We get through the line and into the club and the whole time I’m thinking, a few drinks, a flirt here and there, and then I’m going home.
No screwing whatsoever.
And then I see him.
Chapter Two
Zane
I down the third shot of whiskey and relish the burn. It feels good to unwind after a long, hard day of work. Not that I didn’t love it. I slam the glass down and lean back, cracking my neck.
I had a great day at the shop. Time flew by, and I loved every minute of it. I only had one client all day, but he was so fucking grateful and happy for the portrait piece I gave him. I used to love the challenge of tattooing portraits, but it got old real quick. It's so draining. Not physically, but emotionally.
When someone comes in to get a portrait tattooed, more times than not it’s because they lost someone close to them. They cry when they come in, and then I have to hear all about it. I don’t mind being a shoulder to cry on, but damn. Fucking sucks.
Some days I feel more like a therapist than a tattoo artist.
If it’s not a person who’s passed away, it’s their boyfriend or girlfriend.
A few times I’ve even turned down requests. Yeah, I lose out on money when that happens, but I’m not going to tattoo a portrait of some chick’s ex on her. Not gonna happen. Once a girl came in, only eighteen years old, wanting to get a profile of her “soulmate” on her shoulder. I asked her how long they'd been together. One month. Yeah, I’m not fucking doing that.
I know where to draw the line.
Not today though. A proud pop wanted his son on his bicep, and I was fucking thrilled to make it happen.
I smile to myself and wave at Tony, the bartender closest to me, for another beer.
Jackson’s sitting next to me enjoying the club atmosphere. This is a normal night for the two of us. Usually we’re surrounded by more of the guys, but tonight the club's packed, and they’re on the prowl. He’s had a cocky grin on his face ever since we got here, and for good reason.
Jackson’s a playboy and every chick knows it, yet they fall right into his lap every night. He’s got a classically handsome thing going for him, and he knows how to let charm and alcohol convince any woman to spread her legs for him. He’s young and stupid, and going to knock up one of these broads one day.
He likes his reputation though. I don’t get it. He’s had more than one woman come up and slap him for fucking her in the back room and then leaving to go make out with someone else. He’s a fucking asshole. Every time, he just takes the hit and smiles. Like I said. Playboy. Asshole.
I’d prefer it if Needles were sitting next to me, but he had shit to do tonight. So I’m left with Jackson.
He drums his fingers on the bartop and looks at me as he asks, “Hard day?” He’s asking 'cause of the shots I’m knocking back, I'm sure. I’m not usually a heavy drinker. And if I’m being honest with myself, these shots aren’t because of the pride I have from today’s work. But I’d rather not think about the shit that’s eating at me. It’s not like I can change it.
Today's been a hard day, but not because of work. And no one here needs to know why. I school my expression and decide to focus on all the good shit going on in my life.
“Nah, fucking fabulous.” He snorts a laugh like he doesn’t believe me. “Not joking. Great day at the shop.”
He nods his head as Tony pushes our beers toward us. Cindy, the other bartender, looks pissed that Tony was the one to give us the beers. I’m not sure if she’s after Jackson’s dick or mine. I couldn’t really give two shits if she’s after me though. I just wanna drink and be distracted enough to forget. I’m not interested in women tonight. I make a mental note to avoid her for the rest of the night.
If it’s Jackson she’s after, she can have him. She knows what she’s getting into.
Jackson turns his back to the bar and faces the dance floor. The lights are dim, but the strobe and spotlights in the center of the room are enough to see all the women shaking their asses and putting on a show.
He stretches out and takes in the view. He does this shit all the time. Like it’s a fucking buffet. He does get all the pussy he wants, but he could at least be modest about it. Shit, I’m way better looking than that motherfucker, and even I don’t brag about tail as much as him. Being a playboy isn’t my thing though. Maybe I’m just pickier.
“Which one tonight?” he says with his typical cocky grin.
The bass drowns out the sounds of all the chatter and clinking of the glasses behind the bar.
