by Lane Hart
“Got a call.” Fox let out an exasperated breath. “That situation we took care of a few weeks ago? Motherfucker ain’t getting the message.”
“Maybe we ought to get rid of the trash, so we can talk about this in private, Mace,” Lurch ground out, giving me the side eye.
Here we go again with the bullshit.
“You got something to say to me, split dick? ‘Cause I’m standing right the fuck here, son. Come get it,” I challenged the big man.
“ENOUGH!” Fox snarled. “For the last time, lock your shit down and check your dick at the door, Jagger. This ain’t about you. My call who the fuck I want in this office, know that. See me later if that’s something you can’t handle. Until then, we’re here to figure out a way to deal with this motherfucker once and for all.”
There was a collective round of grunts and growls before the men stood at attention and waited for Fox to continue. One look into their eyes, and I could tell they all knew exactly what he was talking about and weren’t the least bit happy about that shit. Gone was the laidback jokester from a few minutes ago. Kaden’s lips were pressed in a tight line, and fire shot from his nostrils. I, on the other hand, stood there holding my dick, wondering what the fuck was going on and what any of that had to do with a room full of tattoo artists. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t stoked about being asked to stay. I just wasn’t sure this was where I belonged.
“We need to turn up the heat on that prick, make him feel the pain. Got me?” Fox slammed a fist against his wooden desk.
“I want his markers called in, his bank accounts frozen, and his ass in a sling within the hour. Make sure he knows the order came from me. I want that piece of shit pussy in my office begging to make amends by daylight, if not sooner. Make it happen.” One last penetrating look, and the men spilled out in an animated clamor, pounding each other on the back, vowing retribution. I was last in line but never made it back to my workstation before I heard my name called.
“Dread, you stay for a minute,” Fox requested.
When we were finally alone, he dropped down in his seat behind the desk with heavy limbs, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. I stood awkwardly off to the side, not knowing what to make of what just happened or how Masonry Ink was involved. I operated on the mindset that unless the shit had something to do with me personally, I stayed the fuck outa other people’s business. I knew from day one that there was more to this place than meets the eye. I just didn’t know how deep that shit ran until today.
“Finding yourself in a situation where help comes too little too late could mean life or death for some people.” Fox’s voice was low and pained. Head bowed. “Luckily for them, we weren’t always in the tattoo game and acquired certain skills along the way. Valuable skills given the right situation and if we’re forced to use them. I will never be on the wrong side of the clock again, Dread, not if I can help it,” he promised.
More for himself than to me, I figured.
I listened without saying a word.
“We’re not heroes, Dread, don’t run around wearing no cape jumping out from dark alleyways stopping muggers from stealing purses.” Fox finally raised his head and gave me his eyes. I recognized that look. It mirrored my own most days. A haunting deep within the soul that ate away at your very core till you felt nothing except the need to shut it off before it destroyed you.
“We offer help to those who need it the most, who otherwise would’ve gone without because of the system of rules we’re expected to live by.” He exhaled sharply, eyes unfocused. “They don’t always work for the underdog, kid,” he whispered. “Doing the right thing doesn’t always mean… doing the right thing.”
“And you think that’s something I want to be involved with? An ex-con with a target on his back, one step away from getting sent back up to the block, for the long haul this time? What makes you think I even have it in me to care about some other motherfucker down on his luck, Fox? I’m no saint, for fuck’s sake,” I pointed out the obvious.
“Are you even listening to me? Who the fuck said you were?” he hollered. “You’re one tough hombre, Dread, no denying that, but there’s more to life than throwing hands and shittin’ on people. One day, those men out there will trust you with their lives. I see that happening even if you don’t.” Fox stood from his chair and approached me cautiously. “The question is, when will you start learning to trust yourself?”
I saw it then, so fucking significant it almost caved my chest in and left me for dead. It was the same look my old man used to give me when he drank too much, waited for me after school so he could pound on me, and especially when he woke up every morning and realized I was still alive… and still his son.
Disappointment.
Fox had expected more from me, and I’d let him down. It’s why he’d invited me in with the rest of the crew even though I still hadn’t earned my way into his circle of trust. The words from the barmaid echoed in my brain. Mace only wants what’s best, she’d said, and I believed her. Since day one, he’d done nothing more than treat me with respect and as a man, an equal. I wasn’t an ex-con or a bum looking for a handout. He saw something in me beyond all that other bullshit, dug deep. My old man had never bothered to give half a fuck about my so-called talent or where it might’ve taken me. Fox had given me the ultimate chance to get onboard with whatever Good Samaritan shit he and his crew were into, and I’d blown that all to hell. I wanted that look gone from his face; it didn’t belong there. Fox was a believer, a rare breed who lived for the next man as much as he lived for himself. Some way, somehow, I’d make it disappear, never to been seen again.
I’d earn his trust even if it killed me.
I wanted to be that man.
