Full Contact

by Sarah Castille

  My breath leaves me in a rush. “I know I’ve asked a lot of you to keep that secret.”

  Tag groans. “Sorry, Sia. I didn’t say that because I was trying to make you feel guilty. I don’t regret the decision we made and I would do it again in a heartbeat if you asked. It’s just all coming back because of this case I’m working on. It’s driving me fucking crazy. I can’t think about anything else. Even going to the gym is an effort because it takes me away from the investigation.”

  The treatment room door opens and Doctor Death pops his head out. I smile and mouth “one second,” and he gives me a wink.

  “Do you want to talk about it? We can meet up this week after work.”

  Expecting him to decline, I am momentarily floored when he says yes he needs to talk about it, but it can’t be with me. When I suggest Jess and he says he’ll think about it, my heart skips a beat. It must be really bad if he would consider talking to Jess.

  After taking a few minutes to calm myself, I check out Doctor Death’s tat, a beautifully wrought scroll of Syndee’s name on his beautifully taut ass, and make a few suggestions for covers. When we’re done, Doctor Death makes a tat appointment with Rose, and I follow him out to grab a coffee from the snack shop, returning to the studio just as all hell breaks loose.

  “This is my fucking team.” Slim bangs his fist on Rose’s desk and glares at a scowling Torment. “I thought we had an understanding. I’m grateful for the use of the space and the equipment but I do have a reputation to protect. Half the clients coming into this shop are my clients. You want to paint a damn car race on the wall, do it when we’re gone.”

  “It’s my studio.” Torment’s growl echoes through the room and Christos and Duncan shudder. “I own it, and I hired Seth to paint. He’s here. He’s got his equipment. And I want it done now.”

  Seated on the couch, Seth, a tall, thin redhead with a scraggly beard, swallows hard. “I…can come back another time.”

  “You will NOT come back another time.” Torment folds his arms and poor Seth cringes under the ferocity of his scowl. “I hired you to do it now, and you’ll do it now.”

  “Is it the timing or the design that’s the problem?” Impressed by Slim’s willingness to stand up to the man whose name alone instills fear into the hearts of most fighters, I touch him on the arm to draw his attention.

  Slim grabs a picture from Rose’s hands and thrusts it at me. “Look.”

  Although I try not to grimace at the brightly colored scene of a NASCAR race, my mouth curls.

  “It’s a…very nice piece,” I say to Torment. “But it’s not really right for a tattoo studio. You’ve been in other studios before. Usually the feel is edgier, more offbeat, something to draw people’s attention away from the pain of the needle, and take them out of their everyday life. Tattoos aren’t mainstream. And the people who get them want to feel that they are making a statement. The shop is part of that statement. A stock car race scene isn’t really the right vibe.”

  “Don’t recall inviting you to be part of the conversation.” Torment’s voice rises to a shout. “This has nothing to do with you, so stay out of it.”

  “Voice.”

  Torment’s head jerks up, and I look back over my shoulder. Ray is standing in the doorway, arms folded, one ankle crossed in front of the other. Artlessly casual to anyone who doesn’t know him. A warning to those who do.

  “Oooooh,” Rose whispers. “The cavalry has arrived.”

  “Not your fight, Predator. Move on.” Torment dismisses him with a jerk of his head, but Ray doesn’t move.

  “Sia wants this fight, she’s got this fight.” His gaze flicks to me and back to Torment. “But you shouting at my girl, that’s my fight.”

  Torment’s lip curls. “Man’s agitated, he’ll speak however he wants. And Sia interfering in my discussion with her boss is agitating.”

  Emboldened by all the support, Slim steps forward. “That’s ’cause you know she’s right. And I’ll tell you something else. You have Red over there paint a fucking car race in the shop, and we’re outta here.”

  “I’m doing you a favor letting you work here.”