And that’s when I see her. She’s fucking stunning.
I notice the pretty little blonde the moment she walks in. She’s curvy in all the right ways, and just my type.
I wasn’t in the mood for a lay tonight, but seeing that gorgeous body, fuck yeah I am now. She could be the distraction I need. I know her body can take a punishing fuck. Thick thighs, and an even thicker ass. Her hips sway a little as she walks.
I find myself mesmerized as she takes a seat at the far end of the bar. I watch her for a minute, waiting for her to look my way. She looks everywhere but at me, and it’s starting to piss me off.
My brow furrows, hating that I can’t get this broad’s attention.
She’s fucking gorgeous and I already know I want her. Tonight. In my bed. I’m definitely taking this sweet little thing home with me. I watch as her clutch slips off the bar top and she lets out a little yelp, nervously looking around to see if anyone noticed.
A short brunette sitting next to her says something I can’t hear, and then belts out a loud laugh and nearly twirls in her seat like the barstool is gonna spin for her.
I hadn’t noticed her friend before; too busy eyeing up that ass. My girl looks embarrassed by her friend but smiles anyway, shaking her head.
I can see the two of them being friends. A sassy over-the-top chick with a trendy bob and a more traditional beauty who’d keep her in line. I bet between the two of 'em, the brunette will be the first on the dance floor. I can only hope her friend lets loose and I can squeeze in to take her spot on the barstool.
Her gorgeous green eyes finally catch mine but she’s quick to look away with an innocent blush. I let a smirk kick up the corner of my lips. She’s fucking cute. And she’s got a pouty mouth and a heart-shaped face that add to the innocent look. I’d love to see those lips wrapped around my cock.
I stifle a groan as my dick hardens in my pants at that last thought. It’s been a while, a long while since I buried myself in some hot pussy.
She looks like a good girl though, and I don’t think it’s an act. That could be a problem. Or maybe it could add to the fun.
I’ve seen girls come in here acting all cute and innocent, but what they really want is some thick gangster cock. Just so they can say they got dirty with a bad boy. A few shots and they’re taking off their tops, letting anyone in here play with their tits.
I take another look at my sexy-as-fuck blonde and she’s still a little stiff as she orders a drink. Right now I wish Tony would let Cindy take over that end of the bar. He’s quick to get their orders and adds a little flourish to the pour of citrus vodka before adding some tonic or some shit to it. A girly drink. Yeah, she’s definitely a good girl.
Her friend orders a Long Island Iced Tea, and I snort. Of course she would. I clench my teeth. That drink could put a wrench in my plans. I’m not sure I want her friend getting wasted. I need Blondie coming home with me, not babysitting her reckless friend.
Blondie cocks her head and her friend holds up one finger. I grin. Good. Well that solves that problem.
The two of them keep chatting, but it’s mostly her friend doing the talking while Blondie just shakes her head and smiles. I can’t hear a damn thing they’re saying over the music.
I wish I could. I’m trying to think of how to cut in and lay on the charm. But I don’t know shit about this broad.
My girl looks like she doesn’t belong here. And she doesn’t. Neither
of them do. This is where the Koranav hangout. Everyone knows it in this town. The women in here are dancing to catch our attention. The men are Koranavs or prospects, or maybe associates. They're all men who are in on the business. Everyone knows what this place really is. Cops too, but they can’t prove a damn thing.
Not that it matters. This is just where we hang out and relax, not do business. To be honest, I still don’t feel like I fit in here. Not unless Needles is with me, or Nikolai.
I may be under the boss’s thumb, but I don’t like associating with most of these pricks. I look to my right. Like Jackson. I could do without this asshole. Still, it’s nice to get a drink. And in this town, this is the place to go to unwind.
Plus it’s expected of me. If I didn’t show up… well, that’s not a good look.
This sweet little thing obviously doesn’t know shit. And it doesn’t look like her friend does either. I want it to be true 'cause that makes it all the more challenging, and it means she doesn’t already have an opinion of who I am and what I do.
