Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  “I want you to ice that hand until the swelling goes down. Take some painkillers if you need them and I will see you in class. Thursday at the latest. Street fights are not a substitute for training. Understood?”

  “Yes, Kru. Understood.”

  “Good. I’m proud of you, Bren. I’ve always known you had the heart of a tiger. I’m glad your tiger guided you today. Let me talk to Mac before you hang up.”

  “Yes, Kru. See you later.”

  “See you later, tiger.”

  I offer the phone to Mac again. He tucks it against his shoulder as he picks up the sponge with his free hand and drizzles hot water over my shoulders and chest again. It makes the shivering stop and I smile at him.

  Mac listens to whatever Kru is saying for a minute then responds, “Sounds good. I’ll get her there. Thanks for listening.”

  He sets my phone on top of my clothes when he finishes and smiles gently back at me. “More hot water or are you ready to get out?”

  “Ready to get out.” I like baths but unless I’m masturbating, I don’t stay in them much longer than it takes to get clean.

  “Okay, gimme a minute.” Mac gets busy, rinsing out the sponge and putting it away, collecting a towel from the cupboard under the sink, moving the bathroom rug next to the tub so I have something other than cold tile to step on.

  “You’re nice,” I tell him.

  He chuckles. “I’ll remind you of that the next time I’m beating your ass.” He holds out his hand and when I take it, helps me out of the tub and wraps me in the towel. Once I’m swaddled in what feels like miles of towel, he drapes the big bathrobe over my shoulders and hands me a steaming cup of cocoa.

  “Sip it while I take care of the tub,” he tells me.

  The hot chocolate’s sickly sweet and I make a face at the sugar overload but dutifully sip as Mac drains the tub and slips his T-shirt and sweatshirt back on.

  “You should leave those off,” I say. “In fact, you should always leave your shirt off. If subbies have to be naked, I think there should be a no-shirts-in-the-house rule for Doms.”

  “Think so, huh?” Since I do, I nod. Mac tugs on my nose-ring but he’s grinning. “How’s the hot chocolate?”

  “Kind of gross. Too much sugar. But please don’t tell Emily. I don’t want to upset her.”

  Mac runs his hand over my hair, which isn’t wet. Why isn’t it wet? Oh, he tied it up before he put me in the tub. He’s so nice.

  “You’re a good friend to her, sweetheart. You’re good to me, too. Did you not want to upset me? Is that why you hesitated to tell me what happened?”

  Now that it’s out, I feel stupid for not immediately telling him. For using Kru as a shield against his judgment.

  “I’m not a victim,” I say. “Kru said I have the heart of a tiger.”

  “You do. You’re my bold girl. My warrior goddess. Did you think I’d think you were a victim?”

  I nod, not ready to put it into words.

  “Have people called you a victim before?”

  I nod, remembering the rancid pity in the eyes of teachers, social workers, even cops, when they talked about me.

  “Bet those three assholes don’t think you’re a victim,” Mac says.

  I force a laugh around another sickly-sweet mouthful.

  “And I would never think my bold girl is a victim,” Mac says, his voice deep and gentle. “I wish you hadn’t had to defend yourself, but I’m very proud of you for being strong and brave and trained enough to do so.”

  “Thank you, Sir. Sir, can I please pour the rest of this out? It’s so nasty.”

  Mac chuckles and takes the cup from me. He takes a sip, makes a face, and pours the rest down the sink.

  “Everyone’s waiting on me for lunch, aren’t they?”

  Mac takes the lapels of the bathrobe he’s draped around me and pulls me to him gently. “You ready to be held, girl?”

  Am I ever.

  “Always, Sir.”

  “I don’t want you to worry about lunch or dinner or anything else. We’ll all get something to eat. You focus on you. How are you feeling now? Are you hurting anywhere?”

  “My back and ribs hurt, Sir. I don’t think any of them hit me, though.”

  “Probably just the way you were holding yourself and using those muscles without any warmup. Let’s get some food in you and then I’ll rub you down. See if we can’t work some knots out.”

  I nod, resting my face against his collar and breathing in his warm Mac-smell.

