“I like it when I think about us,” I said.
He continued to gaze out at the lake. “You mean like us as a couple?”
“Yeah. Like us. You and me together,” I said.
“Yeah, me too,” he responded.
“You know..” I said, pausing as I realized I was speaking much sooner than I was prepared to.
He turned his head to the side. “What?”
“Uhhm. Well, I wanted to talk about secrets. Like maybe not secrets in a secretive sense, but things we should share with each other. Maybe something we want each other to know eventually, and are kind of like scared to say. I think we should take an opportunity to do it now,” I said.
“Okay, you go first,” he said.
It was going to be tough to do, but I decided if I told him the truth about my father, it may prompt him to tell me about his parents, as long as he knew what happened. I inhaled slowly, stared out at the lake, and exhaled.
“For my entire life, I thought my father was killed in a car accident,” I said.
The words came much easier than I had expected. After glancing at Blake and confirming I had his full attention, I continued.
“But I found out yesterday that all this time my mother was protecting me from what really happened. She didn’t want to tell me because she was afraid it would have hurt me more. I’m glad I know now, but she was right,” I said.
With his eyes filled with concern, and his hands clasped together at in his lap, he inhaled a shallow breath and spoke.
“What happened?” he asked.
“He was murdered. The guy came in our house, killed my dad, and tried to uhhm…he tried to kill…” I glanced up at the sky and took a shallow breath.
“He tried to kill my mom, but uhhm…she…well, she lived. She walked to the neighbor’s, called the police, and then she uhhm…she testified against him. You know, in court. He got eight life sentences after they tied him to a string of murders over something like twenty years. It’s why she has that scar.” I pointed to my neck. “You know, on her neck.”
“I’m sorry,” he said as he lifted his arm over my shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I said as I leaned into him. “It happened a long time ago.”
It felt good to tell him the truth. It was easier than I thought, and I felt tremendous relief knowing there was really nothing about me or my past that Blake didn’t know; short of the fact I knew about his parents. After he held me for a moment, he released me, leaned into the edge of the chair, and turned to face me.
“I really hate even saying anything after you said what you said, but I guess I will,” he said.
“It’s okay. Whatever you have to say, say it. I’m okay, really,” I said as I wiped my eyes with the tip of my finger.
“I uhhm. I was an orphan. I lived with this preacher. He uhhm, he adopted a few kids, and he had some others he kept in foster care, but he didn’t adopt them. I was one of the kids he didn’t adopt. But uhhm.” He shifted his eyes from me and gazed blankly out at the lake.
After several seconds of silence, he stood, crossed his arms, and continued to speak, but focused on the lake the entire time.
“He wasn’t…uhhm…he didn’t…yeah, he didn’t treat us all the same. He uhhm. He had his own…his own kids. There were boys…some boys. He uhhm. He took me one day…” he paused and bit his lower lip.
I didn’t like the way I was feeling. The thought of someone hurting Blake, especially as a child, wasn’t something I wanted to try and understand. As I sat and fidgeted in my seat, he chewed his lower lip and continued.
“It was a Tuesday. I was eight. He and his son…you know…they uhhm. They molested me. It happened…more…uhhm. More than once. The cross I wear? I took it from his home. It’s the only thing I’ve ever stolen. I felt like it had some special power or something, I don’t know. I just knew he took something from me, and I wanted to take something from him. So I buried it in the yard. When I finally left the foster home, I took it with me. Wear it every day now.”
He turned to face me and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m so sorry,” I said as I stood.
He raised his hand in the air between us. “I’m uhhm. I’m not done.”
“Okay,” I said.
I sat down, crossed my legs, and clasped my hands together. Feeling sorry for Blake, angry at his foster father, and angry at the system for allowing people adopt children and not take proper care of them, I realized Blake’s parents being murdered was the start of it all. In the grand scheme of things it really didn’t matter what started it, but for some reason, it mattered to me.
He turned toward the lake and continued. “So…I’ve uhhm. I’ve created a safe place for my mind because of all of it. I kind of developed a subconscious fantasy or something. It…I…it’s just…I’m…”
He turned to face me. “I’m a virgin.”
I sat and stared, shocked almost more by what he said than I was when I read the newspaper article in my mother’s room about my father. It made sense now. His running away, his reluctance to proceed sexually, and his constant excuses for needing to leave when things got heated between us.
“I’m really sorry about what happened when you were young. I hate people sometimes. Have you like…have you talked to anyone? You know, like a professional? I asked.
He nodded his head. “I see a guy.”
“Like a doctor?” I asked as I stood.
“Yeah, a doctor,” he said.
I opened my arms and hugged him. As we stood holding each other his breathing changed from labored to shallow. After a few more seconds, he relaxed into my arms and sighed.
“That wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be,” he said.
“Mine neither,” I said.
“I’ve got one more,” he said as he pulled away.
“Okay,” I said.
He pointed to the bench. I sat, crossed my legs, clasped my hands together again, and waited. After he inhaled a deep breath he tilted his head back, exhaled, and turned toward me. “My parents were murdered too.”
I waited for more.
He raised his eyebrows. “Nothing? No comment?”
