Caught in Flames

by Lexy Timms

  She groaned in frustration and banged against the metal doors a few times to see if anyone would come back and talk to her, but she was completely ignored by every police officer in the station.

  Sam looked over at her from his seated position on the cell bench, leaning his back against the far wall and using his hands as a makeshift pillow behind his head. “So what now?”

  Becca looked at him and sighed, moving over to her own bench and sitting down on it. She held her head in her hands and stared at the floor. “I don’t know.”

  THE END

  Burning with Desire

  https://books2read.com/u/mgKK2z

  Note: Free Excerpt of Lexy Timms’ new series, Confession of a Tattooist is included.

  Confession of a Tattooist Excerpt

  Confession of a Tattooist

  Tattooist Series #1

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright 2016 by Lexy Timms

  Tattooist Series

  Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5w9Vi5yW3Yc

  Confession of a Tattooist

  Book 1

  Surrender the Tattooist

  Book 2

  Coming March 2016

  Book 3

  Coming April 2016

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  Description

  Hawk Reynolds is the hottest tattooist in the city, and not just because he's a terrific artist and knows how to use the needles to turn skin into art. He's panty-melting hot thanks to his jet-black hair, tattoo sleeves, and a body that incites fantasies.

  Plenty of women come to the shop just to let him put his skilled hands on their bodies, but none of them ever come close to touching his heart. Until the day a regular shows up with her bestie, Joy, in tow.

  Joy's a shy and intelligent blonde who has no idea just how beautiful she is, and she's not really interested in getting a tattoo; but she is interested in the art she sees on the walls, and the bad-boy tattooist who drew it. Joy's been burned before by men who just wanted to date her because her father is billionaire Terry Reed. She's determined to never be used that way again, but as her steamy relationship with Hawk turns into something meaningful, she begins to wonder if she’s the user.

  Hawk tells her there's one thing he won't put up with: lying. And she's already lied about who she is

  Confession of a Tattooist - CH 1

  The tattoo shop was located right in the beating heart of Los Angeles. The storied nightclubs around it drew in rock stars and starlets, groupies and wannabes every single night, while the trendy eateries and the cheap souvenir shops were a major attraction to the busloads of tourists that were dropped off for a few hours to walk those star-lined streets.

  The massive façade of Mann’s Chinese Theatre, the street performers, and the bright blue sky all combined to create a carnival-like atmosphere, and more than one tourist had missed their original hop-on, hop-off bus and had to catch another because they got caught up in the sights and sounds of the busy spectacle.

  More than a few of those tourists got back on the bus wearing fresh ink too, courtesy of the hottest tattoo shop in L.A., Hawk’s Folly.

  The shop was always packed, thanks to the artistic stylings of its artists and the reality show that had been filmed within it for a few seasons before Hawk, the owner, pulled the plug and said he wasn’t willing to keep working with cameras in his face every single moment.

  Hawk was one reason so many flocked to the door and beyond it to the well-lit studio with its funky leather couches and bright paintings. In a city filled with gorgeous men, Hawk stood out as one of the hottest.

  He was tall, six-foot-two, and leanly muscled. His jet-black hair, cut into an elegantly messy style, and strong jaw blended and contrasted with his full lips and high cheekbones. He’d been offered modeling contracts and television parts over the years, but he always turned them down because he wasn’t interested in fame.

  The reality show was the only thing he’d agreed to, and he had agreed only because he’d just opened the shop and knew it needed the exposure if he was going to make it a success. He’d brought a full client list with him from the shops he’d worked at before, where he had honed his skills and learned all he could about how to run a shop and run it successfully, but he’d needed something more.

  The show had been an irritant. He hated being on camera, and often closed his door to keep the cameras out, forcing the crew to focus on the rest of the tattoo artists and the customers instead. He’d hoped it would let people know he didn’t much care to be bothered unless someone was interested in a tattoo, but instead it had gotten him tagged with rather idiotic monikers like ‘mysterious and temperamental’, which only sent more women to his door in droves.

  Some came for tattoos, but most were there to try to catch a glimpse of the ‘mysterious and temperamental’ Hawk.

  Refusing the show’s new contract hadn’t hurt business a bit. In fact, more people who actually wanted tattoos and not just the cache of having been on a television show came once the cameras were gone.

  Business was booming.

  As he pulled to the curb on his chromed-out custom bike, a smile lifted his lips as he took note of the people already pausing to look into the windows of the shop.

  He swung off his bike easily and took a paper bag from the saddlebag. The bag was splotched with grease and sent out a heavenly aroma of roasted pork gently simmered in citrus and garlic. He carried it into the shop.

  Haley, his piercer, looked up and said, “Damn it, Hawk! Really? Pork carnitas?”

  He lifted a dark eyebrow. “What’s wrong with carnitas?”

  “Nothing,” Hayley replied with a groan, “Except I’m on a diet.”

  Hawk gave her a stern glance. Hayley was five-foot-seven and weighed a scant hundred pounds. “Where, precisely, are you going to lose weight from? Your brain?”

