by Naomi West
Spencer handed over the keys. “402 Willow Street. It’s a blue house on the right.”
Torque couldn’t help but smile at that. “Of course it is.”
“Thanks again for everything. I’ll be giving you a big discount when you come back in for your tat.” He disappeared into the shop, locking the door behind him and shutting all the curtains.
Torque glanced at the woman next to him as he left the parking lot and turned onto the main road. What had he gotten himself into?
Chapter Three
Blue
Blue’s body felt heavy. It wanted to sink down through the seat of the car, down through the asphalt, and into the earth. Maybe even further than that. The car ride was a short one, but it was enough to remind her that she was still alive as it churned her stomach. The slightest turn of the car made her slosh and roll inside as though all of her guts had come loose.
When they pulled up in front of her house, she wanted to walk in herself. She hadn’t needed this big brute to take her home, and she sure didn’t need help getting to the door. But the concrete of the driveway threatened to jump up and smack her in the face as she flung open the car door and put one foot out. Blue braced herself on the doorpost and took a deep breath, preparing to try again.
“Hold on,” he warned as he came around to hold her up. “I’ve got you.”
She stuck out her lower lip and scowled at him as he brought her to the front door and fiddled with her keys to unlock it. “I don’t need your help.”
“I think you do,” the big man insisted. “You certainly did back there at the shop, and you’re still as limp as a wet noodle.” He kept one arm on her back, ready to catch her at a moment’s notice.
It was irritating, even in her current state. “I can hold my own,” she protested. “I’ve been working in this industry for a long time. I’m strong.” God, she sounded drunk. The stress of the night had really gotten to her.
“There are different kinds of strong.” He kicked the front door shut behind them and laid her on the living room couch. He disappeared and came back with a glass of water.
Her lips twitched as she watched the muscles of his big arm work as he set the glass on the table next to her. How dare he presume to know where the glasses and the faucet were? Granted, the doorway to the kitchen was right off the living room so it wasn’t hard to find, but that wasn’t the point. “Are you saying you’re strong?”
His head tilted to the side, his strong jaw jutting out and his smirk somewhat arrogant. “I like to think so. Now, do you need anything else before I leave?”
She sat up a little, the comfort of being at home having an effect on her. Things had been crazy, but they had only gotten weirder. She never would have let a stranger bring her back to her place on any other occasion. Why hadn’t Spencer done it himself? Maybe he lacked the kind of strength that required. Her body really was so heavy. “I just need to say thank you.”
“You already did that,” he reminded her.
“What did you say your name was again?” If she had been more with it, she would have been embarrassed not to know the name of a man who had not only driven her car but come into her home. And then there was that whole saving her life thing, but she was happy to set that aside for the moment. All she could remember was that his name was something unusual.
He crouched down in front of her so that his dark eyes were level with hers. “Torque.”
“That sounds like a biker name.”
“It is.”
“Pssht.” She heard the dismissive noise before she realized it had come from her own lips. “Sorry, I can’t say I’ve had the best experiences with bikers.”
“I can understand that.”
But he didn’t. Sure, he had witnessed the fiasco with Rat. But her issues with motorcycle gangs went back much further than that. Blue’s mother had been a club girl, knocked up by a biker who had ridden off into the sunset as soon as he’d discovered what he’d done. Blue didn’t have so much as a photo of him, and the issue had never been discussed more than once. Her mother had done her best to raise Blue until she was twelve, at which point she’d run off herself with a different biker. It was as though big men on motorcycles were determined to be a part of her life, and she didn’t like it. They were all assholes. She blinked and tried to focus on the moment, on what was before her. Torque was a biker, but he had done her some big favors.
“I’m really sorry you got wrapped up in all this.”
He smiled, and it transformed his entire face. From the moment she had first seen Torque back at Spencer’s Shop, he had worn nothing but a constant glower. It made him look hard and mean, like he might shove a bottle into someone’s eye. But his smile brought a light to his eyes that hadn’t been there before, making him mouthwateringly handsome. The skin around his eyes softened, and he suddenly seemed big in a teddy bear sort of way instead of a monster.
“I don’t mind. It’s nice to have a little shot of adrenaline now and then. But tell me, what exactly are you doing in a place like that?”
Blue got her elbow underneath her so she could sit up a little. She didn’t like feeling so weak in front of this powerful man. “What do you mean?”
Torque shrugged and spread his hands. “I’ve never been in a tattoo parlor that wasn’t at least a little bit of a rough place. Why do you do this for a living?”
The movement had made yet another wave of dizziness take over, and she closed her eyes for a second to let it pass. Blue was determined to get past this and be able to talk to him without slurring her words and looking so weak. He had no right to question her career choice, but she didn’t have the energy to argue with him about that. “Because I love it,” she tried to explain. “Sure, we get some dirtbags like Rat in there from time to time. But it’s not always like that, and I get to make money by doing my art. I can’t really ask for more than that. Well, I guess I did think it would be a little more glamorous than it really is.”