Blondie twists in her seat to reach down from her spot on the stool. The sight of her bending over to pick up her clutch makes my dick jump in my pants. Her long blonde hair sways gently as she sits upright and finally relaxes a bit.
I catch her peeking up at me through her thick lashes, but I keep my gaze focused on the TV at the back of the bar. I watch from the corner of my eyes as she takes a sip of her drink and a small smile slips into place. She sets the glass down carefully on the napkin and takes another covert look around.
The guys have eyes on her even though she doesn’t know it. Plenty of cops have come in here. We don’t do business here for that reason. It’d be fucking stupid to.
It’s obvious to me she’s not undercover, but the easiest way to tell if a woman is a cop is to try to fuck 'em. Jackson gets up from his seat next to me and licks his lips. His eyes are steady on the two of them.
That’s not gonna fucking happen. Not her, and not her friend. He’d blow this for me for sure.
I strong-arm him, stopping him from getting all the way up and his ass falls back onto the stool. A few people look up interestedly, including Blondie, but I don’t give a fuck. I shake my head with a grin, and the fucker actually pouts like I just took away his puppy.
She’s mine, and he’s not ruining this for me.
He looks me in the eyes and grudgingly gives in. “Fine, she’s all yours.”
I may not be high in the ranks. Shit they may not even think I really belong here, but I can sure as fuck call dibs on whoever I want. Simply because I’m a tough motherfucker, and everyone in here knows I could take them if I wanted. Shit, Vlad wanted me as a muscle man in the mob. Took a lot of guts for me to tell him it wasn’t going to happen. I wanted my shop and my art more than anything else. I thought it was going to be a showdown. Thank fuck for Nikolai.
Either way, I’m all hard muscle and every fucker in here knows not to mess with me. A few had to learn the hard way. A few others picked fights with me just to see if they’d win. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit cocky about going undefeated. Either way, Jackson has a reputation for fucking. Mine is for fighting.
If I want something, I’m gonna get it and no one’s stupid enough to get in my way. Of course if it was Vlad or Nikolai, it’d be a different story. The boss and the underboss are two people I don’t fuck with.
But they aren’t here tonight, and no one’s gonna stop me from pulling that dress up and feasting on that delicious pussy I know is between those thick thighs.
I down my beer and get up, ready to find out how sweet and innocent Blondie really is.
Chapter Three
Madeline
Trouble.
That’s the only word I can think of when I lay eyes on the stranger dressed all in black. Tall, dark-haired and incredibly handsome, the dude literally takes my breath away. At the other end of the bar with one other guy and throwing back shots of what I think is whiskey, he’s sitting there, staring at me with an intensity that makes me shiver all the way from across the room.
I can’t get over how handsome this guy is, tattoos and all. Seriously, I’m not one for tattoos, but this guy is so sexy that his ink only adds to his appeal.
I stare back, challenging him to look away. He doesn’t, and I’m almost spellbound by the way he continues to look at me. His gaze is so intense that I swear that my ovaries are doing the hokey-pokey.
But why is he staring at just me?
I know I’m not ugly, but there’s a sea of beautiful women on the dance floor who are probably more than willing go home with this guy and ride him like a mechanical bull.
Who says he’s looking at me because he wants to take me home and have sex? I wonder, even though I know that’s what most men in the club are here for. He might just think I look good.
I’m comforted by the thought and feel a surge of confidence at being admired, but the look in the handsome man’s eyes says otherwise. It seems to say, ‘You’re mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.’
I’m suddenly irritated. This is a guy, I feel, who’s used to getting his way with women.
Well, he won’t have his way with me, I vow. I don’t care how hot he is.
I’m about to turn my nose up, you know, to give him the proverbial snub, when the guy sitting next to him jumps up. I hadn't noticed him until this moment, but he's a hot piece of ass himself, and I wouldn't mind it if he came over to say hi. But oh no, Mr. Sexier's ass isn’t having it. He jumps up right after him and practically strong-arms the poor guy back down into his seat. The two exchange words before Mr. Sexier turns his intense gaze back on me. My heart thumps in my chest.
