Inked: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance

by Lauren Landish

  “Well, well, well. Look at what we have here,” she says with a huge smile plastered on her face.

  “Hey,” Zane greets her politely.

  Katie encircles her arm around Zane’s sculpted waistline and looks up at him admiringly. “Sup, hot stuff?”

  I roll my eyes at Katie’s silliness.

  Zane chuckles. “Not much.”

  “Can you believe he lives right next door?” I demand. For some reason the sight of Katie’s arms around Zane is irritating me, though I don’t know why. It’s not like we're an item. Or like Katie would ever go after a guy I liked. My brow furrows at the thought. Do I like him? It’s nothing. It’s fine. Whatever.

  “Nope. Can you believe these abs, though?” she marvels, actually running her hands along Zane’s muscular lines that are slick with sweat.

  “Get your hands off him!” I snap with so much venom it causes Katie to jump away from Zane.

  “Damn, Maddy, I didn’t realize he was your property.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek and stare at the house.

  She’s right. I don’t know what’s come over me. I ran away from Zane like he was the devil last night, and here I am getting pissed because Katie's admiring his perfect body?

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize to Zane quickly, my cheeks burning from embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Zane has an amused smirk on his face. He doesn’t look bothered by my outburst in the least. In fact, I think he liked it. “It’s cool.”

  “And you were calling me bitchy earlier,” Katie complains.

  “Well you were,” I point out.

  “Says the one who just screamed at me for touching our hot new neighbor.” She raises her voice on the last words and gives him a wink.

  I ignore how much I hate that I feel jealous. “I didn’t scream.”

  “You didn’t? I think they heard you on the other side of town.”

  I roll my eyes with exasperation and turn to Zane. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

  Zane chuckles. “I think it’s cute.”

  Katie sticks her tongue out at me. “See Maddy, even Zane takes my side.”

  “Hey,” Zane protests. “Don't put me in the middle of this.”

  “You sure about that? The three of us would make a good sandwich.”

  I blush. “Katie!” Jesus. She’s so embarrassing. I know she’s joking, but he might not!

  “Wha?”

  I shake my head. “Never mind.” I cross my arms and lean back against the van.

  Katie badgers him with question after question about the area and I watch them interact, only half-listening to what he’s saying. He keeps looking back at me when he answers, even though I’m not the one asking. And as much as Katie loves pissing me off, she’s at least keeping her hands to herself. With every move he makes, his muscles ripple and glisten in the sun. It’s not fair. Fate really is a bitch.

  “So, you going to help us out then?” Katie asks him. It’s only when he answers he’s more than happy to oblige that I realize he’s staying to help the movers. Which means he’ll be in our house.

  “I gotta go inside,” I bite out and push off the van.

  “You alright?” Zane asks.

  I fan myself and walk backward. “Just need to cool off.”

  “You’re telling me,” Katie says with a smirk. I roll my eyes and nearly fall flat on my face as I try to turn around and walk normally. Fuck. I am not looking back. I refuse to check to see if he saw me.

  Despite saying I was going to go inside and enjoy the A/C, I watch Zane at work, admiring his glistening muscles and washboard abs until they’re done. Which happens all too quickly. I fucking hated packing, but I’d go out and buy all of Ikea if I could right now. I wish I had some new furniture I could ask him to assemble for me, giving me an excuse to check him out some more.

  I grab a case of water from the kitchen and set it on the table for the guys. It’s the least we can do.

  It looks like Katie has set her sights on a new man and is chatting with one of the movers as the guys walk out.

  I give them a wave and yell after them, “Thanks again!”

  My heart beats faster as Zane, at the very end of the line, closes the door, rather than walking through it.

  Oh, fuck.

  I can’t run now.

  I grab a bottle of water and walk to the kitchen to start unpacking, completely ignoring the fact that he followed me in here. This is bad. I’m hot and sweaty and worked up. My lungs aren’t even working right.

