Secret Exposure_a bad boy new adult romance novel

by London Casey

  I ripped open the back door and Prick was walking out of his room. He threw his hands up.

  “Whoa. Angry? What did that door ever do to you?”

  “What’s this meeting about?” I asked.

  “Guess we have to check with the boss,” Prick said.

  He winked and flicked his tongue against the loop that was through his bottom lip. I had visions of sometimes grabbing that fucking thing and yanking it right out, like ripping the top off a fresh carton of orange juice.

  Prick winked and strutted away. He had a cocky swagger about him but he definitely could back it up.

  I walked to the front of the shop to find Tate standing in his office, the door open. I hung back near the counter, leaning against the glass case. I heard the wet pop! of a bubble and glanced over my shoulder to see Danielle chomping on some neon pink gum. She looked at me, blue eyes bright, then looked away. With just the curl of my lip she eased back off the counter and sat down in her chair.

  I put an elbow on the glass and waited for Tate to speak.

  These meetings, sometimes they were just…

  Tate pointed to Danny. He was our bitch in St. Skin. Nice guy, forever wanting a piece of the bad-boy tattooing life. Danny quickly opened the door and held it open.

  “That’s why we’re here,” Tate said. “That door. Every time that door opens. That’s what we’re here for: to see who comes through that door. To figure out their story, what they want, what they need. Coming through those doors with a broken heart that only ink can help fix. Needing a permanent memory, a visual memory, something they can carry for the rest of their lives. That’s why we’re here.”

  I stood tall. Tate officially had my attention.

  The entire shop was quiet, and even Danielle wasn’t chomping on her gum or blowing annoying bubbles. She was listening intently. It almost sounded like Tate was about to shut the shop down or do something crazy.

  Crazy was just in our nature.

  “We tell stories. We make money. There’s no shame in that. But what about our story? The story of St. Skin. This little shop that’s taken over the world. Right?”

  Everyone started to nod.

  I didn’t give two shits about telling my story.

  “It’s no secret we’ve been approached several times about a reality show,” Tate said. “We’ve done features. We’ve done a lot. I would never force you all to sign a TV contract, but I would like to get our story told.”

  “Shit,” I whispered.

  Tate pointed to me. “Maddox, easy now, man. We’re not signing a TV deal.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “Last thing we need is unwanted…”

  My voice trailed off and someone came through the open door to St. Skin. A woman with a camera around her neck. It was the same woman who snapped a picture of me outside. The unwanted picture. Snapped a picture and then took off.

  I stepped forward, already angry.

  “This,” Tate said, “is Hazel.”

  I stopped walking. She looked at me.

  Hazel. With bright green eyes. Dark hair. Damn near breathtaking, even though she was on my shit list already.

  “I hired her to take pictures,” Tate said. “We’re going to capture St. Skin through pictures. The same thing we give to those who walk through the door. She’s got full access to this entire place. So, don’t be shocked if she shows up in the strangest places and snaps a picture. I want this to be intimate. I want this to be real.”

  “What’s this for?” Cass asked. “I’m not sure how I feel about Diem and Paisley getting their pictures taken.”

  “Nothing will be posted or published or bought or sold without full disclosure and agreement. I will also be making sure that everyone gets their pictures. So, Cass, nobody is going to take a picture of Paisley and throw it on the internet. But imagine having those moments that you don’t even know are happening?”

  I started to walk away.

  “Maddox,” Tate said.

  I stopped and looked back. “Yeah?”

  “This is a no-option thing,” Tate said. “This is for the growth of the business. Trust me. You’re going to get a lot out of this.”

  I stood without saying a word.

  Then to my shock, Hazel lifted her camera.

  Just as she was about to take the picture, I put my fist out and lifted my middle finger.

  2

  HAZEL

  PRESENT DAY

  I definitely meant to take his picture. Twice.

  I liked to find the pictures nobody would think to take. Yes, it was fun to set up a shoot. Find the right lighting, the right angle, the right clothing, the right accessories in the picture. But to me there was nothing more organic and beautiful than a picture you never thought you’d get.

  That’s why the first picture I took upon arriving at St. Skin was of this huge man, muscular arms sticking out of his t-shirt, tattoos everywhere, slightly glancing at me as he flicked a cigarette into the air. The cigarette was turned, the burning end facing him, his hand open, lips parted, a hint of smoke leaving his mouth. Probably one of the coolest and most bad-ass pictures I could take. Capturing the whole tough guy, outlaw kind of persona that seemed to overflow from the tattoo shop.

  I snapped the picture and then got the hell out of there.

  I could have stayed and explained myself. But when that guy looked at me, I felt like he was cutting through me. Suddenly, I was the one exposed. The way he took a step and then froze. Seeing me. Really seeing me. As though I was standing there naked. As though he had the camera.

  It was a really strange moment and that’s why I abandoned it.

