All the Pretty Lies

by M. Leighton

  I’m glad to say that their ridiculous safety measures haven’t seemed to dampen the growing attraction between me and Hemi. I was afraid he’d lose interest once he realized that we wouldn’t be doing the nasty any time soon. But, if anything, I think it is just heightening our awareness and raising the anticipation, which is frustrating but in a good way.

  What began as just a few nights a week has progressed to me being at the shop every night, for a few hours at least. And every night, at some point, there’s always an opportunity for Hemi to show me something new, something breathtakingly new.

  Sometimes, he has me work on him—shading his old tattoo, working on the new one he had me to trace onto his other side, or inking letters onto the side of his hand. I never argue, mainly because I don’t care what it is. Touching him is a treat—stroking his smooth skin, watching the muscles contract, feeling the heat of body.

  He never takes his eyes off me, not even when I glance his way. Not anymore. Eventually, at some point during each of these episodes, he will stop me all of a sudden. He’ll take the gun from my hand and lay it down beside him. He’ll slide off the table and pull me to my feet. Then he’ll push me up against the cabinets where no one can see, and he’ll kiss me. With all the fire and passion and desperation I feel, he’ll kiss me. I only hope it’s not simply a reflection of my own feelings that I’m sensing. The mere thought of that is almost unbearable.

  There have been a couple of times when he has helped me to tattoo myself, too. I wanted my mother’s initials on my foot with some vines that wrap around my ankle.

  “Why don’t we work on you tonight?” he asked one night when only Paul and one client remained in the studio.

  “Me? Really?”

  “Yes, really,” he said with a smile, reminding me of other conversations we’ve shared that went by in a similar way. Sometimes it feels like I’ve known him forever. Like I was meant to know him forever.

  “Like I’d say no to that.”

  “I figured as much. Go ahead and prep your foot. I’ll be right back.”

  I did as he asked and was sitting in the chair when he returned. He was carrying a folding screen.

  “What’s that for?” I asked as I watched him set it a few feet from the end of the chair and then unfold it, further concealing us in our little corner.

  “I’ve been thinking about bringing this over here for a while. Now seems like a good time,” he’d said with a shrug.

  Despite his casual attitude, my stomach was a ball of butterflies just thinking about the additional amount of privacy the screen provided us. Pathetic, I know.

  “You ready?”

  “Yep,” I said, bending my leg and pulling my foot in close so I could work on it.

  “Here, let’s do it this way,” Hemi said, lowering the back of the chair, flattening it out in a table position. When it was fully extended, he climbed up behind me, throwing one leg over me until he could scoot up flush against my back. I remember feeling the tight muscles of his chest against me. I remember inhaling and thinking that I could smell nothing but Hemi. Not alcohol from the prep, not the plastic from the new needle packages, not any other scents from anywhere in the room. Just Hemi. And it was heaven.

  “We’ll do this together,” he said, his lips so close to my ear, I could feel them brush the shell.

  Hemi wound his arms around me, taking my fingers in his, and together we gripped the gun and set the needles to my skin, inking the first letter. Our hands moved in a rhythm, like we had the same vision, like our art poured out in the exact same way. From the first line, the first stroke, it was beautiful.

  Tonight was one of the first nights that we haven’t worked on him teaching me tattooing. I had mentioned as I was getting a granola bar out of my purse that I’d had a shitty day at school and hadn’t had much of an appetite for supper. Hemi said nothing as I wolfed down my snack, yet, less than an hour later, a pizza was delivered.

  “What’s this?” I asked when the pizza guy brought it back to me.

  “The guy up front said to bring it back here to the hot brunette.” That alone endeared to me both Hemi and the pizza boy. I gave him my brightest smile and happily took the box of pizza.

  As he was leaving, he passed Hemi as he was bringing back a customer. Rather than bringing the girl back to his chair in his cubby, he walked the opposite direction, toward JonJon. I heard Hemi explain what the girl wanted then he handed JonJon a stencil and asked him to get it started and he’d finish it afterward. JonJon nodded agreeably, motioning for the girl to have a seat in his chair.

  I found it a bit odd, as Hemi doesn’t normally let anyone else take part in his work. He does it step by step, start to finish. I watched curiously as he crossed the room to me, walking with purpose. Without a word, Hemi extended the folding screen at the foot of the bed, hoisted me up onto the counter then took a piece of pizza from the box and shoved it in my hand.

  “Eat,” he barked. I was stunned by his stern command at first, but then, after a few seconds, he added, “I want to watch.”

  I nearly dropped my pizza and jumped his bones. Only I couldn’t, mainly because impulsive sex is impossible for a virgin. And we were surrounded by a shop full of people. Neither of those facts was conducive to an impetuous tryst.

  Dammit!

  So, tonight, for the millionth time it seems, I left Hemi behind and we’re both…unsatisfied. I twist the volume dial on my car stereo, turning up the music. I don’t hear anything but loud bass, so it takes me by surprise when I see Scout’s SUV fly by me on the wrong side of the road.

  “What the hell, Scout?” I mumble into the car.