I twisted my mouth to the side and nibbled on my lip. “Uhhm. Yeah. They were. Your parents were murdered by the same guy that murdered mine.”
His face washed with wonder.
“What…why…why would you think that?” he asked.
He stumbled backward and sat down at the end of the bench. As he gazed at me with confused eyes, I explained.
“When you were over for dinner, mom said she was sick. She wasn’t. After what happened to her and my dad, she said she became uhhm… like obsessed with the…you know, with the killer. She felt she needed closure. So she collected all of the old articles from the newspaper and kept them in a box.” I paused and turned my palms upward.
“She recognized your last name, realized your parents were both dead, and went to her room and got down the box. She must have fallen asleep while she was going through everything. After you left, I went to check on her, thinking she was sick. I found the article. Brandon and Velma. Was that their names?” I asked.
As he nodded his head slowly, his eyes welled with tears. I spread my arms wide as my eyes did the same.
We scooted toward one another, met in the middle of the bench, and collapsed into each other’s arms.
And we both shed tears we had spent a lifetime reserving for just that moment.
BLAKE
Growth. I felt that I had grown more during the last week than I had in the previous decade altogether. My expected reaction of a woman when she found out about my virginity caused me to conceal it as if it were a crime.
Riley’s acknowledgement of it, her acceptance of me, and the strange bond we developed as a result of our similar losses by the hand of a murderous psychopath allowed us to be open and honest with each other completely. I felt as if I could be not only honest with her, but for the first time in my life, I
was able to be honest with myself.
Stevie coughed a laugh. “What? Natural born killer? You’re fucking kidding, right?”
The guy she was taking to was roughly five foot ten, weighed about a hundred and fifty pounds, and was wearing a wife beater, boots and jeans. His arms were covered in a variety of tattoos, most of which appeared to be done in the comfort of his home by one of his drunken friends.
He shrugged his shoulders and glared at her. “No, I’m serious,” he said.
“I don’t tattoo words on people. And, I don’t tattoo idiots,” she said. “So you’re clearly double fucked.”
He folded his arms in front of his chest and did his best to flex what little muscles he had on his biceps. “What are you trying to say?”
“I didn’t stutter, asshole. I didn’t try and say shit. I said it. Go somewhere else,” she said as she pointed toward the door.
Riley swiveled in her stool, glanced in my direction, and raised her eyebrows. I shrugged my shoulders and grinned. If I had learned anything about Stevie in the last few weeks, it was that she didn’t pull any punches, and she wasn’t really afraid of anything or anyone.
“So you won’t do it?” he asked.
She crossed her arms - clearly to mimic him - leaned back, and shook her head lightly. Wearing faded jeans, lace up boots, and a black wife beater, she resembled him in dress to some degree. She had proven herself to be a fabulous artist, but the entertainment value of having her in the shop made hiring her well worth it regardless of her abilities.
“How many people have you killed?” she asked flatly.
“None of your business,” he responded.
“Kill somebody real quick, and I’ll do it. I’ve never done a single piece of script, but if you’ll kill somebody real quick, you know, show me you’re a killer, fuck it, I’ll do it,” she said.
His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah,” she said as she pulled her knife from her back pocket and held it at arm’s length.
“Kill her. Or him. Fuck it, kill ‘em both,” she said as she shook the knife in front of him.
She extended her left arm and wagged her index finger at Riley.
He turned his head toward Riley, made eye contact for a moment, and quickly turned to face Stevie. Riley’s eyes stayed fixed on Stevie as they narrowed slightly. Although the conversation was regarding something as serious as killing, I fought to keep from laughing.
He scrunched his nose and glared at Stevie. “I can’t do that,” he said.
“Yeah, no shit. Beat feet, dumbass,” she said as she slid the knife into her back pocket.
“Fucking bitch,” he said as he turned away.
“Excuse me?” she said as she reached for her knife again.
I raised my index finger, caught her attention, and shook my head from side-to-side. As she released the knife, she gazed down at the floor and sighed. He glanced over his shoulder, coughed a laugh, and continued to walk toward the door.
Stevie shook her head, exhaled a deep breath, and turned to face me. “Natural born dumbass.”
“I can’t believe you told him to kill me,” Riley said.
“He wasn’t going to kill anything. Fucking dumbfuck. I hate stupid people,” she said.
Riley jumped from her stool and walked toward the front door. After a moment, she returned.
“He’s gone,” she said.
Stevie shrugged her shoulders. “What? Were you afraid he was going to come back and do something? So he could get that tattoo?”
Riley laughed. “You never know.”
Stevie glanced at the clock and shook her head. “I’m frustrated as fuck.”
“Why?” Riley asked.
“I need some dick. I’ve been here for two weeks and haven’t been laid yet. I really need somebody to beat my shit up,” Stevie said as she turned away.
“You know any bikers with big cocks?” she asked over her shoulder as she sat down at her drawing table.
“Some of the guys from that MC have been in here in the last few weeks, maybe one of ‘em will come in sometime,” I said as I jumped off my stool.
“A real MC? Like a one-percenter MC?” she asked.