  She waved a hand at him. “I got tapped to do a spread in a magazine. I have to make sure I don’t have a spare ounce of fat.”

  He sighed. He hated Hollywood’s crazy beauty standards. Those standards expected women to be almost unbelievably, and unhealthily, thin. “What magazine?”

  She named a well-known publication that used to specialize in nude centerfolds but now featured scantily-clad women because, in an age dominated by free Internet porn, the visuals of nearly-nude women were bigger sellers than totally naked women. “I see. Hayley, if you lose any more weight you’re not even going to be able to lift a sandwich, much less eat one, and I’d highly suggest you eat one instead.”

  She giggled. “Are you saying I’m too thin?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Wow. Thanks. Oh, I got that audition later today, so Barry’s going to be in the piercing station after two. Cool?”

  “Yeah, no problem. Sure you don’t want a carnita?” He waved the bag in the air, letting the aroma of the food within waft toward her.

  Hayley flashed
forked fingers at him and said, “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

  He laughed. “More for me then.”

  All the tattoo stations were already filled. Each artist had their own room, and most of the doors stood partly open or tightly closed. He could hear the whirl of the guns and chatter, and smell fresh ink. That sound and fragrance always made him smile, and lightened his mood. He loved his shop. He paused long enough to straighten the edges of a few framed paintings before heading back to his office to eat his carnitas and go over a few things before he started his day.

  He set the bag down on his desk, took off the heavy leather jacket, and slung it across the back of his chair then sat down. He pulled out the two delicious carnitas, the meat so slowly-roasted it was guaranteed to melt in his mouth. He bit deeply, relishing the fresh pops of lime, lemon, and cilantro, and the tangy bite of garlic.

  Lunch finished, he sat back and checked his schedule. His mood immediately soured. He had a custom piece scheduled today, an extensive work that would take at least four hours.

  He didn’t mind the time or the work. He disliked the fact that the work had to be done for a spoiled young pop star who always thought he should get everything for free, and who’d once walked out without paying at all.

  A discreet phone call to his manager had sent the money he was owed Hawk’s way, but he was in no mood to deal with the little shit, and he was slightly angry that he had forgotten to tell the new receptionist and scheduler that the kid was persona non grata in his shop.

  He’d remedy that today, except it was too late to cancel now.

  His spirits lifted when he saw a note reading; ‘Pix is coming in today after six.’

  Pix, his nickname for Pixie, was a hell of a woman. She loved tattoos and punk rock music, kept her hair a bright but dark blue, wore clothes she salvaged from thrift stores and consignment shops, and rescued dogs from death rows and off the sides of freeways. Pixie wore a broken heart the size of Texas right on her sleeve, swore she’d never fall in love again, and wasn’t interested in him at all, except as a friend. Over the years they had developed a sibling-like bond, and he always enjoyed seeing her.

  They hadn’t seen each other in a while. She’d saved up all her money to go off to the Philippines to battle against the illegal dog meat trade, and he’d wondered if she’d made it back.

  It seemed she had.

  Pix would most certainly take the bad taste of his client out of his mouth. Her ribald sense of humor was enough to make any day brighter, and he was really interested in finding out how her life had been since the last time they’d seen each other.

  He stood and stretched and the headed toward the room where he worked. He might not like that rotten little asshole he had to work on today, but it was no excuse not to do a great job.

  Confession of a Tattooist - Ch 2

  “Come on, Joy, go to the tattoo shop with me.”

  Joy lifted an eyebrow and tried to repress the smile that wanted to lift her mouth. Pixie was impossible to resist under the worst of circumstances. These weren’t the worst, but she had absolutely no intention of going to a tattoo shop with her. Pixie could talk people into anything, she’d seen it with her own eyes, and while she appreciated the colorful and lovely tattoos that Pixie had she didn’t want any for herself.

  Nope.

  She didn’t find the idea of willingly submitting to pain enticing, and, since she’d had more than enough pain in her life as it was, she had no interest in willingly allowing someone else to hurt her either.

  Besides, getting a tattoo wasn’t in her books. She couldn’t. She could probably stand the pain but she might not live through the process, thanks to the blood thinners she was on.

  Pixie cut into her thoughts, “I know you don’t want a tattoo, but you could use a night out. And since you refuse to go to a club...”

  “Clubs bore me,” Joy put in.

  “Okay, and since you refuse to go to see a band with me or anything else that’s cool, I totally insist you go with me to the tattoo shop.”

  Joy waffled. “Is it the one on television? I don’t want to be caught on camera in a tattoo shop.”

  Pixie raised her dark brows. “What are you, in witness protection or something? I mean, I like the hell out of you, Joy, but you sure are weird about getting spotted.” Pixie pounded the table with her tiny fist. “No, wait, let me guess. You’re a prolific bank robber. No? CIA agent?”

  “No,” Joy said, laughing. “None of the above, and you know it. I just... I’m just not interested in being on camera. I’ll leave that to people who want it.”

