.”
He read the paper. “Who said anything about swimming?” His voice was edged with anger. It happened more and more as he realized that I was pulling away from him. It was killing him that something was out of his control, and he was trying like hell to take hold of the reins again. But it was far too late. He’d lost me, and I knew that there was nothing that would bring me back to him. My silence usually frustrated him, but it also served him well. Without a voice, I had little opportunity to go out on my own. Sometimes my silence served me well too. Sometimes I feared that if my voice did return, I would scream and never stop . . . like I had while trapped in the overturned car with my family. My parents and sister were dead long before my pleas were answered by a passing policeman. Aunt Marcie had told me that God had smiled down on me that day, but it had always seemed to me that if he’d been smiling down on me he would have let me die with the rest of the people I loved.
“Put on the suit,” Lincoln said, leaving no room for argument. And arguing with pen and paper was annoyingly ineffective. He turned to leave but then snapped his fingers and spun back around. “I nearly forgot— the artist finished the drawings for the tattoo. She gave me the name of a great tattoo shop in the city, Freefall, or something like that. I’m going to call the guy today and get an afterhours appointment.”
I nodded.
The hard lines of his face softened, and for a brief second I saw the handsome face that had charmed me off the streets. He walked over, leaned down, and kissed my lips lightly. I shut my eyes and clenched my teeth as his mouth crossed mine. His smooth fingers ran over the silk of my nightgown, tracing along the scar that ran the length of my torso where the firemen had pulled a large slice of windshield from my side. One hundred stitches had kept my insides from falling out, but my heart had already been washed away in the river of blood. “We’ll cover this up and you’ll never have to look at that horrible reminder again.” I knew him well enough to know that covering my scar with a tattoo had more to do with him finding it hideous than covering it to help me forget.
CHAPTER 3
Nix
The last client of the day stood for a good ten minutes admiring his new tattoo, looking at it as if the idea of a skull and crossbones on his arm was new and original. But he was pleased with the way it turned out and that’s all I cared about. Skull man walked up to the counter, pulled out his wallet, and cleared his throat loudly to get Cassie’s attention.
She looked up from her book. In her spare moments, Cassie always had her nose in a book and most of the time it was one of those funky romance novels with the long-haired dudes with white shirts opened enough to reveal a steroid-built chest on the cover. The corny looking novels were completely inconsistent with her dyed black hair and piercings. She hopped off the stool and walked over to write up the invoice.
The guy smiled at her as she entered some things in the computer and handed him a bill. Her mind was always so caught up with thoughts of Dray, she rarely noticed when another guy was flirting with her. “I like your glasses,” he said. He fidgeted awkwardly with his wallet, but it seemed his new tattoo was giving him the confidence he needed to talk to Cassie.
She smiled at him and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Thanks.”
He paid for his tattoo, and I was sure he was going to ask for her number, but the question stuck in his mouth. Cassie had not given him any signs of encouragement, so the guy walked out slightly disappointed.
I finished cleaning up my tools as Cassie straightened up her jewelry display, a small side business she’d started on my counter.
“That guy was totally into you,” I called to her.
She turned around and looked at me over the rim of her glasses. She could see much better far away than close up. “What guy?”
I rolled my eyes. As hard as I tried to discourage her from setting her sights on Dray, none of it ever seemed to work. She had it bad for him, and my self-centered friend hardly acknowledged her existence. I walked over, picked up her book, and carried it to the front counter.
“You know, Cass, one of these shirtless pirate guys is not going to walk into this shop any time soon.”
She rolled her eyes and grabbed the book from my hand. “Pirates were in the eighteenth century, stupid. This is a Regency era duke.” She looked pointedly at the anchor on my arm. “You’d think a guy covered with vintage sailor tattoos would know a thing or two about pirates.”
“Sorry, I didn’t pay much attention in history.” I walked over to turn the door sign around. “Or any other subject, for that matter.” I didn’t usually give romance advice but something made me speak up this time. “I don’t know a lot about the way girls work, but I do know that sometimes the best way to get a guy’s attention is to throw in a healthy dose of competition.”
Smart as she was, Cassie understood exactly what I meant. She stared at the door the guy had just walked out of. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m just saying.” It was probably stupid of me to get her hopes up. Dray had a hard shell around his heart, and I didn’t know if anything or anyone could ever penetrate it.
The phone rang and Cassie picked it up. “Freefall.” She paused. “Yes, he’s here.” She held out the phone and shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Wants to talk to the owner.”