  That’s when I see the lights come on in our house, which is just up ahead. Like, all the lights—porch lights, interior lights, side yard lights. A prickle of unease makes its way down my spine and I see Scout blast past the house going Mach II.

  I slow down and pull up to the curb, looking on with horror at the dozens of bullet holes that now dot the white vinyl siding.

  My heart is thumping with fear and I hear my own blood rushing in my ears. I reach onto the seat beside me to dig inside my purse for my phone, but the little pocket where my phone lives is empty.

  “Frick!”

  Now what am I supposed to do? Instinctively, I know better than to get out of the car just yet. Dad would skin me alive if I did something stupid like that.

  I watch, holding my breath and praying that the dear Lord above kept those bullets away from my father, who should’ve been the only one in the house tonight since Scout and I were both out and Steven and Sig are working.

  Within a couple of minutes, I see the front door open and my father emerge. I exhale in relief, and even smile when I see that he’s on the phone giving someone the ass-chewing of their life. He’s waving his arm and, even from the curb, I can see the thick vein standing out in the center of his forehead.

  I shift into park and cut the engine. As I make my way up the sidewalk, I have to pick through a field of empty shell casings as I go. Dad’s rant ceases shortly after I stop in front of him.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  Dad is boiling. “Some mother…” He runs his hands through his brown hair, trying desperately to hold his tongue in front of the tender ears of his daughter, the lady.

  “You can say it, Dad. This can be your freebie.”

  “Some… asshole has just brought the wrath of the Lockes down on his no-good, shit-eating, shit-sucking, shit-for-brains head!” He growls so I decide it’s best to forego my applause over his creative and successive use of the word “shit” in an effort to keep from saying the F word in front of me. What a guy!

  “Does this have anything to do with the threats?”

  “I’m sure as shit it does.” This time I smile. He’s on a roll. Dad spots it and turns his anger on me. “Listen here, young lady, this is not a laughing matter. Someone could’ve been killed here tonight. If you’d been here, watching television in the living room…” Dad�
�s normally tan complexion goes pale underneath. “Oh sweet Jesus, what would I have done if you’d been shot, Sloane?”

  In an almost visible way, the fury drains right out of my father, replaced by his ever-present worry over my welfare. He pulls me into his arms.

  “But nothing happened, Dad. I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

  He doesn’t say a word as he strokes my hair. It seems unnaturally quiet around us until the sound of an engine breaks the silence.

  I turn, expecting to see Scout pulling into the driveway. Instead, I see Hemi’s car pull to a stop behind mine.

  “Who the hell is that?” my father asks, every muscle in his body tensing around me.

  “It’s the guy I work with, Dad. You met him that night you followed me home, remember?”

  “Right. Something stupid like Homey,” he says snidely.

  “It’s Hemi, Dad. Don’t be an ass.”

  “Sloane,” he begins.

  “Please don’t embarrass me, Dad,” I say from the corner of my mouth as he releases me and we turn to await Hemi. I would feel much more comfortable going to him rather than him coming to me (and Dad), but Dad would just follow. He’s in that kind of mood.

  Hemi gets out of his car and takes the sidewalk to where Dad and I are standing. I see him look around on the ground as he walks, no doubt noticing all the brass strewn about. He’s frowning when he stops in front of us.

  “Are you all right?” he asks without preamble, directing his question to me.

  “I’m fine. I missed all the excitement. Scout and I were just coming home. He took off down the road. I assume he thinks he might be able to catch whoever did this.”

  “What happened?” This time he looks to my father. “Hemi, sir,” he says offering his hand. “Met you a few days ago when you came to get Sloane.”

  Dad pumps his hand a few times and responds in his gruff way. “I remember. As for this mess, some asshole with a death wish decided to push his luck.” And just like that, all the anger is back. Dad starts pacing, cursing under his breath. “And where the hell is your brother? He should’ve been back by now.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask Hemi since Dad’s off on another rant.

  “You left your phone at the shop. I figured you’d need it.”

  He hands me my phone, his fingers lingering over mine before he lets it go. “Seriously, are you okay?”

  I smile. “I’m fine. Actually, I feel kinda sorry for the guys who did this. They really have no idea what kind of shit storm they just brought down on their heads.”

  “Sloane, this isn’t funny. It’s very serious. What if you’d been here? What if you’d been five minutes earlier coming home?”

  I can see both worry and irritation in his eyes. “But I wasn’t.”

  “But you could’ve been,” he argues.

  “See, Sloane?” Dad gripes from behind me. “Even Homey has a better head on his shoulders.”

  My face burns like a thousand flames and I squeeze my eyes shut. But Hemi laughs. “Thank you, sir,” he replies lightly before turning back to me. “Maybe you should come and stay with me tonight.”

  I’m both astonished and impressed that he would suggest such a thing in front of my father. Dad stomps back to us, not stopping until he’s nearly chest to chest with Hemi. My stomach flutters with pride and pleasure when Hemi doesn’t retreat. Not one inch.

  “Just what the hell are you up to, young man?”

  Hemi remains completely unflustered in the face of my father’s fury, replying calmly, “Offering her a safe place to stay, sir. My spare bedroom. I’m not convinced this is the best place for her right now.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you’re convinced of, son, she’s my daughter and I’ll see to her safety like I have for the last twenty years.”