I left there starving for more, hungrier than I’d ever been, to be a part of something that was bigger than me. That same system Fox spoke so grimly of had forced me to stay in Remington when all I’d wanted to do was run. That shit owned me, lock, stock, and motherfuckin’ barrel until the second I paid back my debt to society. I understood what it was like to have your balls squeezed in a vice till you couldn’t think straight with nowhere to turn. Growing up with my old man, I has always been a piece of shit, the waste of cum, or the dumbass in his eyes. Never a son worthy enough to carry his name or enjoy the air he allowed me to breathe. Justine was the only person who’d ever told me to never be afraid to dream. She said it was up to me whether or not I wanted to break free and live my best life. I’d believed her once, until my dreams turned into nightmares inside a six-by-eight-foot prison cell. Fox wanted me to learn to trust before I could be trusted, but that shit was easier said than done for an ex-con. Being a loner and an outcast was the only thing I knew before arriving at Masonry Ink. I realized that if I expected more, I’d have to give more.
I just didn’t know how.
Home was where I found myself a few minutes later. I still had work to do and a design concept to come up with if I could somehow get my head on straight. Inside the quiet house, I waited expectantly for my roommate to appear out of the blue like she had been for the last week. Bitch had been acting strange as fuck since Sunday dinner, popping out of nowhere no matter the time, just to say hello, then retreat into her room like some damn ghost. Scared the shit outa me the first time she did it, thought her ass was high on dope or coming down off some shit, until it kept happening. After a few days, I found myself encouraging her silly-ass antics. I turned on extra lights, made excessive noise so she knew I was there, then I’d linger and watch her run into walls when she scurried off after delivering her greeting. One chick I’d brought home thought she was learning impaired and didn’t feel comfortable fucking me with her right across the hall. Had to settle for her sucking my dick in the driveway before I asked her to leave. I couldn’t help but wonder what the little goof had in store for me today.
I crept up the stairs in time to hear a soft humming sound coming from somewhere close by. My housemate’s door was partly open. Sh
e stood with a towel wrapped around her chest and her leg balanced up on a chair. She had my attention the minute she started to apply a creamy lotion to her pale skin as she moved her thick, long hair over one of her shoulders. I watched her from behind, couldn’t see a single part of her sex, but motherfuck’ was she a vision. Sprinkles of freckles dotted her shoulder blades, and my dick stirred to life once I imagined running my tongue across them playing connect the dots. She must’ve felt my eyes on her. She turned her head and saw me staring from the doorway but didn’t make a sound. The natural look of surprise mixed with lust shot straight through my chest. I knew I had what I needed.
“You’re fucking beautiful, baby girl,” I gritted, struggling to maintain my control.
“Rome…” Her lips moved, but I barely heard the sound of my name. “Hello…”
Her eyes darted around the room looking for something other than a towel to cover herself. A light blush colored her cheeks and moved downward across her exposed flesh. The stream of light shining through the window gave her a sensual glow, like an angel without its wings.
Fresh and pure.
She entranced me.
“Stay still, just like that,” I urged, hopeful she would listen.
I already had my sketch pad in my hand, so I grabbed a charcoal pencil and got to work. The lines of her neck called to me first. My fingers moved with purpose to capture its beauty before she came to her senses and asked me to leave. No matter. My photographic memory had it etched in stone from the first look. Sketching her live was a bonus. She lasted longer than I thought she would, but I could tell this was making her uncomfortable. Her eyes stared to mist over, and her breathing went from aroused to panic stricken. How could someone so fucking sexy be so self-conscious at the exact same time? Those beautiful, expressive eyes would occupy the next several pages in my portfolio, I’d make sure of that.
Michelle.
I wouldn’t say her name out loud.
I couldn’t.
I gathered my supplies without saying a word. I didn’t want to leave, but her sigh of relief when I turned meant it was time. I twisted the handle on my bedroom door and stopped short before I ventured inside. I wanted to give her something, something I’d never given anyone else before, especially not a woman. My gratitude.
“Thank you.” Michelle.
Michelle
Rome was an artist.
Of all the things I would have guessed, that certainly wasn’t one of them. Then again, what the hell did I know? He was a virtual stranger who’d bulldozed his way into my life without my acceptance and had been wreaking havoc ever since. The man was a raw contrast between overwhelming and comforting, bold and unassuming, dark yet filled with so much light it blinded me. My fascination with him had not abated since the day he’d arrived; if anything, it was getting stronger, more desperate. Seeing him watch me from my doorway was overpowering. It didn’t take much for me not to move when he asked me not to; I was scared shitless. Fear somehow blossomed into desire, a quickening, right around the time he said I was beautiful. Amazingly, it made me feel special, better than I had in a long time, since well before the hazing.
Rome’s eyes perused every inch of me. He took his time to savor the moment, to drink me in. My mind warred with my conscience. I fought it back the best I could considering the circumstances. I wanted to run far away and surrender to him all at once. Masculine strong hands, tattooed from the knuckles to the wrists, glided effortlessly across his sketch pad and along my warming flesh. I felt his touch as each line was drawn. My nipples pressed against the terrycloth fabric of the towel wrapped around me; my clit throbbed, begging for attention. My imagination took me to a faraway place where I was just a woman and he was just a man, asking to capture my likeness as if I were someone important, a sweet Southern belle.