  But then I had to walk into the tattoo shop, alone, and face all these people. People whose lives I’d be invading. And I would waste no worry on that, either. It was my job to get involved and get pictures that would forever stand the test of time. It was the biggest job of my life, too. But it came with a strong warning from the guy who owned St. Skin: some of the guys didn’t want to be bothered and I would have to bother them.

  So, when the guy from out back, Maddox, took his stand after I made my entrance, I knew what I had to do. The moment he stopped and looked back, I readied the camera. I planned on just getting a great shot of him looking really pissed off. I didn’t expect to get him throwing the middle finger at his boss.

  It was perfect.

  I glanced down at my screen and saw what I had captured. That chiseled jaw. The perfect features of his face. The scruff on his face, desperately in need of a shave or a trim.

  Right then and there I was hooked.

  And I was headed for trouble.

  “So that’s Maddox,” Tate said with a smile.

  “I think he’s mad at me because I took a picture of him out back.”

  “He’ll get over it. He doesn’t like this part. Can’t blame him. He’ll hate me now but love me later. Come into my office for a minute.”

  I turned and saw everyone looking at me. Tate gave me the full approval to bring in anyone else I wanted, too. I planned on setting up some actual shoots at some point, but this was about really getting into the world of St. Skin. By far better than capturing a cliche wedding, but it also had a hint of danger. I wasn’t sure whether I liked that or not.

  I sat across from Tate.

  He looked too big and awkward in a leather chair. I almost felt like I was in some movie, meeting the big-shot drug dealer. He put his hands on his desk and I looked at the ink on his wrists. He grabbed for a pen and then opened his drawer and took out a check.

  “Just to you?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said. As Tate started to write, I quickly lifted my camera and took a picture.

  He stopped and raised an eyebrow at me.

  I pressed a button and turned the camera around. I got a shot of him signing his name at the bottom of the check. It was good shit. This buff, tattooed guy writing on a professional-looking check. It blurred the lines of what people assumed businesspeople to look like. />
  “I like it,” he said. “This is going to be weird for me, too.”

  “Can I ask why? I mean, this whole thing?”

  Tate wrote the check out to me. A pretty good-sized check. One that would keep the lights on for me for a little longer.

  He put his hand on the piece of paper. “The shop was built on a dream. It became lucrative. I worked my ass off to make sure of that, and while the money is important, it’s almost secondary to the art and the story and the purpose. I could sign a seven-figure deal right now with a television network and have this place plastered on millions of TVs, phones, whatever. But I don’t want to lose its essence. You’re going to capture that essence.”

  “Then you’ll sell your soul for seven figures?” I asked.

  “I’ll do what’s best for my business,” he said. He slid the check to me.

  “Feel free to make this seven figures, though,” I said. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

  Tate grinned. “I’m paying you, Hazel. If I signed the right deal, they’d pay me.”

  I folded the check. “Thank you for this, Tate. You have no idea…”

  “You came recommended. I expect you to make more enemies than friends here.”

  “I hit it off with Maddox,” I said.

  Tate laughed. “I don’t think Maddox has ever hit it off with anyone.”

  I stood up and thanked Tate again.

  It was time for me to get to work.

  I opened the door to the office and watched the business. I heard the music. A different song came from each room. There were walls that were built almost to the ceiling. It was open, yet private. Open enough that the buzz of the needles and the music carried throughout the place. It definitely had its own vibe to it.

  Two people sat on a leather couch. They had a large book open, flipping through pictures of tattoos. The book was mismatched, sloppy, almost like a glorified binder of baseball cards. I crouched down and took a picture from the side.

  I wandered around the front, just taking it all in.

  Next to me, there was a woman at the counter. She leaned forward, chomping annoyingly on a piece of gum. The gum was neon pink. She blew a big bubble, popped it, and then fought to get the stuff back into her mouth. I stepped to the side and waited for her to do it again.

  I caught the picture.

  She caught me.

  “Don’t show Tate that,” she said. “He hates when I do that.”

  “I’ll defend you,” I said. “Here, check it out.”

  The picture was really neat.

  Standing there, the backdrop being the neon sight of St. Skin, showing in reverse, obviously. The giant neon-pink bubble, the way her lips were pouty, her eyes almost rolling as though she was annoyed to be there.

  I could see why Tate might get upset, but it was a picture. It was a really good one at that.

  “Hey, can you kind of give me a quick tour?” I asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” she said. “I’m Danielle.”

  “I’m Hazel.”

  Danielle led the way. She took me down a hall and pointed to each door. Some were open, some shut. I gathered the names the best I could. Cass. Axel. Max. River. Prick. Maddox.

  Maddox’s door was shut.

  I didn’t hear anything going on in there, though.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said to Danielle. “I don’t want to hold you up.”

  “Hey, if you’re looking for a story or something, you should talk to Cass. He was a famous rockstar once. He’s got guitars on the wall, and a beautiful daughter. I just love pictures of tattooed guys holding babies.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” I said.

  I waited for Danielle to walk away.

  Then I grabbed the doorknob to Maddox’s door.

