“Look, Sam.” Jackie rubbed his back. Damn, she didn’t want to hurt him, and she didn’t want to ruin their chances of re-kindling something, but she also didn’t want to rush into anything with both feet first. “I hated like hell leaving you that day, and if you ever really knew me, you know that is true. But a person has their limits, hon, and I had reached mine.”
“I know.” He squeezed her hand, looked up, and managed a weak smile. “Juanita still blames herself for our break-up. But I blame myself, always have.” His gaze trailed away from her, and Sam’s eyes glazed over with inner consideration. “I could see you were hurting, could see the situation was suffocating you, and you just kept putting on a brave, strong face for me. I should’ve sat you down and made you talk, babe. I should’ve found a way to make things better for us until we were on our feet—independent.”
Jackie ran her hand up his arm and smiled at Sam. “No one is to blame. I should’ve opened my mouth more when you and I were together. I should’ve told you what I was feeling, rather than keeping you in the dark all the time. I’m sorry.”
Sam covered her hand with his big, warm palm. He scratched, absently, at his trimmed beard, and gave a sheepish look. “Can I let you in on a little secret, darling?”
Jackie leaned her hand in her chin and grinned curiously. “What’s that?”
Slowly, Sam wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her closer. “Has Juanita been coming to visit you, popping in to the shop every now and again, say—oh I don’t know—off and on for about six months now?”
Jacqueline raised an eyebrow as he gave her a sideways, dimpled smirk. “Yes, she has. In fact, the first time she walked in, I nearly choked on the cola I was drinking. It was great to see her, but I was surprised. We got to chatting. She stayed about a half an hour that first time. Business was slow that day. She’s been in a couple times since.” Jackie tapped her trimmed fingers nails against her chin and gave Sam a scrutinizing, mock glare.
He batted his eyelashes at her, and bit his lip. Jackie could see the bugger was on the verge of laughing. She was between wanting to slap him and wanting to smirk along with him.
“I kind of asked her to do that,” he confessed, mimicking the sheepish voice of an embarrassed child, trying to be cute. “She’s been keeping tabs on you for me. Juanita was the one that hunted the address and phone number of your shop down for me. I was too afraid to do it. I asked her to go see you first too. To ask you some questions…” As he trailed off, Sam stood and paced in front of the coffee table.
Jackie shook her head, smiling in a bemused mixture of annoyance and secret joy. He’d asked his step-mom to spy on her. She looked up at him. “Why were you too afraid?”
He stopped, looking at her as he jammed his hands far in the pockets of his snug, worn jeans. “Afraid you might have changed a lot. Afraid you might be with someone else by now. Afraid you wouldn’t be interested in seeing me. But when Juanita told me how nice you were to her when she paid a visit, and that you had asked about me, and found out that you were still single—”
“Whoa. Whoa.” Jackie stood, poking a finger in Sam’s face as she grinned, and scowled, at him. “You asked me if I was still single earlier tonight, but you already knew.”
His face broke into a huge grin, and his eyes glinted like a little boy’s. “I know.” He shrugged. “I was just double-checking.”
***
Jacqueline stood in front of him, chuckling, with her hands on her hips, still holding the blanket in place around her. “You sonofabtich.” She shook her head and laughed. “And how dumb am I? I did wonder when Juanita showed up this summer, but, hell, you only live forty-five minutes from me. I just figured she’d stumbled on the shop on one of her trips to Moncton…”
Sam let out a big sigh, and looked away from her; he was chewing on his lip, and she could tell, he was definitely trying not to grin at his little ruse undiscovered.
“Well.” She sat on the couch, tired of holding the blanket in place and tired of standing. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve used your mother to get to me.”
He came around the side of the couch quickly and stood over her. In the dim light filtering through the open curtains, from the glaring streetlight outside, caught his profile in an inky silhouette. Sam looked unsure, on the verge of angry again, and the right side of his mouth twitched slightly. “What do you mean?” he whispered.
Fed up with this rollercoaster of emotions, and crammed in one night to boot, Jackie dropped her fleece throw, grabbed her panties off the floor, managed to jerk and dance into them, and then stood with her arms over her chest, glancing toward the clock.