  “We’re both benefiting from this arrangement,” Slim says. “And I’m only asking for a coupla weeks, then my shop will be fixed up and we’ll be outta your hair for good. But in the meantime, we’ve got an image to uphold. We’re Rabid Ink, not fucking Race Car Alley. A gal who comes in to get her clit pierced or her boobs inked doesn’t give a damn about race cars.”

  Rose snorts behind her screen. She held my hand when Duncan pierced me. Jess, of course, held the other.

  “Why don’t you let Sia do it?” Ray says quietly. “She paints. I’ve seen her work, and it’s damn good. Edgy stuff, although she might have to tone down the color.”

  “No.” I glare at Ray. “I don’t paint anymore. I haven’t painted for years. I’m not interested.”

  “You painted the other night.”

  My stomach clenches at his betrayal. I opened myself up for him and only him, and he’s exposing me to the world. Why doesn’t he just tell them what else we did?

  Torment studies me, considering, and then looks at Slim. “Sia or the car race. I’ll expect an answer in fifteen minutes. And if neither of those work for you, feel free to clear out.” He stalks toward the door, pausing only because Ray doesn’t move. “Predator, I’ll see in the ring Friday night. No one fucking tells me to lower my voice in my own gym.”

  Ray gives him a curt nod and steps to the side to let him pass. Red grabs his art bag and scurries after him. The room heaves a collective sigh.

  “I’m not doing it,” I say to Slim. “Duncan’s an amazing artist. I’m sure Torment will be happy with whatever he comes up with.”

  “He said it had to be you.” Slim puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Sia. We’re making a killing here. The next coupla weeks could cover us for the clients we’ve lost since the shop was closed.”

  “I don’t care if we have to leave or if we have to work in a shop with a car race on the wall. And it’s totally unfair of you to put this on me. I won’t do it. I won’t even consider it. I don’t paint anymore. So leave me alone.”

  A shocked Slim puts up his hands in a warding gesture. “Hey. Chill. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

  “It is.” Nausea curls in my belly, and I head to the staff room, painfully aware of Ray following behind me. He closes the door and I can’t bring myself to turn around. Usually this room is an oasis, furnished with soft, caramel sofas, a plush beige area rug, and dark wooden tables. Torment spared no expense and fitted it out with a fridge, sink, hot plate, and a coffee maker so complicated we all go to the café for our caffeine fix.

  “What’s going on?” Ray’s voice echoes in the quiet space.

  “What’s going on? How can you even ask that question?” I turn to face him, my body shaking with anger. “When I painted the other night…it was supposed to be just between us. I thought you understood that. I wasn’t opening a door that I closed years ago. This is who I am now. Ink is what I do.” My hands tremble and I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Just because I let you see that side of me doesn’t mean that’s who I am anymore. You saw what happens to me when I open that door. I felt exposed out there. Vulnerable. I promised myself a long time ago I would never feel that way again.”

  He studies me for so long, I look away. Finally, he folds his arms and leans against the doorjamb. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why does letting people know you can paint make you feel vulnerable? Everyone in the shop knows you’re an artist. They see your work every day. Is it such a stretch to let them know you paint too?”

  “You don’t understand.” My voice rises in pitch. “You don’t know me or why I stopped painting. I can’t go back. I have to keep moving forward. You can’t just railroad through my life and decide I should paint again. Just like you can’t go behind my back to find out what happened to me
. It’s not that simple.”

  “I don’t understand because you won’t talk to me.” Ray lets out a breath and turns to the door. “The problem isn’t that I don’t know you, but that you don’t trust yourself enough to let me in.”

  * * *

  The shop is inundated with fighters for the rest of the week. We are so busy that Christos cancels his gig, Rose divides her time between reception and sterilizing equipment in the autoclave, and I am partially distracted from the fact Ray hasn’t called, but then, coward that I am, I haven’t called him either.

  Doctor Death comes in for his arm cover, and I ink my best broken heart ever into his skin while he tells me that relationships are not worth the heartache and it is easier and safer to just sleep around. When I tell him I think he just may be right, he squeezes my hand and tells me we can have a more intimate conversation about it next week when we’re alone in the treatment room and I’m doing his ass.

