Indelible: Beneath His Ink (Teal and Trent Book 2)

by Inger Iversen

  Eyes focused on the tight ring leading to her nether entrance had him thrusting harder and deeper. He wanted to take her there, but her fear stopped him. Teal let lose a scream that transformed into a moan, which had Trent sucking on his thumb and bringing it down to rub over her tight hole.

  With each thrust, Teal pushed back into him, taking his cock so deep his body slammed against hers. The sounds of flesh meeting flesh echoed throughout the room, overshadowing Teal’s moans and pleas.

  The slip and slide of his cock in and out of her hot channel had Trent’s knees shaking and legs trembling. The burning in his arm and chest a distant memory, banished by the pleasure he wrought from Teal’s body.

  Leaning over her, he grabbed her breast and tweaked her nipple so hard he felt the spasm in her core. “That’s right, baby.” He bit the soft flesh of her shoulder, leaving his mark. “Make me come in you.”

  At his request, her tight core throbbed around his cock. Using the bed as leverage, Teal lifted up on her hands and looked over her shoulder. Her breasts bounced and jiggled, her dark pert nipples begged for a lashing from his tongue, and her ass cheeks clapped with each bounce on his dick.

  “Fuck!” The word felt as if it were pulled from him through his cock. Her plush body swallowed him over and over again, forcing Trent’s head back, as loud grunts were ripped from his chest.

  His movements became erratic, and her moans were so loud, they sounded like thunder in his ears. Trent’s release shot from him like a fucking cannon. He rocked into her with each pulsating jet, unable to control his body from claiming her.

  Teal collapsed onto the bed, breath sawing out of her as she pulled from Trent and climbed up the bed. Reaching a hand out to him, she nestled into the sheets.

  Trent took her hand and followed. “Goddamn. My balls hurt from that.”

  Teal laughed and waited as Trent adjusted onto his back. When he lifted his arm, she cuddled up close. Resting her head on his chest, she took a deep breath. “You need to add a number to this weird ass timeline.”

  “And what number would that be?” Worn the fuck out, Trent pulled her close and closed his eyes.

  “Thirty-nine, the age you fell in love and started a blended, crazy-ass fucking family.”

  Trent kissed the top of her head, his eyes filling with shit he would never admit were tears. “Yeah, baby. That’s the next tattoo for us.”

  Trent adjusted the tie, choking the fuck out of his neck as he straightened the collared shirt under his sweater with his other hand. His shoulder ached so he rolled it, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure building. The clicking of heels behind him had him turning around to see Teal making her way down the hall, arms crossed over her chest and a soft smile playing across her lips.

  Making his way over to her, he placed his face into her neck and inhaled. He’d been thrown through the ringer for the last fucking nineteen weeks with home visits, background checks, an investigation, and all the other shit that happens when you kill an intruder in your home. His lawyer had drained a bit of his bank account, however, the DA had declined to bring charges up against him. Then suddenly, Trent found himself working for custody of Emma Mae.

  “How you feeling about today?” Teal didn’t look up as she spoke, her voice slightly muffled by the jet-black cashmere sweater she’d purchased for him.

  “I’m fine,” he lied. His stomach rolled and ached at the thought of being a father—a real father. He had absolutely no clue of what to do with a nineteen-week-old baby girl, besides love her. But love didn’t change diapers or mix formula. And he didn’t want to depend on Teal for this shit; he needed her to know she was there because he loved her, not because he needed a nanny.

  A soft bout of laughter emanated from her chest. “Fucking liar.” Soothingly, she ran her hands up and down his back, pressing kisses into his shirt and over his freshly inked tattoo.

  A door clicked open to the right and Trent’s name was called.

  “Mr. Reed.” Holly-Ann Turner, Emma Mae’s social worker, turned to the side, allowing both Teal and Trent past her. They entered the room to a desk piled high with papers and folders.

  She motioned to the two seats adjacent to the desk. “Have a seat, please.” Teal and Trent both sat, as she moved around the desk to plop down in her seat.

  Wide, blue eyes met him over a pile of papers. “So, we are finally here.” Moving the mess aside, Holly-Ann smiled brightly. “How are you two feeling? Do you have everything set up?”