“Look, Sam.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “I’ve been up since before nine, and it is already three-thirty now. I’ve got to get some sleep. Can we put the fighting on pause for tonight?”
“Whatever.” Sam grabbed his leather coat off the back of the couch, jerked his arms into it, and made his way to the door without looking back or saying goodbye to her. She heard the wooden frame echo with the force of his yanking of the battered wood.
“Damn man.” Jackie rubbed he bridge of her nose; it was aching with the subtle threat of a headache. “And they say us women are bad for pulling fits and playing mind games.” She shook her head, and shuffled to the kitchen in search of headache tablets.
***
Chapter 4
She hadn’t seen him in two days. As Jackie stared out at the grey, drizzling early spring weather, part of her was glad of Sam’s absence, and part of her wanted desperately to see him again. He’d always had this damn effect on her. Pulling her emotions back and forth, making her feel like a little girl inside—frustrated often, but aroused at the same time. Bastard.
What’s stopping you from taking a walk over to his tattoo shop? A impulsive, impish voice in her head spoke up.
I don’t want to go over there, she convinced herself, or tried to. Jacqueline rang up a large tome of “Edgar Allan Poe: Collected Tales,” for a customer, bid them goodbye, and glanced at the big, cuckoo clock above the entrance.
Four o’ clock, time to close up. She went into the small, back cloak room to retrieve her wallet and a light jacket. Clicking off all the lights as she walked the length of the store, Jackie strode out the glass front door, locking it tightly, and checking it, as she tucked her key chain in her pocket of her coat.
She glanced over at Sam’s shop. Jackie could hear some low music coming from the tattoo parlor, and lights glowed warmly from within. Should I? She shook her head, and made for the back of her store, to the stairs that led to her apartment.
Just then, two young, giggling women stepped out of the shop. One stopped, and the other tugged at the back of her jeans, tittering “Let me see again,” as she moved a bandage placed just above the other girl’s waistline. “That is so cool,” the ginger-haired friend exclaimed. “I am definitely getting one next payday. Hey, and it is worth it to come back for that tattoo artist, huh?”
The smaller blonde smiled at her, and raised her eyebrows. “Definitely. Damn, was he hot or what?”
The strawberry-blonde nodded in emphatic agreement and the two walked off down the sidewalk then trotted across the street to a nearby gas-station.
Jackie looked at the shop and narrowed her eyes. She felt a pang of something she didn’t like hit her straight in the chest. A dull ache that made her angry at herself. Jealousy.
There was no mistaking, Sam was a handsome man, in that wild, bad-boy rugged sense that made many women swoon. He had a charm to him that was silent, but also mischievous, and Jackie had seen him use it in the past. She’d been on the receiving end of that melting charisma many times.
“I’m going in,” she muttered, keeping a hand on her wallet as she tucked it into the pocket of her coat. Head down, long, black curls catching in the sudden April breeze, she walked the dozen or so paces to Sam’s parlor.
***
The distinct sound of Motorhead made her grin, as Jac
kie opened the shop door. Jamie, a young guy from Sussex who idolized Sam, rose from the couch in the waiting area of the tattoo parlor.
“Jackie?” He came forward, big blue eyes sparkling as he smiled. “Hey, girl! How the hell are you doing these days?”
Jacqueline grinned at Jamie and shook his outstretched hand. “Pretty good, sweetie.” She smacked him on the shoulder, good-naturedly. “What are you doing all the way out here? Are you working for Sam now?”
Growing up in Alberta, she had spent her summers surrounded by tough, farmboy cousins, when her and her father went to visit family. Jackie spent most of her life proving she could stand up to just about any man, if backed into a corner. That had toughened her, and she didn’t feel too comfortable in frilly outfits or fancy tea rooms. Not that she knocked those ladies who did—to each their own—but Jackie felt more at home throwing wood than she did cooking a four course dinner. It was just the way life had taught her to be, and she was comfortable with it. Being raised without a mother, all she’d ever really known was male companionship growing up—her father, her uncles, her cousins…only her aunts had provided her with some female camaraderie.