  Friday morning, we get a new walk-in off the street, Yuri, who makes even Rampage seem small. The massively muscled, tall, blond Dolph Lundgren look-alike watches Rose and I from the client sofas while we rejig the morning schedule to fit him in, his ice-blue eyes so piercing I shiver. Rose whispers that his gold bracelets, blockhead haircut, and the multiple gold rings on this left hand, coupled with his dark, fine wool suit, scream Russian mafia. She thinks he is more terrifying than attractive and not worth the effort of her making a play. I whisper back that she has made a wise decision. She has enough men to juggle, and Yuri doesn’t seem the juggling type.

  Although I have a slot free, when he pops his knuckles and cracks his neck, I foist him off on Duncan. I get enough nonverbal aggressive communication from Tag and Ray. I don’t need any more.

  Turns out Yuri is a talker. While he waits for Duncan to finish with his client, he tells us he’s been in the U.S. for five years and is very interested in MMA fighting. He asks lots of questions about the club and some of the fighters. He even knows of the Predator, which is curious, since Ray only fights on the underground circuit and not for the club. But if he’s interested in fighting, it makes sense that he’d know about the underground fights.

  Slim returns that afternoon, after spending the week trying to speed up the renos at the old shop. I catch him in the staff room and apologize again for not being able to do the mural and forcing the team out of our new digs. He tells me it isn’t my fault, and this wasn’t his first altercation with Torment. They’ve been butting heads over the division between managing and owning the shop, but mostly over me.

  “Me?” I pause on the threshold of the doorway and look back over my shoulder. “What do I have to do with it?”

  “He wants you to run this shop. He’s been angling to poach you away from day one.”

  “You’re crazy.” I gesture vaguely around the tattoo parlor. “Look at this place. It’s every artist’s dream shop. He could get anyone. He could pull in some big names, make it one of the top shops in the city.”

  Slim’s forehead wrinkles with consternation. “He wants you and he’s the kind of man who gets what he wants. Anyone with half a brain can see you’re a gifted artist, and you’re building a client base here faster than you ever did at my studio. He sees your potential, same as me. If you want to stay, I won’t get in your way. But if you really don’t want what he’s offering, you’d better be prepared when he walks through that door. He’s not going to take no for an answer.”

  We finish our last clients just before eight p.m., and I offer to tidy and lock up just for the opportunity to have some time alone before the big fight. After I’m finished, I sit on the client couch and stare at the bare wall where the mural is supposed to be. If this was my shop, I wouldn’t paint a mural on the wall. Instead, I’d fill the space with paintings from local artists. Give people a chance to be seen.

  If this was my shop. Am I really even considering it?

  The door opens and my breath catches when Torment walks in and joins me on the couch. He’s wearing only his fight shorts with a towel around his neck, no doubt ready to tear Ray limb from limb at the fight tonight. He is broader than Ray and more muscular. Taller too. But for some reason, his toned body does nothing for me—especially when he’s intending to pound on Ray.

  “Busy day?”

  “Yeah.” I look over at him and raise an eyebrow. “Slim thinks you sent all those fighters this week to keep us too busy to pack up.”

  “He’s right.”

  Startled by his candor, I bite my lip. “He also says you’re trying to steal me away from him.”

  “True. You’re wasting your time in his shop. You have the drive and personality and talent to make this place great. I don’t want to see you throw it away.”

  My hand clenches by my side. “I’m happy with Slim. And he would never forgive me if I abandoned him.”

  “Slim is safe,” he says. “His shop is comfortable. You have a pretty good idea who’s going to walk in the door every day. But he’s got no ambition, no drive. Safe is good when you’re starting out, but it won’t let you grow. You need to spread your wings. Take a risk. Grab this opportunity with both hands even though it scares you.”

  “So, is this your poaching technique?” I raise an eyebrow and lean back on the comfy leather couch. “Tell your target it’s for her own good and her life will be better if she comes to work for you?”