I took the phone from her. “I haven’t cleaned the coffee pot yet.” I winked flirtatiously at her hoping she’d volunteer to do it. She grunted and walked to the back office.
“Hello.”
“Hey, how’s it going? Is this Alexander Pierce, the tattoo artist?” The guy sounded slick like a car salesman.
“Speaking,” I said hesitantly, figuring I’d just gotten stuck listening to some sales pitch.
“My name’s Hammond and I need a tattoo, and my artist told me you were the best in town.”
“Don’t know about that. What kind of tattoo are you looking to get?”
“Actually, it’s not for me personally. It’s for my girlfriend.”
“Does she know about this tattoo or are you arranging it as a surprise?”
“Uh, no. She knows. But I need you to do the tattoo after hours? Ginny told me your shop is open during the day for regular business hours.”
“Yeah, it keeps the regret tattoos out of my shop. You have to make an appointment. That way people have time to change
their mind.” I paused for a second, not completely sure what the guy was talking about. “What do you mean by after hours?”
“After the shop closes.”
This just got weirder. “Sorry, man, I don’t do after hours.”
“I’ll pay you three times what you would normally charge. But the tattoo will have to be done in stages. Long sessions would make her anxious.”
“Look, I think you’ve got the wrong shop. There are a whole bunch of tattoo parlors in the area—”
“Four times,” he said quickly. “Ginny said you were the best. You know Ginny?”
“Yeah, we went to art school together for a summer. She’s a great graphic designer.” So I had her to thank for this bizarre call.
“So what do you say, Bro?” I hated it when a guy called me bro when we were complete strangers.
I thought about it for a second. Four times the usual pay would definitely make it worth staying open late. But the whole thing seemed strange. “Why can’t I draw it during shop hours?”
“I don’t want other people to be hanging around watching.”
That answer only made the whole thing creepier. “I’m not sure. I want to see the drawing first and discuss things face to face. Can you and your girlfriend come by the shop tomorrow? We close up at six, so you can come then.”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
Cassie walked out of the back office with her sweatshirt and purse. “What was that about?”
I shook my head. “Not too sure. The guy wants to pay extra for his girlfriend’s tattoo.”
“Extra pay is good.”
“I have to do it after the shop is closed.”
Cassie’s eyes rounded behind her thick lenses. “That’s weird.”
“Yeah. Oh well, they probably won’t even show up.” I fished the keys out of my pocket and looked at her. “Are you going to the car show tonight?”
“Standing around watching guys drool over cars and pin-up models all night? Sounds invigorating.” She lifted up her book. “I think I’ll stick with my pirate.”
I smiled. “Sorry, the long hair and puffy shirt made me think pirate.” I turned off the lights and we walked out the door together.
“Should have paid more attention to your history teachers and less attention to the girls sitting in front of you.” Her car chirped as she clicked it open. She paused for a second and then looked back at me. “You know, that guy Mike, the drummer of Hell Cats, is always messaging me on Facebook. His band has a gig at the car show tonight. I think I might show up after all.”
“Good idea, Cass. See you there.”
***
Music rolled across the massive parking lot, causing the shiny cars to shimmer with vibrations in the dying light of the day. The mouth-watering aroma of food trucks floated over the vinyl tops beckoning me to stuff my face.
Clutch’s giant blond head stood up above the rest of the crowd. I was over six feet but Clutch had at least four inches on me. He lumbered toward me with a cardboard container of food.
I glanced down at the box. “Holy shit, are those Rosie’s tacos?”
“Yeah,” he waved his giant hand toward the end of the lot. “Her truck is parked over there.”
“Any offers on the car yet?”
He picked up a taco and took a bite. He wanted to make sure his mouth was full enough to answer. “Nah,” a piece of cabbage fell from his mouth to the grass.” He swallowed the food. “Of course, Wilson already came in with his usual insulting, low ball offer, but I told him to go piss himself. I’m not taking less than twenty-five for that beauty.” He surveyed the other cars quickly. “She’s the finest bird out here. Someone will come up with a wad of cash before the night is out. You’ll see.” He took another bite of taco, and my stomach rolled with hunger.
Without another word, I headed in the direction he’d pointed.
“Where are you going?” Clutch called after me.
“Carne asada and cerveza, Dude, where do you think?” My heart sank when I saw a line snaking around the entire truck. That’s when I noticed Dray standing three people from the order window. I sidled up to him. “Two carne asada and a beer.”
“Hey,” the guy behind Dray snarled, “some of us have been waiting for half an hour.”
Dray turned around with his swollen lip and black eye and glared up at the guy who was a head taller. “What the fuck is your point?”