  “Twenty-one,” I pipe up automatically.

  Dad grunts and I see Hemi’s lips twitch as he suppresses a grin.

  “I’m not saying you can’t keep her safe. I’m just saying that a situation like this is hard for anyone to control. She’s not being targeted, but she’s obviously in danger. And even if she were the focus, no one would think to look for her at my place. It’s just a precaution. I’m just thinking about what’s best for Sloane. Nothing more.”

  “And when did you become so interested in my daughter’s welfare?”

  Hemi answers coolly, “Would you rather I not care?”

  “Of course not, but I’m not handing her off to be taken advantage of by some—”

  “All due respect, sir, but Sloane is old enough to make her own decisions. Maybe you should be asking her what she’d prefer to do.”

  “Right now, I’m not interested in your opinion or what you think I should be doing. I’m doing what’s best for my daughter. Like I always do.”

  “Sir, I’m not arguing that. I’m just—”

  “The hell you’re not! You’re standing on my lawn telling me what to do about my daughter’s safety.”

  “I’m after the same thing you are—keeping Sloane safe. And I think this—”

  “I don’t give a damn what you think!”

  “Then give a damn about what Sloane thinks!” Hemi fires back.

  “Listen here, you little shit, my daughter will do what I say because I’ve protected her for the last twenty years!”

  “Twenty-one,” I mutter again.

  “Sloane! Shut it!” Dad yells.

  His snappy command is the last straw. This is exactly what I’m trying to get away from—being treated like a child who has no voice, no brain. But no more! This is my chance to really make him see. It couldn’t come at a worse time, of course, but it’s still my chance to prove something to my father. And I’m going to take it.

  “Dad, he’s right. About everything,” I say, drawing the attention of two sets of eyes that were glaring at each other. Now they’re focused on me.

  “Sloane, I—”

  “I know, Dad. I know every argument, every reason, every explanation. I know you love me. I know you want what’s best for me. And I know you don’t want to let me go. I know. I get it. I really do.” I reach out and take his hand in mine, meeting his sharp gaze. “But you have to, Dad. I need for you to let me go.”

  I don’t look away and neither does he. I want him to see me, to really see me right now. I want him to see that I love him and I respect him, but that I need this. I need to live. I need to decide things for myself, make my own decisions and my own mistakes.

  I don’t know how many long, tense minutes pass with the three of us standing in front of the house this way. Too many. But, finally, Dad exhales and I see the fight leave him again. And for the first time ever, I see him give in to me.

  “It’s only because I love you so much. You know that, right?”

  I smile up into my father’s handsome, worried face. “Of course I know that. Why do you think I’ve put up with it all these years?”

  “Just promise me you’ll be careful. Always, Sloane. Have some respect for the life and the time you’ve been given.” He glances quickly at Hemi over my shoulder. “Make good choices.”

  “Dad, that’s all I want to do—enjoy life. And I can’t do that locked away in an ivory tower.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just hard. Hard to let go. I hope to God you have kids one day so you’ll know what it feels like.”

  “I hope to God I do, too,” I admit with a trace of sadness.

  Dad squeezes my hand and then looks back at Hemi again. “I’m trusting you with one of the most precious treasures I have. Don’t make me come after you.”

  Hemi nods. “I understand, sir.”

  I stretch up on my toes to give my dad an impulsive kiss before I run into the house to make a little overnight bag and grab my books for tomorrow. I feel scatterbrained, like the adrenaline coursing through my body is preparing me for action rather than deliberate thought. But one thing I am having no trouble thinking of is Hemi. And where I’ll be spending the night.
/>   CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT- Hemi

  “What the hell were you thinking, man?” I ask myself in the silence that surrounds me in the car. For the hundredth time, I look in the rearview mirror to make sure Sloane’s still back there.

  Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m thinking. Or if I’m thinking at all. I know better than to get involved with Sloane. Especially now. And especially in an anything-other-than-sexual way. But pulling up to find her standing in front of her house in the middle of the night, seeing the bullet holes in the siding, walking through a sea of brass shell casings to get to her—holy shit! That moment was…profound. I was shocked. And, for whatever reason, a little afraid—for Sloane and of losing her. And there was guilt. Of course there was guilt. It was nearly overwhelming. What if something I’ve done, however inadvertently, caused this? Put Sloane in danger? How the hell could I ever live with myself?

  The desire to get her out of there was strong. Damn strong. I’m thankful for my normally somewhat dispassionate nature. It allowed me to be confident and nonchalant in front of her father and never let on what I was truly feeling. So that’s good. But now…now I’m on my way to my house with a girl I shouldn’t be messing with, who’s part of a family I’ve got a beef with. And she knows none of this. Yet I’m bringing her to my home. That’s reallllly pretty stupid.

  There’s no turning back now, though. I see my turn up ahead. I drive along the street that I’ve driven for the past two years and pull into the driveway in front of the rental house I’ve called home for the past two years, all with Sloane following behind me.

  I cut the engine, take a deep breath and get out of my car. I walk back to Sloane’s, opening the back door to pull out the bag I saw her dump in there earlier.