  “How do you feel about painkillers, girl?”

  “Not a fan, Sir. I was on them for so long because of my hip. It took me a long time to come off them. Now I try not to take them unless I absolutely have to.”

  “Fair enough, girl. I noticed you haven’t taken any even though your kitty and ass must have been hurting. Let’s see how you’re doing after a rub-down. If you’re still in pain, we’ll find you something just to take the edge off.”

  “Thank you, Sir. You’re really nice.”

  He strokes my head. “Don’t think I’ll be making this a regular thing. Mostly I’m the guy who’ll be beating your ass.”

  That draws a small laugh out of me, because he is the guy who beats my ass—the only guy I want beating my ass—but he’s also the guy who takes care of me afterwards. “Sure, Sir.”

  He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Ready to venture downstairs?”

  “Yes, Sir.” He guides me out of the bathroom, around the pile of my clothes on the floor. “Are my clothes ruined?”

  “No, I think we’ll be able to get the blood out of your sweater. You’ll need new laces for your Docs. That seems like a fine errand for Taco this afternoon.”

  “If you can find him. He hadn’t come back from his food run when I left.”

  Mac frowns. “He’s been out ever since we talked this morning?”

  “He might be back now.” I shrug.

  “Mmm, let’s get you downstairs, then I’ll call him.”

  I don’t say I can get myself downstairs, because the truth is, I’m not sure I can. I’m still feeling a little shaky inside and my bad leg’s cramping now that I’m out of the hot water. Mac guides me with his arm around my waist. The stairs at Logan’s house are a bit of a tight fit for two walking side by side, but Mac makes it work. When we reach the bottom, he raps his knuckles on Logan’s office door before steering us through the great room to the dining table. I hear Emily in the kitchen and as soon as she sees us round the corner, she races to me and throws her arms around me.

  I pat her back gently. “I’m okay.”

  “What happened?”

  “She kicked three guys’ asses, that’s what happened. My tough girl. Now she’s having an adrenaline crash, so let’s get some food into her, okay, Em?”

  Emily nods and scoots around to my other side, guiding me as though I can’t find my way to the table. I bite back a smart remark because I know she’s worried about me. Still, I really wish she’d notice the way Mac supports me without crowding me and, you know, follow his example. She’s got the table set and a big salad already out. Once I’m seated, she brings me over a steaming cup of pale-yellow liquid.

  “No,” I say. “I know you’re trying to help, Em, but I’m not drinking that curry crap again.”

  She kisses me on the cheek. “It’s chamomile. It’ll help you relax.”

  I reach up, loop my arm around her neck, and draw her down into a hug. “You’re too good to me.”

  “I was scared for you,” she whispers, hugging me tightly.

  “I promise I’m okay. They’re a lot worse off than I am.”

  “Did you recognize them?” Emily asks. “Were they skinheads or just muggers?”

  I slap my hand to my forehead and wince when I jar my sore knuckles. “Ohmigod, one of them must have gotten me in the head. How could I not have remembered? It was the skinhead. I saw his tattoo when he was trying to hit me.”

  Mac sits down heavily in the chair next
to me, his face tight. “Move on?”

  I nod. “He knows I recognized him. I asked him if he wanted to speak to the manager. That was stupid, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Doesn’t matter, girl. We’ll talk about it once you’ve got some food in you, but if he’s seen the posters, he knows we’re looking for him.”

  “We’ll just have to try a little harder to pin him down,” Logan says as he approaches the table.

  Mac and Logan exchange a look, but don’t say anything more. They help Emily bring the food to the table. As usual, she’s trying to feed a small country. Mac puts a little of everything on my plate and gives me the stink-eye until I start to eat.

  “Looks short on protein to me, girl,” he says, leaning over and whispering in my ear. “I think you need some of your Sir’s good come for dessert.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I smile as I take a bite of cheesy-creamy, mushroom lasagna, because no matter how weird and light-headed I feel, I’ll never turn down my Sir’s come. I think of all the times Ten refused to give me his, how sad and angry it made me feel. If he’d made it part of the scene, made me feel too worthless to deserve it, it might have fed my kink. But Ten’s never been that generous. I shuffle a little in my chair until I’m pressed against Mac’s side. He puts his arm around me and offers me a bite of the chicken wing he’s eating. I kiss his fingers after I chew down the mouthful. “You wouldn’t ever deny me your come would you, Sir?”