The guy pulled his head back like a turtle tucking back into his shell.
Dray held out his palm. “Actually, I’m short. Hand over a twenty.”
I raised a brow at him as I plucked my wallet from my back pocket. “Were you planning on paying with a wink and a smile?”
“It might have worked,” Dray said.
I opened my wallet and pulled out a twenty. The picture I had folded inside popped out and floated to the ground. I dove for it before it could get lost or stepped on. I picked it up and straightened in time to meet Dray’s shaking head.
“I can’t believe you still keep that damn picture in your wallet.”
I unfolded the picture and looked at it. It had gotten worn and crumpled with time but the same amazing pair of round blue eyes stared back at me I rubbed my thumb over the girl’s face. I’d found the flyer of the pin-up girl on the ground at a car meet. No one knew who she was or if she’d ever modeled again. It was as if she’d never actually existed. Almost as if I’d conjured her up in my mind. But it wasn’t just the beauty of her face that had me so obsessed with the picture, it was the story behind the sultry, sweet expression. It was as if she had a story to tell, and she just needed to find the right person to tell it to. I tucked the picture back into my wallet for safe keeping.
“You’re never going to find her. Besides, do you think a girl like that is going to be unattached?”
“You don’t know shit,” I growled. “Just remember to get some lime with the tacos.”
My phone vibrated and I walked away from the noise of the food truck. “Hey, Nana.” It was her third call of the day.
“Alex, honey, are you coming for dinner? I baked some fish.”
“No, Nana, not tonight. Save some for me, and I’ll have it tomorrow. Nana, did you turn off the oven?”
It took her a second to respond. “Yes,” she said hesitantly.
“Nana, check it right now while I’m on the phone with you.” I could hear her flat shoes shuffle across the kitchen floor.
“It’s off now. Alex, I was thinking maybe you could plant some flowers in the garden.”
I smiled into the phone. “Sure. I’ll bring some tomorrow.”
“All right, honey. Bye.”
Dray was next in line, and the charred smell of meat was making my mouth water like crazy. He looked at my phone. “Was that Nana?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s she doing?” Dray asked.
I didn’t respond.
“Sorry about that. Life sucks. Have you heard from your mom lately?”
I tucked the phone back into my pocket. “The other day she posted some pictures of herself sitting at a car race in Monaco.” I laughed. “Pretty fucking ironic since she never had any interest in racing when my dad was on the track.”
“She’s almost worse than my mom.” Dray stepped up to the window and ordered our food.
We headed through the throng of people back to where I’d left Clutch. He dwarfed the picnic bench as he sat there staring down at an empty box as if he could somehow magically produce more tacos if he tried hard enough. We sat down across from him, and he looked longingly at my food. I shielded it from his hungry eyes with my hand.
“Damn, I wish I’d ordered more. Those first four were just like an appetizer,” Clutch complained.
Dray shoved almost an entire taco into his mouth and then followed it with his usual hot sauce chaser. I wondered if he had any taste buds left. He chewed, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Rosie’s a fucking magician.” He lifted his sunglas
ses and stared across the grass. “Here comes jail bait.”
Clutch groaned. “Shit, is she coming this way?”
“Making a bee-line right for you,” I said.
“It’s like she’s got some kind of radar or something,” Clutch snarled.
Dray took a gulp of his beer. “One of the hazards that comes with being a goddamned giant.”
Taylor threw her long leg over the bench and sat down hard next to Clutch. Her long copper hair had been braided and tied off with ribbons, but the cherry red gloss on her lips said anything but little girl. She reached over for my cup of beer, but I blocked her hand.
“Yeah, that’s what I want— a ticket for giving beer to a minor.”
Taylor shrugged. “I was talking to a group of models, and they said I’d make a great pin-up.”
Clutch’s laughter thundered across the lot. He finally looked over at her. “With those A cups? You’re dreaming.”
Taylor lifted her chest, and her green eyes shot daggers at him. “I’m not an A cup.” She pushed her bottom lip out.
Clutch was always a total ass to her, but she never got discouraged.
“I guess I should head back over to the car and see if there are any serious buyers hanging around,” Clutch said wistfully. He had convinced himself that people would be brawling to get a bid on his car, and that just didn’t seem to be happening.
Taylor fished something out of her pocket and hummed to herself.
“Whoa,” Clutch said, “there are some mighty fine women strutting around here tonight. There was a sweet little thing in one of those tiny sailor skirts with the tattoo line running up the back of her legs, had to shift in my britches just to get comfortable.”