She had fallen victim to the idea of being a tattoo artist before she’d really had a chance to think it through. Nobody had explained to her how bloody and dirty it could be, not to mention the fact that it wasn’t always pleasant to be so close to other people’s bodies. But she was in it all the way now. There was no changing it.
“I can see that. I’ve heard that you’re very good. I’ve been wanting to get an appointment with you for a long time, but you’re always booked.” His eyes traced her hair, her chin, her lips, but they never strayed down her body.
She blushed, something she hadn’t expected to be possible in her current state. It brought warmth back to her skin, and she looked down at the pale gray upholstery of the couch uncomfortably. “I’ll be sure to fit you in, if you’d like.” When she turned her face back up to him, she noticed something she hadn’t before. “You have blood on you.”
Torque looked down at his body, seeing the splatter of blood on his forearm and the hem of his T-shirt. “That’s okay. It’s not mine.”
“Feel free to wash up.” Blue gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. “Take a shower if you need to. The towels are in the linen closet.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but he closed it and nodded. “Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He stood and swaggered off toward the other end of the house.
Blue turned her head to watch him go, admiring the way his jeans fit around his ass and the long planes of his back. He only just fit through the doorway to the hall.
Now that she was no longer under his watchful idea, Blue rubbed at her face with her hands. It had been forever since she had passed out, and it wasn’t something easy to recover from. It left her feeling frail and confused, like she had just woken up from a deep sleep that didn’t want to let go of her. Still, she had a virtual stranger in her house, and it was time to get herself to rights. She picked up the water he had brought and took a long drink, feeling it soak into her body and dilute her thickened blood. It was a start.
Maybe there was som
ething to what Torque had said. She hadn’t had anyone to advise her against working as a tattoo artist as soon as she had turned eighteen. With her mother gone and her father an unknown figure of her past, she had bounced around between distant relatives and foster homes until she was old enough to be ejected from the system with little more than a “Good luck.” At one point, she’d had dreams of going to art school and becoming a graphic designer or an art teacher, but she knew even before she started that she would never fit in with scholarly types. Blue wasn’t tame enough, and her mouth had gotten her in trouble more than once. Nobody would want to work with her at an office, and no school would take in a teacher with her kind of attitude. Inking was the quickest way to a paycheck, and she had been fortunate enough to find Spencer.
He’d had a drug problem back then, though he never talked about it. Still, Blue had known. It hadn’t been the first time she’d seen someone with an addiction, and Spencer had had that same distant look in his eyes that her mother did. Still, it had been convenient for him to have a new person to train. It meant he had more time for his own recreations while Blue answered the phones, mopped the shop floor, and drew up artwork for clients who wanted something small. The pay wasn’t much, but it had kept her occupied and given her the hope that she was working toward her dreams.
Eventually, Spencer had put a machine in her hand and allowed her to practice on fruit. Blue had covered bananas in tribal lines, practiced script on oranges, and made some very bad portraits on apples. It made her hands sticky and made the shop smell like a Hawaiian drink, but it had been fun.
Things had gotten even more exciting when Spencer had finally agreed to order some practice skin for her. Made of a laminated rubber that was surprisingly close to human skin, Blue had taken off with it. She went through more practice skin than Spencer was willing to pay for, and he’d had no choice but to allow her to try it for real.
“Only on volunteers, and you have to do the work for free,” Spencer had said sternly. He had been careful never to praise her too much for her work and had only offered some suggestions for improving her art. Surprisingly, there had been no shortage of customers willing to have work done by a beginner if they didn’t have to pay for it. Blue started with initials and dates and moved up to hearts and stars, trying her hand at clean, smooth lines and consistent shading.
Spencer had gotten clean at about the time she was truly getting good, and he had realized just how much of an asset she was. “You’re great, kiddo,” he’d said with a smile, finally giving her the praise she had been hoping for. “I think the shop would have folded a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you, and now you’re on your way to being the top-billed artist.” That had been an absolute dream come true for Blue, but she hadn’t, at that time, envisioned she would one day have a rampaging biker holding a broken bottle to her face.
Nor had she imagined she would have a heroic biker using her shower. She could hear the water running as she tried to gather herself, determined to be on her feet and well by the time he was done so he could leave. She didn’t want him sticking around any longer than he had to, thinking that she still needed him. Blue was conscious enough now to realize what an embarrassing situation she was in, and she was ready for it to be over. She pulled herself to her feet, steadying herself on the couch for a moment. Yes, she was much better.
The bathroom door opened, and Blue plastered a smile on her face. She had to look well in order to convince this man that she was well, and she had a feeling he would never leave if he thought she might still be feeling bad.