  I felt sneaky, maybe a little dirty, but I knew something…where there was a pissed-off set of eyes, there was a good story. I had been living my own for years. I had been immersed in secrets that would make some of these rough and tough men feel weak.

  I slowly opened the door, expecting it to scream as if someone’d stepped on a cat’s tail. But it was silent. And I was able to see Maddox. Standing with his head down, hands gripped the edges of the counter where he kept all his supplies.

  The silence was deafening.

  I grabbed for my camera, but couldn’t get it positioned the right way. So I backed up a step and pulled the door almost shut. I readied the camera, knowing that if Maddox caught me, he’d probably get even more pissed at me.

  I started to shake. That was just the instinct, though. That part of my secret I was able to manage. Which was good. With my camera, I felt protected and safe. I felt like I held the truth…or I held the story I wanted to tell, to cover up the truth.

  I pushed the door open again, ready to capture another amazing picture of Maddox.

  Instead, I snapped a picture of Maddox’s bare ass.

  3

  MADDOX

  PRESENT DAY

  Did she think I didn’t notice her?

  I stood in my office, as I called it, and took a few breaths to clear my head. I didn’t need to throw sticks and stones at Tate for something he didn’t do to me over something he didn’t understand at all. I had two tattoos on the schedule for the day, and I needed to focus on that. I put the two sketches on the counter and stared at them. One was a forearm piece. A woman was getting the ink to cover up some mistakes she made on herself during a time when she felt alone and unwanted. I convinced her to let me tattoo over the scar marks with lines so she could forever see them and know what they meant. The other tattoo was a pocket watch with the time, 1:47. I hadn’t gotten close enough to the guy to ask the significance of that time, but I couldn’t wait to hear the story.

  What I could do without was my door opening.

  I gave a quick glance and knew it was Hazel.

  Hazel with green eyes.

  Those four words pelted me like rain blowing sideways in a windstorm, stinging like tiny razors.

  I looked again, and she was gone.

  But the door wasn’t shut.

  She was trying to get another picture of me.

  I didn’t know what her game was. Maybe she was going to pick one person at a time and fucking torture them. I wasn’t in the mood for it, though. Standing out back having a smoke break was my me-time. It was my world to just do whatever. Throwing the middle at my boss, that was my thing. I didn’t need visual proof of it to be thrown in my face.

  And now this?

  I had a few things in mind, but one stuck.

  Stick and stones…words…fine.

  What about my ass?

  Literally.

  My bare ass.

  I ripped open my belt buckle and dropped my jeans down. I bent over a little and looked in the mirror.

  There appeared Hazel, still trying to be sneaky.

  Sticking her nose in my business, holding her camera.

  She took a picture before realizing what she was taking a picture of.

  I looked over my shoulder as it hit her.

  Hazel with the greens eyes now had green eyes, red cheeks, and an open mouth.

  In shock.

  I laughed.

  “Get what you wanted, sugar?”

  Just like that, Hazel disappeared.

  I hiked up my jeans, fix my belt buckle, and looked down at my sketches.

  It was time to focus.

  I had to be ready to tattoo people.

  To do my fucking job.

  I lasted all of two minutes.

  I looked in the mirror again and growled.

  I half-expected to see Hazel there with her damn camera.

  Maybe she was looking at the picture of my ass.

  I couldn’t focus, so I left my office.

  I went to the backdoor to clear my head.

  I opened the door and Hazel was standing there, camera in hand…again.

  She was slightly crouched, the camera pointed up at an odd angle. She looked at me, her eyes st
raining to look up. Those green eyes. Man, those green eyes were something. She was frozen, as though I was in the way.

  Hell, I was in the way.

  But I wasn’t going to move.

  There was silence, and I was fine with that. I could stand there all day and wait her out.

  “Do you mind?” she finally asked.

  “Do you mind?” I threw back at her.

  “I’m trying to get a picture here.”

  “Of what? My nose hairs? My ass wasn’t enough?”

  Hazel with the green eyes sighed. “I’m trying to get the angle of the back of the building. There’s such a huge contrast.”

  “Contrast with what?” I asked. I stepped out of the building and joined her outside. “Thought you were supposed to take pictures of us?”

  “Well, since you’re so photogenic,” Hazel said. “I think the building is better to work with.”

  I laughed.

  It was a quick laugh, but in that two seconds of laughter, Hazel with the green eyes turned the camera to me and snapped another picture. That killed the laugh pretty damn quick.

  I watched her finger slide to the button. Before she could press it again, I put my hand to the camera. I touched a couple of her fingers. I told myself not to even start to think about how soft her fingers were. Or that her nail polish was chipped, in need of touching up, but she didn’t seem the type that gave a damn about that kind of stuff. Instead of that, I stared down at her, curling my lip.

  “I don’t like this,” I whispered.

  “I was paid to do this.”

  “You keep this up, and I’ll give you something to take a picture of.”

  “Like what?”

  She wasn’t quite bold, but she stood her ground. She looked way too nervous, though, which reflected back on me.

  I slid my hand under the camera and lifted it up. “You ever take a selfie with this big camera?”