  Mac grins a truly evil grin. “Depends. My little badass deserves her Sir’s come today. But another day? When my dirty, dirty girl hasn’t done anything to deserve her Sir’s come? I wouldn’t count on it, if I were you.”

  My toes curl into the thick rug beneath the table.

  “Yes, Sir,” I whisper as I take another offered bit of chicken.

  “If you two can stop flirting for a minute,” Logan says from where he’s sitting across the table. “I’m guessing there are things you need to share?”

  I glance at Mac and nod. I trust him to tell Logan what he needs to know. Mac keeps his arm around me as he relates the attack and I eat. The coldness at my core finally warms once I have a full belly. Instead of strange and shaky, I just feel sleepy. I rest my head against Mac’s shoulder as I drink the last of Emily’s chamomile tea, which is substantially better than the turmeric crap she tried to poison me with.

  “We need to get Max out to Bren’s shop sooner rather than later,” Mac tells Logan.

  I tip my head back to look at him. I’ve got every camera in the world in my shop already thanks to Logan. What’s Max going to do there?

  “You think that’s how they knew where and when?” Logan asks.

  “It’s either that or one of her employees. Who was with you in the shop today, Bren?”

  “Nicky and Jules. What are you guys talking about?”

  “Sweetheart, they haven’t been waiting under that scaffolding all weekend on the off chance you’d walk by. They knew where you were going to be. They knew when. And they knew you’d be alone. Those are things they could only know if they have a camera or mic in your shop and overheard you arranging lunch with me. That, or one of your employees tipped them off.”

  “No way. Nicky’s one of my best friends.”

  “What about your piercer?”

  “Jules? She’s worked for me for about three years. We’re not that close but why would she fuck me over? She’d lose her job if I closed the shop.”

  Logan’s already got his phone out. “That’s the real reason the skinhead tried to get a swastika. He was planting a camera or a mic.”

  Mac nods. “It’s been quiet since we recovered the designs because Bren hasn’t been in the shop. They haven’t known where she was.”

  “Right,” Logan says. He thumbs his phone and puts it to his ear. “Max? Hi. Bren was jumped by Mr. Move On and two buddies. No, no, she’s fine, but the only way we can figure they knew where she’d be is if they planted a camera or mic in the shop. Can you— yeah? Really? Okay, call me back when—”

  Logan rolls his eyes at Mac while tucking his phone back into his pocket. “It’s like he’s allergic to hello and goodbye.”

  Mac chuckles.

  “He has something that can find signals going out of the shop. He says if there’s a camera or mic it should pick up the signal. It’ll take about a half-hour to run.”

  “That boy always did have the best toys,” Mac says. “If we find something, I don’t think we should remove it immediately. We could use it to lure them into a trap.”

  Logan rubs his chin. “And do what? Make a citizen’s arrest?”

  “No, we’re past that. We’re at reactor scram. If you want to sit out what comes next, I’m good with that, Lo. I don’t want you to do anything that risks your license. But I’m not giving them another shot at Brenna.”

  “I will always have your six, sir,” Logan says, very seriously.

  I look between the two men. “You’re not thinking of doing anything illegal, are you? I don’t want you guys to get into trouble because of me.”

  Mac tucks me tighter into his side and kisses my forehead. “Illegal, no. Would your friend Theo approve of our vigilante justice? Probably not. I’m still considering whether to put Mad Bob out of business permanently or only temporarily, but he won’t have any reason to worry about the competition for a while, that’s for sure.”

  “You sure this is just about competition?” Logan asks. “I’m still concerned about the race angle.”

  “I think race was what got Mad Bob’s distant skinhead cousin by marriage involved,” Mac responds. “But everything’s been about Missing Ink. Even what the asshole who attacked her today said.”