“Yup.” Jamie’s voice broke through her reverie into the past. “He brought me with him from Sussex. I’m gonna do my apprenticeship with him.”
“No way.” Her jaw dropped. “You left the mill back home? Good for you, kiddo. You’ve got a natural knack with your art; don’t see why you won’t make a great tattoo artist.” Jackie congratulated her friend with a hug, just as Sam walked into the main area. His massive, muscled bulk seemed to shrink the waiting area.
***
Look for Bad Boys of BDSM coming soon from the Wild & Lawless Writers!
***
Read an excerpt from a scorching, upcoming Wild & Lawless release Rescued by Rebels by Roxxy Meyer, part of our new BDSM Fantasies Series!
Rescued by Rebels
By Roxxy Meyer
Chapter 1
Year 2415
Altar–4 Colony
Keisha’s fingers flew over the strings of her antique Fender as she belted out Long Live Rock ‘n’ Roll. People packed the outpost bar to full capacity, and many crowded around the stage, gyrating, hooting, fists pumping in the air. Their enthusiasm fed her groove, and her body thrummed with the electric atmosphere as she smiled back at the crowd. She broke into a solo, and their cheering amplified. Sweat coated her dark brown skin, glued her sapphire t-shirt with Jimi Hendrix on the front to her breasts, fell into her eyes, and she let it fall. There would be time to wipe it away later, when the song concluded. Right now, she was caught up in a magical communion with her audience.
Feeling bold, she decided to give the crowd a pleasure suggestion. Sure, using her mind bending powers in an outpost bar was risky. Elite eyes were everywhere, and cameras probably watched her now, hidden in the corners of the smoky building. But just a little jolt would make it under the Elite’s radar, she was sure. Just a quick shot of orgasmic elation, to return the energized vibe the audience gave to her.
Closing her eyes, she let her thoughts drift out to the crowd. As she sang and her fingers made love to the guitar, she joined with their minds. A loud gasp emitted from the throng of people clustered around stage. Dancing couples embraced tighter, tongues flitted out to taste lips, ears, necks. Moans of enjoyment filtered up to Keisha’s ear, and she threw another impulsive suggestion out to her adoring fans.
Soon the crowd shed their clothes. Hands caressed torso, breasts, firm, round asses. Fingers coiled around cocks and probed wet pussy. Their enjoyment shot back and entered Keisha’s brain, and she sighed as their pleasure rocked her with sensation. This kind of connection with an audience was a natural high she relished.
In front of the stage, she watched a man bend over his lover and shove his cock deep inside. Keisha rode a note on the neck of her Fender for as long as she could, releasing it as the couple’s fucking grew frantic.
As the song ended, she ripped into a rendition of Deep Purple’s Hush. But when she opened her eyes, two men in grey suits, pushing their way through the orgy her audience engaged in, drowned all her joy. She yanked the cord out of her Fender, slid it around to her back, and dashed from the stage, while the house band still played and the audience writhed in ecstasy.
Stupid, she chided herself, as she ran into the bar’s manager, who shouted “Hey, don’t you want your money?” But if she stopped now, the Elite’s thugs would surely grab her.
“I’ll be back,” she said as she bolted for the door leading into the alleyway.
But she knew the chances she’d return to collect payment were slim to none, and, once again, she berated herself for such a foolish move—a blatant display of her mind bending. She should’ve known it would bring the Elite’s dogs sniffing for her misfit blood as soon as they spotted the orgy in the bar.
The alley was dark and narrow, and Keisha tripped over a slumbering homeless woman in her flight. She muttered a ‘sorry’ as the woman grunted and sat up from beneath a pile a filthy rags. Then Keisha turned a sharp corner that ended the alley and emptied into a dusty back road that led to the outpost bar. She hoped the boys in grey took the direct route, but she wasn’t going to make a second stupid mistake.
Veering from the road, she headed for the sprawling sand dunes to her right. At least she could hide out in the desert until the heat cooled off. She knew the Gushani Desert well—many misfits on the run did. If she were lucky, she’d find a band of fugitive misfits on her trek through the dunes, and join up with them until she hit the next outpost town. Being a nomad made her adaptable—at least she had that card in her pocket.