  He wasn’t sure why she was asking, she’d been in his home nineteen times in the past nineteen weeks. Last week, she’d even complimented Teal’s paint job as they gushed over some color called poppy pink.

  Taking a deep breath, he leaned back into the chair. “Went to the store and bought every last thing Teal pointed to,” he admitted. He hadn’t even known what the fuck a onesie was, but when Teal had picked up the little pink scrap of cloth, his heart stuttered in his chest. It was one of the cutest fucking things he’d ever seen. Admitting it aloud would be something close to impossible, but then she held up a white one saying, My dad’s tats are better than your dad’s. Trent bought ten of the same damned one.

  Holly-Anne chuckled, while rummaging through some papers on her desk. “Your lawyer sent over all of the signed paperwork and I also have somethings for you. You’ll want to read over them.” Clearing the papers from her desk, she placed a folder down. “So, this adoption is finally complete, and I want to thank you for working with me, instead of against me.”

  Teal reached for his hand. “We knew from the moment you stepped foot in the house that you were there to make sure Emma Mae would be well taken care of.”

  Holly-Anne had stormed through the door and made a bee-line for the places Trent used to hide his guns and weed. Now, he’d never been a big smoker, but there had been times when it was needed to reduce his stress. She’d also pointed out sharp table ends, lead-based paint, his need for a fenced in back yard, and locks on doors.

  The five-foot-two, rounded, red-faced woman had been a bit surprised to find Teal in the backyard at his grill that first day. She and Teal had spoken for almost two hours and when she’d come back inside, a huge smile had been plastered on her lips.

  Holly-Ann ducked her head. “Yeah, I can be a bit veracious, but I have to be. It isn’t often that a birth mother signs over parental rights to her baby while in prison. And if she does, it’s usually because she’s been forced to do so. While I live to protect innocent children,” she picked up a framed photo from her desk, “I understand that some of these mothers have been wrung dry within the system.”

  Placing the photo down, and shook her head. “You see, we are supposed to believe that children are our future, but once these underprivileged children turn into what people call menaces to society, we forget all about them.” She waived her hand in a dismissive gesture. “And as you know, Shayla is one of those forgotten children.”

  Trent felt as Teal stiffened beside her. Even though Shayla had shot Jake in the end, Teal had yet to forgive her for her earlier actions. While Trent hadn’t either, he knew Shayla’s path had not been an easy one, nor one she’d taken of her own volition.

  “Trent, I looked deeply into your past, only to find you were also one of those lost children.”

  Trent gritted his teeth to hold back his anger. “I ain’t lost.” His words were barely more than a whisper.

  Teal released his hand. “Not anymore.”

  A knock sounded at the door and Holly-Ann stood to move toward the door. “No, Trent, not anymore.” Opening the door, a tall, stern-faced woman stood with a baby bundled up in a little pink blanket.

  She entered the room and Trent stood. Making his way past Teal and Holly-Ann, he went straight to the woman and took his daughter in his arms. This wasn’t the way Trent had assumed he’d have his next child, but now that it was happening, he couldn’t imagine it any other way.

  He moved the pink blanket from over Emma Mae’s face. Wi
de, round eyes bore into him as a jaw-cracking yawn fell from her lips.

  Trent sensed Teal before she’d even fully appeared at his side. Her arm wrapped around his waist and she leaned in to peer at Emma Mae. As if sensing something was wrong, a screeching noise bellowed out of her little lungs. The screaming cry was so damned loud, Trent nearly dropped her.

  “Pat her butt.”

  Teal’s helpful words weren’t so helpful, since the damn little girl didn’t stop crying. Her wails only grew louder, and Trent’s anxiety ratcheted up several fucking notches.

  “Oh Lord, just give her to me.” Teal took the baby in her arms, soon turning Emma Mae’s cries into soft coos.

  Trent wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand and prayed to whatever God would listen, that he and his family would make it through all of the trials and tribulations, and to live out the life he’d always wanted.

  It’d been eight weeks since they’d brought Emma Mae home, and Trent had been under water ever since. Everything was new as fuck. He’d never made a bottle before, but had become a pro. Who knew a baby who only drank milk could shit out stuff that smelled of rotting flesh?