  Logan nods. “What are you thinking about in terms of putting Mad Bob out of business?”

  “I’m thinking sodium metal down his toilet.”

  Logan begins chortling. “I wasn’t even sure that was you.”

  “Of course, it was me. You got a better idea?”

  “While we were waiting outside for you the other day, Manny and I were discussing concreting Shameless Studios’ front and back steps. Manny’s wife’s uncle’s a contractor. Real easy for a load of concrete to get poured in the wrong place.”

  Mac’s grin turns even more wicked if that’s possible. “I like that idea better. Anyone Manny’s wife isn’t related to?”

  Logan grins and shakes his head.

  Chapter 20

  As much as Logan and I amuse ourselves with ways to close up Mad Bob’s shop through the end of lunch, there’s an underlying note of seriousness to our discussion. Brenna wasn’t injured today but she could have been. When Max calls back with the news that he’s found a signal coming out of the shop that doesn’t match any of Logan’s cameras or the employees’ phones, the knowledge the skinheads have been spying on Bren burns.

  After we finish lunch, she calls her friend Nicky and fills him in. They decide to close the shop for a few days, since they can’t guarantee their clients’ privacy or the employees’ safety. I can see the decision wounds Bren on a level that snuggles won’t immediately fix. I give them to her anyway, until she falls asleep in my arms while we’re cuddled on the couch. I tuck her under one of Emily’s fuzzy, blue blankets and join Logan in his office.

  He’s watching the CCTV footage again but shuts it off as soon as I enter.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” I tell him. “I have a couple of phone calls to make.”

  “Okay.” Logan taps the footage back on.

  “Have you seen anything yet?” I ask as I take out my phone.

  “Someone’s definitely coming and going. They’ve figured out where the cameras are, though.” He points at one of the screens. “There’s a window here that’s in the shadow of a couple of trees. I think that’s how they’re getting in. There’s movement in the trees late every night and early every morning but I can’t get a clear view of what it is. Hell, it could just be a big dog.”

  “Coming and going
through a window? Is the window open? And why would a dog do that?”

  “Dunnow. As far as I know there’s no food missing, although there is a kitchen at the club. It might be raiding the pantry.” He shrugs. “Club’s warm and dry.”

  “Huh.” I don’t have anything else to offer, so I dial my daughter. I’m a little early, but I know she’ll want to hear about Brenna sooner rather than later. Naomi sounds brighter than she did yesterday. I focus on Brenna’s impressive self-defense skills when I tell Naomi about the attack rather than the potential horror of her being beaten by three men. But it’s still very much on my mind. After listening to Naomi rave about her new math tutor, I promise I’ll call her tomorrow and let her get back to studying.

  Then I call Taco, expecting to be able to vent some of my anger on him for disappearing all day to fill the Grand fucking Canyon of his stomach.

  I’m more than a little surprised when Napa answers his phone. “Where are you, Mac?” he asks.

  “Logan’s house, a few blocks away from Brenna’s shop. Where are you?”

  “Mount Sinai. I just got here. Taco was jumped by three guys this morning.”

  Three guys? Could that be a coincidence? It’s a big city and, as with all big cities, there’s violence, but that seems too coincidental.

  “Fuck. Is he okay?”

  “Broken arm and a concussion.”

  “Did he see them?”

  “Ski masks.”

  “Ask him if one of them had ‘move on’ tattooed on his knuckles. If so, I think he was jumped by the same three guys who attacked Brenna.”

  “Hold on.” I hear muffled talking and then Napa swearing. “He says he thinks so. One of them had tattoos on his knuckles that were hard to read. Is Brenna okay?”

  “Yeah. She kicked their asses.”

  “Good for her. Your subbie’s tougher than she looks. So, this wasn’t random. I was afraid someone jumped Taco because he’s Oidhri. That’s why I didn’t call you immediately. I wanted to put out feelers and see if Taco’d somehow tripped over some Hell’s Angels or something. They supposedly cleared out of Manhattan, but you never know. This sounds tied-in to your girl’s problem with the skinheads, though.”