She ducked behind a pink dune and her heart hiccupped a beat. There they were—two men in grey with dark sunglasses obscuring their cold stare. Keisha raised her arms in the air, started to back away, and sent them a thought suggestion to knock them on their butts. But it was too late. One agent aimed a disabler at her, shaking his head as he did so, obviously to rid himself of the giant snake illusion she’d just cast into his mind.
Keisha dove to the right, but the needle-dart the agent shot stuck in her bicep. Toxins numbed her body, paralyzing her, while the disabling solution robbed her of her mind bending powers. A cotton fog wrapped around her brain, and all she could do was lie there, wait for them to come and take her. Anger coursed through her veins, but she was helpless to act on that rage.
One agent yanked a black cloth over her head, while the other removed her Fender from her back and cuffed her hands. She cried out inside as she felt her six string baby taken away. The last gift her mother had given Keisha, and she’d be lucky to see it again.
The two agents roughly hauled her to her feet, but Keisha’s muscles were liquid. One bastard threw her over his shoulder and huffed as they carted her out of the desert. Inside, she screamed and scratched like a banshee, while outside she was a silenced zombie.
They threw her in the back of a cold van. Metal bit into her shoulder, and the stench of sour sweat and despair assaulted her. The vehicle’s doors banged shut with an echo of doom.
They took a sharp corner, and Keisha slammed her head into the van’s bare floor. She pulled herself to her knees, dirt and grit biting through her jeans, as the paralysis lessened. Her mind bending abilities were still nil, but at least she could move a bit. Her days as a mind bending minstrel were over, and she had a good idea where these agents of the Elite were taking her. She didn’t need to be a brain technician to figure it out. She was destined for a Funhouse-- where misfits, threats to the new society the Elites were trying to build after the apocalypse, were taken, so they couldn’t stir trouble and revolution amongst the masses.
The van jerked to a stop, and someone grabbed her arms roughly after the back doors opened, while another shackled her ankles. They pulled her from the vehicle, and the dust outside kicking up in a warm wind choked her.
The sound of metal screeching on metal set her teeth on edge. A cold gust of air plumed out
from the building and hit her full force, as the men at each of her arms dragged her forward.
“Enjoy the accommodations, princess,” one said, as he and his partner threw her forward. They ripped the sack from her head as they tossed her.
Her knees hit hard against a concrete floor, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of crying out. She heard them chuckle as the heavy metal door shrieked shut behind her.
In the all encompassing darkness, it was hard to make out features, anything discernable. A dark hallway stretched before her. Cold bricks walls buffered her sides. Her captors had left her hands and feet bound, and tossed both keys to her shackles about ten feet away from her.
What sporting gentlemen, she thought. Leaving me easy prey for the monsters.
No sooner had the words left her mind, but she heard a thunderous growl coming from the end of the corridor.
“Oh shit,” Keisha murmured, and scrambled for the keys.
The smell hit her as she turned and bent backward, using her flexibility to her advantage. Of course, the bastards had tied her hands behind her back. Thankfully, from years of finger picking, Keisha’s fingers were nimble and quick.
The stench was that of rot and sewage, she gagged as her index finger and thumb closed around one of the keys. Her fingers and wrists cracked as she manipulated the keys, trying to slide it into one of the locks on the handcuffs. She sighed relief at the sound of a soft click, but her relief was soon drowned as the floor shook from the force of the approaching monster’s footsteps.
A hulking figure of glowing silver appeared at the end of the corridor. It’s gigantic, well muscled form dripped liquid as it shuddered, narrowed its sapphire eyes at her, and bent back its head to let free a spine chilling howl. The bald creature was clad in only a pair of pants that were shredded at the ankles. It extended its long arms in front of it, slamming its knuckles into the concrete so hard, chunks spit up from beneath its fists.
Surrender Boxed Set (Surrender Series Volume 1 - 7. BDSM romance with man love, bad boys, and billionaires.) Page 64