  Hearing Emma’s soft cries echoing throughout the house, he got out of bed, noticing that Teal wasn’t in their room. The clock read 3:13am, and though Emma slept through the night, some nights his little princess woke up screaming her guts out. He shuffled sleepily out of their bedroom.

  Moonlight filtered in through the light gray, gauzy window treatments in Emma Mae’s room. The soft light illuminated his girls, as they swayed in the old wicker rocking chair he’d salvaged. Teal faced the window, holding Emma Mae as she sung his little girl back to sleep.

  Trent tiptoed into the room, and without looking up, Teal spoke. “I had my doubts at first.” Her voice was a hushed whisper, as to not wake the baby. “I wasn’t sure how this would work. I didn’t know a lot about babies, but I think the second you put her in my arms, I realized everything might just be okay after all.”

  Trent crouched down beside her, watching as their baby slept in his wife’s arms. They’d married quickly after Trent had fully and legally adopted Emma Mae, and soon after the small civil ceremony in Trent’s backyard, Emma Mae also received a new momma. It hadn't even been Trent’s idea. Teal had sat him down and asked if it would be all right to legally adopt her. It was singularly the most important day of his entire life.

  Teal nuzzled Emma Mae and placed a brief kiss on the sleeping baby’s head. “I guess we have Shayla to thank for this gift.” She shook her head. “It’s funny how life works out. I just hope she finds the help she needs to get better.”

  After Shayla had taken a deal for a reduced sentence, Trent had told Teal everything about her past, and the meaning behind the words Shayla made her repeat over the phone to him.

  She was being held in a women’s correctional center in Georgia. Trent had sent her a letter, thanking her for offering Emma Mae a life she couldn’t provide, and Teal had sent her a letter stating the same. They hadn't heard back from her, but neither of them expected they ever would.

  Emma Mae stretched her little arm up and opened her delicate, pink fingers wide. Trent reached out and placed his pinky finger on her palm, just as she closed her fist and yanked her arm back down.

  “Hot damn,” Trent whispered. “Daddy’s little girl is strong.” Teal laughed. “Hey, you laugh all you want, I need to teach baby girl here how to fight off those nasty bastards who will want to get in her pants.” His voice took on a hard tone.

  “Oh geez, she is still a baby. We need to worry more about how she’ll develop after the effects of being born addicted to drugs.” Teal stared down at Emma, an expression of concern marring her beautiful face.

  It had been rough at first. Emma had been underweight, and refused to keep food down while in the hospital. But weeks of constant care and an attentive nursing staff had Emma Mae healthy and whole. Still, Teal worried. He caught her night after night, standing over her crib, watching as she slept.

  Trent watched as Emma Mae’s chest rose and fell. “Our girl will be just fine.”

  Teal bit her lip and sighed. “You think—will it be weird to hear her call me mom?”

  He looked at his woman, the uncertainty in her nearly doing him in. “Hell yeah.” Her eyes widened and he chuckled. “Because she’ll call you momma. That’s what we call moms here in the South.” Trent held a hand out to her. His bed called his name. “Come on, Momma.”

  Teal scrunched up her nose. “You cannot call me that, only Emma.” She had started calling Emma Mae by the first part of her name just to get under Trent’s skin.

  “I’ll call you whatever I damned well please.” He huffed as they headed back to the bedroom.

  Under the covers, Trent pulled Teal into his arms, her light snores sounding before her head had even hit the pillows. He chuckled and pressed his nose into her neck, taking in his woman’s sweet smell. Years back, he never thought he’d have this life, and now it was his reality.

  The second I heard the rumble of the motorcycles hauling ass down my street, I knew my past had officially come back to fuck me in the ass—hard and deep.

  Trent watched as Teal stared out of the front door into the darkened eyes of a debt he swore to keep years earlier. The little confessional he’d had with her months back revealed the majority of his secrets, but once again, like the fool he was, he’d held his deepest, darkest secret just beyond her reach. He’d thought to protect her from the man he could have become—from the sex, lies, and drugs that could have consumed his life. The second his vow walked through the door pushing past his woman and eying him like a fucking dart eyes a bull’s-eye, Trent new life came to an complete and utter stop. Now, his daughter and wife were in danger and Trent would stop at nothing to keep them safe.