  I stand near the fridge and consider bending down to open the closest box, but I know I need to say something. I look up and I’m trying desperately not to stare at him and his sweaty, hot body. Trying desperately not to think naughty thoughts. Trying, and failing miserably.

  He’s leaning against the sink, looking at me with hunger in his eyes.

  “Would you like a drink?” I offer the bottle, holding it out to him. He has to know I’m so horny I can't think straight, and I can’t stand being this close to him right now.

  “No. I’m good.” He pushes off the sink and takes a step forward. I’d take a step back, but the wall is right there.

  “Why are you here?” I ask him.

  “You know why.” I do, but I lie.

  “No, I don’t.”

  He walks over and pushes me up against the wall, cornering me. His sweaty body is inches away from mine. My chest feels tight.

  A feeling of déjà vu sweeps through me.

  “You owe me.”

  His eyes seem to say, ‘You won’t be escaping this time.’ His hand grabs my hip. Not a single part of me even thinks about pushing him away.

  “Owe you what?” I ask in a hushed voice.

  “This.”

  He kisses me, and my body comes alive with electricity. Everywhere he touches me sends sparks of desire straight to my core. I groan and lean into him. He can have me, right here. Right now.

  No, Maddy! You have to stop!

  I don’t know how I do it, but I summon the will to shove him away. “Get out!” I gasp, stabbing a finger at the door. I’m shaking all over. Just a few seconds more and I would have been ready to have this man’s babies.

  Frustration flashes across Zane’s eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

  It’s not what I want. I want him to take me right there and fuck my brains out. Zane knows it, too. My heavy breathing says it all. I’m barely in control of myself.

  I can’t let him do this.

  “Yes,” I say weakly. “Go, please.”

  It’s for my own good.

  “Fine.” He opens the door, but turns to give me a cocky grin as he says, “But I know you’re lying.”

  When he's gone, I slump down against the wall.

  “Oh Maddy, what have you gotten yourself into?” I whisper to myself.

  Chapter Six

  Zane

  I pull up to the shop with a huge ass grin on my face.

  I fucking love how much I shocked her. That flush I saw on her cheeks makes my dick jump in my pants. I can imagine that blush on her chest, rising up to her cheeks as I pound her tight little pussy. Fuck, I want that. I groan as my dick hardens and my balls fucking hurt. I need a release. This broad has me so worked up.

  Peaches. My sweet Georgia Peach. I’m definitely getting her under me. I don’t give a fuck how hard she pushes me away. She wants me, and I want her.

  I almost had her in her kitchen. I’m surprised she let it get that far. She’s definitely losing her will to fight this. I’m enjoying it though, breaking down her walls.

  I’ll have to wait and play this right. I wasn’t sure if she was really that sweet innocent thing I thought she was pretending to be at the bar. But she is. A little uptight, too. Which makes it all the more challenging.

  “Yo, Needles!” My partner in crime turns around at the desk when I come in.

  He’s young. Just turned twenty-two last
week, which was a fucking fabulous night out. He doesn’t look it though. He’s got pale blond hair and a patchy beard that looks like he’s going through puberty.

  Poor bastard. The clean-shaven look only makes him look that much younger. He tatted himself up pretty good to add some age to him. He did a shit job on his left arm though. That’s how we met. He had to come to a professional to fix it up.

  Ever since then it’s been the two of us running this place. There are a few other artists working out of our shop. But we’re the only ones here open to close, and we’re the reason the shop is so well-known.

  At first Vlad didn’t like it. It’s not good to be in the spotlight. But then he saw it as the perfect opportunity to launder some big accounts through here. I don’t know how big, and I don’t ask questions.

  I set my keys on the counter and take a look around. The place is everything I ever wanted. The entrance is spacious and open with floor to ceiling windows, and a large granite-topped counter in the center. The back wall is lined with art we’ve done. There are four sofas, two on each side, and a coffee table in between the two sets. Photo albums of what we’ve done in the past sit on the table.