I nodded my head. “Selected Sinners.”
“No shit. Fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Stevie said.
“I’ve got Axton’s number. He’s the president,” Riley said.
Stevie turned around, crossed her arms, and glared at Riley. “You’ve got the number of the president of a one-percent club on your phone?”
“Uh huh,” Riley said as she pulled her phone from her purse.
Stevie glanced in my direction. Behind her on her drawing table, several Styrofoam heads covered in various brightly colored wigs caused me to grin. She had drawn eyes, noses, and lips on each of the otherwise blank faces with the exception of one. The words ‘Bad as Fuck” were drawn on the last of the faces, and an arrow pointed toward upward, toward the pink wig.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Friend of the family.”
“Tell him I’ll trade a nice chest piece for some cock,” she said as she turned away.
“No trading sex for tats,” I said.
“Fine, tell him I need some dick. I’m sure he’ll figure something out,” she said as she sat down at her table and began drawing.
“He wants a pic,” Riley said.
“You already texted him?” Stevie asked.
Riley nodded her head. “Yeah, he said they’re at the bar and he wants a pic.”
Stevie slid off the edge of her stool, turned toward us, and tugged against the bottom of her shirt slightly, revealing a reasonable amount of cleavage. After shaking her head back and forth, her purple-tipped hair fell along the top of her chest. She flashed a huge smile and waited.
“Well, quit staring and take a pic, perv,” she said.
Riley glanced at me, raised her phone in the air, and snapped a few pictures. Stevie released the bottom of her shirt, turned away, and began drawing.
“All this sex talk…” Riley whispered.
“What’s wrong?” I asked innocently.
Riley draped her arms over my shoulders and gazed into my eyes. “I want some biker dick,” she whispered.
I glanced around the shop and eventually fixed my eyes on hers. “Anyone in particular?”
She grinned, leaned into me, and kissed me softly. “Tonight, not tomorrow. Not next week. Not when you’re caught up. Tonight.”
Denying Riley of her much needed dick wasn’t on my to-do list. In fact, I had quite the opposite planned.
“Tonight it is,” I said with a nod.
“Good,” she said. “Now get to hammering that needle in my arm. I’m itching for another tat.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“I don’t care,” she responded. “I’m just wanting something. Maybe add some color?”
“Natural born killer,” Stevie hollered over her shoulder.
The unmistakable sound of approaching motorcycles shook the storefront glass. Riley leaned back and turned toward the front of the shop and I jumped from my stool. As I peered over the partition and into the street, bike after bike rode past, turned around, and parked in front of the shop in a row.
Stevie stood on her toes, glanced toward the street, and turned to face Riley. “Tell me that’s them.”
“It’s them,” Riley responded.
“A fucking smorgasbord,” Stevie said with a laugh.
The door opened and although I didn’t see Axton, the first man through the door caused me to take a second glance. It had been roughly twenty years since I’d seen him, but I’d never forget his distinct walk, the smirk he always had on his face, or the prominent scar over his left eye from wrecking the bicycle during the big jump. It just appeared he had grown a few inches and gained sixty pounds or so, all of which seemed to be solid muscle.
I cleared my throat and walked around the partition. “Jackson?”<
br />
He shifted his eyes toward me. “Guilty as charged. What can I do…”
I stood and stared. He gazed back at me and eventually his mouth changed from his permanent smirk into a slight smile. “Little man. Holy fucking hell. Little man.”
I nodded my head. “How you been?”
“Never better,” he said. “That your bagger our front?”
I nodded my head proudly. “Yep. Normally park it out back, but…”
“Finally upgraded from that shitty old Schwinn, huh?” he asked.
“Damn, it’s nice to see you,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“Well,” he said. “I need a quote for some work, and a couple of the fellas here wanted to meet your other artist, Stevie.”
Five men stood behind him, all standing with their arms crossed, and all wearing their leather vests.
I shook my head. “Yeah, my Ol’ Lady is friends with Axton, and I think she might have shot him a text about Stevie. She just moved in from San Diego. Hold on…”
I put my arm around Riley and squeezed her shoulder in my hand. “Riley, this is Jackson Shephard. He and I, uhhm…he and I grew up together.”
“That we did,” he said as he extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Riley said as she shook his hand.
“And this…” I paused and turned around.
Stevie stood immediately to my right and a few feet behind me.
“This is Stevie,” I said as I waved my hand in her direction.
He nodded his head. “Well, I’m not here for that. I got an Ol’ Lady.”
“Listen up,” Stevie hollered, interrupting our conversation, and clearly taking charge of the situation.
“I don’t ever fuck with anyone but bikers, and I’ll only fuck with a biker if he’s got a big dick. I’ve got a foul mouth, a shitty attitude, and an insatiable desire. I’m no whore, and I won’t be treated like one. If you’re looking to hit it and quit it, you can forget it. I’m not your girl. If you want an Ol’ Lady who’ll out drink ya, out fuck ya, and probably out cuss ya, I’m your girl,” she shouted.
“How many’s that leave?” she asked.
Blurred Lines: Tattoo Romance (Bodies Ink and Steel) Page 13