But he emerged from the hallway stark naked. Torque’s body, still damp from the shower, was a sculpture of ink and muscles. His wide shoulders served as the perfect base for his bulging arms and his wide chest, which rippled down into an abdomen and further, where she tried to avoid looking. With his strong legs, he was the epitome of a sex god. And he was standing right there in her living room in his birthday suit.
Blue started to ask him just what he thought he was doing, feigning offense, but he didn’t give her the chance. Torque had her in his arms in a second, his mouth closing over hers. He kissed her roughly, pulling her body against his bare one, possessing her in only a moment. His lips were gentle, but they owned her. A bolt of electricity shot through her body, but she wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or excitement. Her heart thundered.
Torque let her go just as quickly as he had grabbed her, leaving Blue feeling lightheaded all over again. She backed away from him, unsure of what to do. Instinctively, she wondered if he might pick her up bodily as he had back at the tattoo shop and take her down to the bedroom. He could easily fling her on the bed and ravish her. He advanced on her until she was backed up against the living room wall, looming over her with a strand of his dark, wet hair hanging down over his forehead and his white teeth showing. Heat rolled off his body and enveloped her, reminding her that he was the one in charge here.
“Rat was right about one thing,” he breathed, his eyes watching her mouth. “For bikers, it’s an eye for an eye. I’ll take that kiss as payment for what I did today. Don’t make me save you again, or I just might ask for more.” He turned away and went back down the hall. When he reemerged a few moments later, he had pulled on his jeans and boots and thrown his shirt over his shoulder. Torque glanced at her meaningfully as he grabbed the front door and yanked it open. “Lock this behind me.” He shut the door and was gone.
Blue stood there for a moment, trying to decide just what the hell had happened and what she was going to do about it. Torque barely knew her, and he’d had no right to treat her that way. Sure, he had made sure she got home, but apparently he had only done it so he could take advantage of her. Who was this crazy guy, and how had she let herself get mixed up with him? With uncertain fingers, she locked the front door.
“That figures,” she muttered to herself as she went to her bedroom and gathered her robe and slippers. Anger was fueling her energy now. “He’s a fucking biker. What more could I have expected from him? He’s just like all the rest of them.” Blue stomped to the bathroom to take a shower herself, but her insides melted when she discovered that his scent still hung in the room. It only pissed her off more to know that he managed to turn her on despite everything. She tried not to think of how the water must have fallen over his strong shoulders as she turned on the shower. Damn bikers.
Chapter Four
Blue
Blue was ready to get on with her life and let things return to normal. Spencer had finished cleaning up the glass, the blood, and the beer, and her booth looked like it always had. The smell of disinfectant was thick in the air, and if she hadn’t been there the night before she never would have known anything had gone wrong. She still had her job, the shop was still open, and she still had clients on the schedule who wanted her work on their skin. Everything was fine.
Spencer leaned against the doorway, trying to look casual as he played with a stress ball. He tossed it from hand to hand, focusing on the little yellow sphere instead of looking at her. “So, that was some crazy night, wasn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” she huffed as she checked her files for the drawing she had worked up for her next customer. She still didn’t feel quite right, but she knew it was all mental. Things would all be fine if she just got back to work.
He did look at her then. “Did you get home okay? Those ruffians didn’t try to come after you again, did they? Damn it, I knew I should have called the police.” He slammed the little orb into one hand and squeezed it.
Blue sighed and closed her eyes. “No, Spence. It’s not like that. It’s just … It’s really … I’d just rather not talk about it anymore, okay?”
“Well, all right. I guess that’s fine. But I just thought I’d let you know that Torque is going to come in today to get the tattoo that I had promised him. The original plan was for him to come in a few months from now, but I rearranged my calendar to make room for him. I’m giving him a really good deal for jump
ing into the fray like he did. Hell, I might just give it to him for free. He deserves it.”
“Oh. Um, okay.” Blue fought to quell the bubble of jealousy that had risen up in her chest. Torque had mentioned that he had wanted her to work on him. Spencer was a good artist, but why wasn’t the biker demanding that he get what he’d claimed he had always wanted? No. No, she couldn’t be thinking about him like that. He was a rough, demanding barbarian and she couldn’t forgive him for using her the way he had. Let him go to Spencer, and if she was lucky, she would stay busy enough that she wouldn’t run into him.
When the bell over the door rang, indicating that someone had come in, she cringed inside. Was it Torque? Was he going to grab her again like he had the day before, thinking that he a right to her body simply because he had saved her? Would she let him? But when a bright round face appeared at the doorway to her booth, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hey, Brandy. Are you all ready?” The young woman had come to her a few months ago with lots of ideas in her head about what she wanted but very little direction. Blue had helped her narrow it down and find the tattoo that truly meant something to her: an iris in memory of her grandmother, whose name was Iris. Together they had looked over several different pictures of the flower until they had the one that was just right, and Blue had customized it until it was perfect.