It all felt so real, so fantastically wonderful.
For a total of ten minutes.
The cheers and taunts of Lock her out, Grab her tits, and Don’t let her get away, pummeled my soul in an instant and ruined my temporary resolve. I tried to keep the tears at bay, to fight back against the harmful memory, but it was too late. The damage was done, and our connection was broken. I no longer felt the tenderness of his fingertips against my skin but the pulling and ripping from the aggressive mob as they assaulted my body when I’d tried to get away. Once warm, my body chilled as if I were dunked in a tub of ice water. My limbs trembled uncontrollably. Rome seemed to sense my discomfort. To my relief, he didn’t make a big deal out of it. Thank God for small favors. I wasn’t ready to provide an explanation as to why I felt sexy one minute and downtrodden the next. Not that I thought he would give a shit either way. I suspected he had a natural distrust of women, bordering on hatred, judging by the way he treated his “dates” once he was done with them. He wasn’t looking for love, didn’t wine and dine, and coital aftercare was definitely out of the question. All the more reason he was the perfect patsy for my little game and an even bigger reason why I shouldn’t get caught up in his good looks or unforeseen vocation.
Rome retreated to his room.
I breathed with relief.
All was well once again.
It took me some time to shake off the ghosts of sororities past and make my way to group. I participated without disclosing my plan to Hank and the others; they wouldn’t have understood. Most of them had wives or loved ones to fall back on when things got tough. I envied them for having that opportunity. Mrs. Lafontaine was the closest thing I had to a sounding board, but even she had her limits. She was a lovable human piñata who spat out candied words of antique wisdom regardless of the circumstances.
“All’s well that ends well.”
“Life is what you make it.”
“Put one foot in front of the other, and soon you’ll be walking, young person.”
The list was endless and just as whimsical. She meant well, but it wasn’t what I needed to jumpstart my interrupted life and resuscitate my future. Everything was going according to plan although my sleep cycle had been thrown completely out of whack. The minute I’d hear Rome enter the house, I’d practice how I intended to greet him for that night. Sometimes it was a quick “Hi” with a small waive, others it was a long “Hellooooo” with a pause and a ten count before I walked away. By the end of the week, my heart no longer felt as if it was pounding out of my chest, my hands didn’t sweat, and I was even able to sustain a few seconds of eye contact without wanting to hurl.
Small steps lead to big ones, and I was happy with the progress I’d made after dipping a toe in the shallow end of exploration. A genuine smile graced my lips as I thought about some of the lewd gestures and surprised looks Rome had given me since I’d started the hello campaign. He grunted with disgust while he palmed his dick through his jeans for emphasis. That was typical of him. Then he growled like a bear and mimicked cunnilingus, using his fingers as the vagina. Again typical but nonetheless worthwhile. Finally, and after a week of hard work, Rome rendered me speechless when he blessed me with a head nod and a full-blown smile. Both rows of straight white teeth topped off with a sexy twist of his plump lips. Mercy. It might’ve been perfect if it hadn’t been for the half-naked skank pulling on his arm and dragging him toward his bedroom door.
Gag… desperate much?
I drove home from group feeling hopeful for once that perhaps I was doing the right thing by giving this comfort zone experiment a chance. Hank was going to flip his shit once he found out what I’d been up to. If all went well, and with a bit of luck, he’d understand my reasoning and give me a pass on the lecture. A little more time was all I needed to see things through, then I could move on to something else with a less cantankerous audience. It was all shaping up just as I’d envisioned it would.
Seconds from home, I felt the vibration of my cell from inside my purse and gulped on an audible sigh. I rarely got any calls unless it was from Mrs. Brooks down at the library, so I wasn’t looking forward to answering. That old swamp cric
ket probably butt dialed me on her way to a Pagan Witchcraft convention. If I didn’t pick up, I’d never hear the end of it. “Where were you, Michelle? Nothing is more important than your job, Michelle. Next time, it’s a disciplinary form, Michelle.” Fuck my life. The bullshit was endless, but my respite wasn’t. Parking one-handed while grabbing for the phone was tricky for a featherbrain like myself. I missed taking out the mailbox by about an inch before I straightened up and put the car in park.
Good gravy. This better be good.
“Hello,” I answered, flummoxed without checking the screen.
“You. Little. Bitch.”
“Mom? Wha—”
“I’m so sick of your bullshit, Michelle. It’s been more than three years, and we’re still paying for your loose morals and poor judgement. This is the last time, you hear me! The last time I’m going to deal with the mess you made for this family.”
“Mom, please, I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” I implored her. “What happened? Why are you so upset?”
“The alumni association from the university called for their yearly donation request,” she began. “We are still on their mailing list for some godforsaken reason, and every so often, they contact this number. They use the students for that, you know?”
I remained quiet. It was a rhetorical question anyway.