  Two hallways lead to a total of eight rooms in the back. We're always comfortable while we're working since the other five artists helped decorate our rooms exactly how Needles and I wanted. Room six is our stockroom, and the last two are for the mob. They’re always locked, and I haven’t even looked in them for nearly a year. I like to forget Vlad has his hands in my shop. Some days I don’t even notice when the Koranav come in and out. For the most part, we ignore them, and they ignore us.

  It makes it easy for us both, and that’s the way I like it.

  It feels like home in here. I fucking love this place.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, turning from organizing a station cart. We’ve got all sorts of products for aftercare that the customers can buy.

  He looks back over his shoulder and then does a double take. “What's going on? Why the hell are you so fucking chipper?” he asks with a grin.

  “What? I can’t be happy?”

  “At eight in the morning? No. You’re a real unpleasant fucker this early.”

  I laugh at him and take a seat at the counter. “Met a girl who keeps pushing me away.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s smart.” He stands up and takes a last look at everything he’s refilled. Looks good to me. I trust Needles to handle this shit. He can handle the business aspect of things.

  “You take a look at your first client?” he asks and I know why, too.

  “Yeah, gonna be fucking boring, but I got something fun planned later on.” My first client needs a touch-up and his ink refreshed. It’s fading and looking an ugly shade of green as a result. It sucks because it’s mindless work, just coloring in what someone else has done. I’m gonna do some fading on it though. I’ll give it a professional touch, but it’s still mindless.

  I hate doing those jobs almost as much as those damn anchor and butterfly tattoos. Nothing’s worse than when a young girl comes in and picks a generic tat out of a book, something that I’ve done a thousand times. I could draw them with my eyes closed at this point.

  If only I could get my hands on peaches. I bite down on the inside of my cheek thinking about how fucking smooth her skin was. I wanna press my lips against her neck and kiss down her collarbone. Farther. I’d kiss down her breasts. I know just how they’d feel in my hands.

  I could put something there for her, something on the underside of her plush tits. Maybe have it travel down her side. Fuck, she’d be so fucking sexy with a touch of ink. She’s got a beautiful sun-kissed tan. She’d look even more beautiful with my art on her. Not that she isn’t already gorgeous.

  But she’s a good girl. I bet if she has anything on her body it’s just some sweet little butterfly on her shoulder. And I didn’t see a damn thing on her shoulder. Her tight body's just the perfect canvas for my art.

  Just as I start thinking about every inch of her body and what else I’d love to do with it, Marky comes in. He’s a regular. He’s retired and comes in here all the time just to hang out. When we remodeled a few years ago he even did half the work. He didn’t want to be paid, just wanted to be useful.

  I gave him a free tat and we called it even.

  I like that he comes in here just to hang out and keep us smiling. He brings a good vibe into the shop. Adds to the comfort of this place.

  “Zane, Needles,” he says in a gruff voice as he sets down a carrier with four coffees. He’s got his own in his other hand. Trisha and Logan will be in soon to snag their coffees. Marky’s pretty fucking reliable for bringing in the morning brew.

  Trisha wasn’t into it at first. She’s a picky broad. But Marky was determined to break down her walls and it started with getting her latte right, or whatever the fuck she drinks. Out of all of us, she opens up to him first when she has something she needs to get off her chest.

  “Yes!” Needles grabs his cup and doesn’t even check the temperature before guzzling it down. I take mine in my hand, but I don’t like mine kissed-the-fucking-sun scalding hot like he does. I vent the lid, giving it a chance to cool off some.

  “Thanks, man. What are you up to today?” I ask Marky.

  “Not much.” Marky grabs his usual seat in the chair next to the counter. “Just needed to get out of the house this morning.” He lost his wife a while back. They’d been married for nearly forty years before cancer took her from him. I know it still hurts him to live in the house they'd had together since they got married. But the stubborn fuck won’t leave.

  Can’t say I blame him, but I don’t envy him either.

  “What’s new with you?” he asks. “You look too fucking happy for not having had your coffee yet.”