Oh no he didn’t.
“Holy shit!” Katie exclaims over the heavy thumping bass of the music and gawks. Just a second ago she'd been laughing with some annoying douche who’d bought her a drink, but apparently she has her eyes on the two of them, too. “Did you just see that? Dude just made that guy sit down like he was in time out.”
My mouth open and suddenly dry, I’m unable to respond because Mr. Sexier begins moving through the sea of undulating bodies toward our end of the bar. Even the way he moves is sexy, gliding forward with incredible swagger.
“I gotta go,” I squeak suddenly, ready to make a run for it. There’s no way I'm sticking around to be accosted by Satan himself.
“Oh no you don’t, missy,” Katie growls, clamping an arm down on my wrist and holding me in place. “You’re going to sit right here until Mr. Tall Bottle of Champagne gets to meet you.”
“Let me go,” I hiss, watching the man, who's almost halfway to us. I can’t believe Katie is doing this to me. I’m totally petrified. “I don’t wanna talk to that guy.”
Katie scowls at me in disbelief. “You’re crazy. Do you see how hot he is?” She stares right at him, and I wanna hide. She’s making it so obvious!
“That’s the very reason I’m trying to get away. Now let go!” I try to pry her fingers off, but Katie is a stubborn bitch.
“No,” Katie refuses. “You’re going to give this guy a chance. Live a little.”
Bitch.
I tug sharply, trying to disengage from Katie’s grip and run for safety, but she suddenly appears to have the super strength of Wonder Woman and I’m kept in place. I’m about to summon everything I've got to shove Katie off her barstool, but too late. Trouble has arrived.
“Mind if I have a seat?” asks a deep, sexy voice that sends goosebumps up along my arm. I almost close my eyes as my pussy clenches with need.
I turn to look up into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and my breath catches in my throat. Now that he’s up close, I can see he’s even more handsome than he looked from across the bar, if that’s even possible. His features are perfectly chiseled, with a strong jawline, sharp cheekbones and a cleft in his chin. The way his dark hair hangs down just above his eyes makes him look all the more enigmatic.
I can see the tattoo on his arm clearly
now. It’s a serpent, and it’s a beautiful piece of art. It wraps around his arm in a tight coil. The rest of the sleeve is jam-packed with a combination of scrolls and intricate designs, with layers of colors that blend seamlessly. I find my eyes focusing on all the detail and wondering how long it took. Hours, no, days. And holy hell, it must’ve hurt.
Katie turns in her seat and smiles up at the stranger, acting as if she hasn’t just held me hostage. “Not at all, Mr….?”
“Zane,” the handsome man supplies.
Fuck. Even his name is sexy. There’s no way I’m going to survive this. This is what I get for spending so much time away from men. The first one that gives me any attention is knocking me flat on my ass.
Katie beams and offers her hand. “Nice to meet you, Zane. I’m Katie, and this is my friend Madeline.”
I lean over and whisper in Katie’s ear, “I am SO going to kill you for this.”
Zane quickly shakes Katie’s hand and then offers me his. I stare at it for a moment like it’s a snake before taking it. The minute our hands touch, I feel a jolt of electricity go up my arm. Seriously, it’s like a thousand volts just shot through my body and I swear my hair must be sticking up like I just stuck my finger in a power outlet. I wanna pull away, but I can’t. I’m paralyzed.
“Nice to meet you, Madeline,” Zane says in that deep, throaty voice of his, shaking my hand, unaware that his touch is doing some serious things to my body. After a moment, he lets go of my hand and I feel a twinge of disappointment.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I manage, but I’m barely audible over the music and I’m sure Zane doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t seem to care though, and his eyes continue to burn into me.
Katie suddenly jumps off her stool. “I was just telling Maddy here that I needed to take a tinkle.” She motions at the packed bar. “You can have my seat until I get back.” Oh. My. God. She did not just say tinkle. Kill me now.
Inked: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance Page 2