  “I do what it takes,” he says with a laugh. His smile fades. “But it’s not just me. Slim knows it’s time for you to go. He sees how you’ve changed since you’ve come to Redemption. That’s why he’s overreacting.”

  Squirming in my seat, I stare at the wall. He’s right. I do feel different since I started working here, but I chalked it up to being in a beautiful shop and knowing most of the clients. And Ray. He has awakened things inside me I thought I’d locked up with my paintings so long ago. Hope. Desire. And a longing to be free.

  Torment waits while I lock up and we walk through the gym, toward the ring set up for his match with the Predator. Despite our altercation this afternoon, I would never miss this fight, especially since he’s fighting because of me.

  “I’ve known Ray for a few years,” he says, stopping when we reach the ring. “Keeps his personal business to himself. He’s never once asked me for anything.” Torment stares at me and I shiver under the force of his gaze. “He came to see me on Monday. He asked me to take back my ultimatum.”

  A ball of emotion wells up in my throat, tightening my chest. “Oh.”

  His face softens. “Actually, he didn’t ask. He told me that’s how it was going to be. I thought you should know.”

  My heart swells at the thought he tried to make things right. “Thanks.”

  Torment smiles an evil Torment smile. “Of course, I said no.”

  * * *

  “He said no?” Makayla’s voice rises to a shriek when I share Torment’s parting words with her, Jess, Shayla, and Amanda on the bleachers overlooking the fight ring. Soft and curvy, with auburn hair and bright green eyes, Torment’s girlfriend is almost his opposite in every way.

  “Oh my God.” Her brow creases in a frown. “Sometimes Torment can be such an ass. Just wait until I get him home. I’ll bet he said no to wind the Predator up. He likes to psych out his opponents before a fight.” She grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Don’t worry about anything. You won’t have to leave the studio. I’ll give him a no he won’t forget. One night alone in his bed after he’s all revved up after a fight will teach him a lesson. I’ll have him eating out of my hand by morning.”

  Shayla pulls out a bottle of vodka and some Dixie cups and pours us all a shot. As we drink, Torment, Renegade, Blade Saw, and Tag amble over to our bleachers and then stand semi-clustered below us.

  “What’s going on?” Jess frowns when Blade Saw looks up over his shoulder and winks.

  “They think we’re going to be ravaged by a horde of inebriated, overexcited fighters so they’ve set up a defensive zone.” Amanda twists a str
and of her long, blond hair around her finger. When I first met her, I knew right away she was the woman who had broken Jake’s heart. Not from her breathtaking good looks, but from the way he stood, shielding her with his body, protecting her from me.

  Jess chokes on her vodka and her smile fades. “Blade Saw isn’t like that. He’s more of a friendly protective type. He’d be like, ‘Hey, guy, you want me to buy you a beer so you have something else to do with your hand than put it on my girl’s ass?’ And then he’d be all cool about it. Become best friends with the dude. Not much gets him riled up. He’s probably down there because he feels he should, not because of some primal protective instinct.”

  “So are you with him or not?” Makayla tilts her head to the side and gives Jess a questioning look. “I saw the two of you together at Amanda’s party.”

  Jess gives a noncommittal shrug. “We’re sort of together, but it’s pretty casual. I like to leave myself open to options.”

  I snort and almost choke on my vodka. Jess looks over and frowns.

  “What’s with you and Ray?” Amanda leans back on the bleachers, her lips quivering with a repressed smile. “You guys put on quite a show at my place. Never thought I’d see Ray hook up with someone.”

  Now it’s my turn for noncommittal. “We’ve hung out a couple of times. It’s nothing serious. Neither of us wants a relationship.”

  Amanda and Makayla share a glance, and then Amanda lifts an eyebrow. “Really?”

  My stomach clenches. Ray does PI contract work for Amanda and, according to Tag, they are also good friends. Does she know something I don’t know?