  Needles snorts. “See, told you.”

  I look between the two of them like they’ve lost their damn minds. “What the fuck?”

  “Just saying, you’re not much of a morning person is all.” Marky looks at me expectantly.

  “I can’t be happy?” I ask.

  “Quit fucking around,” he says, rolling his eyes.

  “Met a girl,” I say with my grin spreading into an all-out smile.

  Needles laughs at me, and Marky cracks a smile.

  “She’s that good in bed, huh?” Needles asks as he slaps my back and sets his cup down on the counter.

  The smile leaves my face. I don’t wanna tell them I haven’t tapped that yet. But at the same time, some part of me also kinda does. There’s something about having to chase her that I fucking love.

  “She’s not that kind of girl,” I say before taking a sip of my coffee, trying to play this cool.

  Needles looks at me incredulously. “You’re hung up on a girl you haven’t even had yet?” Marky chuckles at him and leans back in his seat. Needles has no fucking room to talk. I don’t even know the last time he got laid. He's all talk, no game. So he can shove it.

  “Fuck off,” I say. “She’s a challenge. I like that about her.”

  His brows raise. “Ten bucks says she’s too good for you. Either that or she’s stuck-up.”

  My jaw tics at his words. I don’t like either of those thoughts. I also don’t like that the first one is true. Yeah, she’s too good for me, but good girls love bad boys. So I have a shot. Even if she thinks she can get away from me.

  “What’s her name?” Marky asks, snapping me back to the present.

  “Madeline, but she goes by Maddy.”

  “Madeline is the name of a bitch with a stick up her ass,” Needles immediately blurts out. He says the words confidently, and he’s real close to getting his ass kicked. I don’t like it. I don’t like how he’s thinking about her, and that it’s so easy for him to talk about her like that.

  “Your fucking name is Cody. I don’t think you have much room to talk, you preppy jock, you.” Marky laughs at the two of us. Cody Lewinsky is as far from a jock as you can get. He’s lanky
and goth as fuck. At first I wasn’t sure I’d like him, to be honest. And he didn’t talk much during our first session. Apparently, he doesn’t like other people inking him. Can’t blame him for that though, because I don’t either. As soon as I was finished with the first session and he saw my work, he started talking and hasn’t stopped since.

  We bonded over our shared passion for tattooing and I really got to know him. He’s a funny guy, but real standoffish. I like the fucker though. And his art is on point and on trend. That’s what people go to him for, and it works out nicely for the business.

  “Where’d you meet her?” Marky asks as Garret walks through the front door.

  Garret Duncan is best described as Vlad's go-to henchman. He’s tall and classically handsome like Jackson is, but he’s fucking ruthless and coldhearted. One look at him and you can tell. What’s worse is the fucker doesn’t like me. He sees me as a threat because the rest of the mob is too fucking scared of me beating their asses to fuck with me.

  I’m no threat though. I have no intention of being any more involved with the mob than I already am. I don’t want to be Vlad’s lapdog. But Garret does, and he thinks everyone’s a threat to that goal. I’m just waiting for the day he steps up, thinking he can take me. I’ll be ready though.

  “Garret!” Needles calls out as he walks toward us. “It’s in the back.” He keeps his voice even, but he’s tense. No one fucking likes Garret being in here. But once a week he comes to get the cash.

  It’s a necessity. An unfortunate one.

  As Garret walks past us with a simple nod and not a single word said, I see Trisha walking toward the front door. She spots Garret and does an about-face. She fucking hates him. Trisha is short and petite, doesn’t have an ounce of muscle on her. She also doesn’t have any visible ink on her either. She’s tatted up though. She’s got a UV tat on her back. It’s fucking gorgeous.

  When people come in, they’re surprised a cute little thing like Trisha is an artist. She went to school for ballet, for fuck's sake. She’s an artist through and through. And she’s damn good at her techniques. Her specialty is in unique tattooing methods. She doesn’t work much because of it, but she’s happy with that.