  A lightning bolt of pain rocketed through Trent’s neck and out the other side. He grasped the bleeding wound and fell to one knee, keeping a hard grip on his weapon. Having been shot before, he easily ascertained the severity of the situation, or lack thereof. Shayla’s screams caused a sharp pain to radiate in his ear, adding to the nauseating sensations mixing in his gut.

  “It’s just a fucking flesh wound, woman,” he rasped.

  Shayla’s screams became blunt and muted, but no less hysterical.

  “Calm the fuck down.” The bullet had only grazed his neck, causing a deep enough wound to freak Shayla the hell out. He felt her hands on his neck, attempting to staunch the bleeding. Even as she tried to save his life, Trent wanted to wrap his bloody hands around her neck for getting them into this shit in the first place.

  By now, he was positive neither of them were going to die, at least not tonight. Ace and his boys wanted something from Trent, or he and Shayla would be in a hole in his backyard by now.

  He pushed Shayla away, and in a calm voice said, “Go get my kit.”

  Standing up, Shayla turned and faced the men surrounding them. Unable to get past the wall of armed men, she turned her questioning gaze back to his.

  “Let her the fuck by,” Trent croaked, his voice sounding craggy and broken. He felt like a pussy ass fool for letting these men get the jump on him without even getting off a warning shot. Trent caught Ace’s almost indiscernible nod, then watched as Gator turn sideways, leaving a few inches for Shayla to squeeze by.

  Ace reached out and grabbed her arm before she made it out the door. “Where is this kit?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Trent kneeling before him.

  He motioned to the door. “Hallway bathroom.”

  Ace nodded and turned to Shayla. “Don’t make me fuck you up. I don’t like hitting women, but that don’t mean I won’t.”

  Shayla nodded. Trent knew she was used to getting slapped around, but the fear in her eyes told him she wouldn’t do anything stupid enough to warrant Ace’s wrath. At this point, neither would he. There was a time when the battle was lost and you had to retreat to find a way out alive. Shayla and Trent were at that point. />
  “Good girl,” Ace muttered as he let her go. “Follow her, Mutt.” He spoke to the man who’d shot Trent. Crossing his arms over his chest, Ace watched as the two walked down the hall, then turned back. “I meant for that to go much smoother, but ol’ Mutt back there is always quick on the trigger.”

  Silence blanketed the room, until Shayla came back with the kit. Lifting up from his kneeling position, Trent sat on the corner of his bed and motioned for her to lay the box down beside him. Opening the box, he pulled some gauze out.

  Shayla moved to the other side of the bed and crawled over to Trent. He stopped fussing with the wound as her expert hands took over cleaning and prepping it for bandages. Realizing the gun was still in his hand, Trent lowered it to his lap. He was not giving up his weapon. They fucking owed him as much.

  “Why are we still alive?” He made eye contact with the leader.

  Ace holstered his weapon. “See this?” He pointed to his vest, the words Ace in the Hole scrolled across the aged leather in antiquated white stitching. A few more patches caught Trent’s eyes, but he kept going back to the phrase.

  “You already told me about that.” Trent kept his voice calm, making sure he didn’t rile them up anymore. Getting shot fucking hurt, and not even Shayla’s magic touch was soft enough to ease the burning trail of fire tearing through his neck.

  Ace reached into his back pocket causing Trent to tense. He pulled out a lighter and a worn out pack of cigarettes. “Calm down, Marine.” He looked to Mutt as he lit up. “Damn, I said no bloodshed, motherfucker. Now you got him all anxious and shit.”

  Mutt shrugged and stroked his beard, his ice-cold eyes boring into Trent’s. “They weren’t scared enough.”

  “You are one mean ass dude.” Ace’s chuckle told Trent the guy didn’t give a fuck that he’d been shot.

  He held tight to his gun, not sure if the ‘no bloodshed rule’ was still in effect.

  “Anyway, I am the man you call in for jobs you don’t have the stomach to do yourself. And maybe in my old age, my stomach ain’t what it used to be.” He took a long draw from his cigarette and released the smoke.