  “Well, then you’ll love Hawk. He hates Hollywood as a rule. I mean, he loves L.A., but he was always hiding out from the cameras when the show was on—which it isn’t anymore, by the way. Explains why Hayley got so many guest spots and stuff. Hawk practically tossed her at the camera, not that she minded.”

  There was a slightly spiteful note in Pixie’s voice and Joy surveyed her face for a long time before asking, “Do you like Hawk?”

  Pixie’s laughter floated around the room. “I do. Not the way you think, though. He’s like my older brother. And just as annoying. All the women who walk into that shop are determined to sleep with him. He’s super-hot, no shit, and all my friends want me to hook them up with him. But he’s never interested in them, and so I get stuck in the middle.”

  “Ah, see? There’s a good reason for me not to go. I’d hate to fall in love with him and beg for you to get me laid.”

  Joy couldn’t suppress the grin that threatened, and Pixie howled laughter. “Of everyone I know, Joy, you’d be the last person I’d think would ask me to hook you up with him.”

  Joy said, “I don’t know whether or not I should be insulted by that.”

  “You definitely shouldn’t be.” Pixie giggled. “But I have to tell you, of all my friends, you’re the one I’d love to see with Hawk.”

  Joy’s face heated. “Um, yeah. No. But thanks for thinking of me.”

  Pixie shrugged one shoulder, letting the camisole strap slide off it. “He’s a good guy, Joy.”

  “I’m sure, but I’m not interested. Not into a tattoo, for obvious reasons, and not into meeting a guy, even if he is great.”

  Pixie smiled sympathetically. “You do know it’s been a year, right? I mean, I know Brian hurt you, but I’ve seen guys hurt you before and you were never this bitter before.”

  Joy heaved a sigh. “I have every right to be.”

  Pixie shook her head. “Yeah, well...shit happens, you know? I don’t mean that bad at all. I know it was rough on you when you found out what a louse Brian really is, but you shouldn’t let it keep making you afraid to try again.”

  Brian.

  Even his name made her heart hurt.

  He’d been such a great guy. He’d been affectionate and caring, and chivalrous too. He never seemed to mind her small condo, or the fact that Pixie was usually camped out in the small spare room because she was constantly running out of money or ‘forgetting’ to pay her rent in favor of rescuing a dog, or cat, or ferret. Or a parrot.

  Brian hadn’t even seemed to mind the parrot, aptly named Caligula, who was currently sitting in his cage regarding her and Pixie with a looked of amused tolerance. Joy knew him well enough to know that expression was as deceptive as Brian had been.

  He’d known, of course.

  He’d known the entire time that she was one of Tyler Reed’s daughters.

  Tyler Reed, who’d started off as a small-time two-bit actor and gone on to become one of the most powerful producers and directors in Hollywood.

  Joy was the product of his fourth marriage, and she’d been born when Tyler was in his late fifties. Unlike her sisters and brother, she wasn’t cut out for the glare of the spotlight. Nor was she skinny, hooked on heroin or whatever designer drug was making the rounds, keen on hanging out in trendy nightclubs across the globe or shopping on Rodeo Drive, and she wasn’t comfortable flashing credit cards at store clerks
like the cards were garlic and the clerks vampires either. She hadn’t had any DUIs. She had never failed at a marriage to rock star.

  In other words, she was boring and ordinary. She was so unlike her half-siblings, who were and had done all of the above, that she’d managed to escape even being noticed.

  She preferred things that way.

  She’d gone to college on scholarships. She lived in a modest and inexpensive-for-L.A. condo in the flat side of Beverly Hills, the address mostly used by the struggling actors and musicians who were known to cram five or six people into a one-bedroom condo, and behind-the-scenes people who couldn’t afford the more glamorous and hillier sections of the neighborhood.

  She had a quiet job. A quiet life. Nobody knew who she was.

  Except Brian had.

  She should have realized he knew when he pretended he didn’t want her for her. The bastard only wanted the opportunities he’d thought she could give him.

  He was a struggling actor, and he’d worked at a very exclusive catering company for a while to make connections with actors and other Hollywood types. She’d met him at one of the parties her parents forced her to go to, and he’d literally charmed the pants right off her.

  He’d not even mentioned that he was an actor for two weeks, and when he did she’d asked why he hadn’t said so before, and his answer had been, “I didn’t want you to think you had to help me.”

  That answer had clinched it. Suddenly she wanted to help him.

  But he hadn’t been content with her helping him to run lines for auditions or working on his expressions. He wanted to meet her father. He chafed at the fact that she had so many Hollywood-type networking connections and didn’t use them. He’d pressed for her to go out with him and announce she was going out with him. He’d asked her to lease him a very expensive sports car, which she had said no to, of course. He’d demanded new clothes and head shots, and when she said no to financing those things he’d become sullen, moody, and cold. He’d even called in the paparazzi, not that they were the slightest bit interested, and then—when all those efforts on his part failed—he’d broken it off by telling her he would be better off dating anyone but her.