Masquerade Read online

  “I don’t know why in the hell I’m doing this, but I’ll unlock the door.” As soon as she speaks the last word, the line goes dead. Again I consider driving away. Forgetting her and this stupid-ass dream of mine, to what? Be a tattoo artist? I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but it’s what makes me get off my motorcycle and walk to the door.

  The locks click before Bee pulls the door open, the light from outside enabling me to see her. My eyes scan her, taking in the really short cotton shorts and tank top she’s wearing. The girl has a killer body and she obviously isn’t afraid to show it, which makes her even more hot. You can tell she’s not flaunting; she just is who she is and whoever doesn’t like it, she won’t hesitate to tell them to fuck off.

  I walk in and Bee locks the door behind me.

  “You live here?” There’s a light on down the hallway. It’s dim like it’s only from a lamp or something, but I assume that’s where she was when I called.

  “No, but it’s the place I’m the most comfortable, so I stay here a lot.” She clicks on the light. I’m surprised she admitted that, but I won’t call her on it. I know I wouldn’t want her to do that to me.

  “Did you bring any drawings?” Bee sits at the chair behind a desk.

  I hand her a book, but the second I do, I want to snatch it back. It’s always like that showing someone my work, even though I know it’s good. “That’s just one I had with me. I have more at home.”

  She doesn’t answer as she starts flipping through the pages. After a couple minutes of watching her study each page, I start to get jittery. Feel like she’s looking inside me instead of at some pages, so to distract myself, I move around the room, taking in pictures of her work and other tattoos on the walls.

  She looks at the book for what seems like an hour before speaking. “These are good. They’re different. Your artwork has a unique style that I haven’t seen before.”

  I nod.

  “Why do you want to be a tattoo artist?” she asks. The question shows me how serious she is about what she does because no one has brought it up before.

  The urge to tell her it’s none of her business surges through me, but I want this badly enough to answer. “Because when I’m around it, I feel more like myself than I probably ever have.”

  A brief flash of shock shows on her face, but she covers it quickly. “Good. I won’t screw around with someone who’s playing a game. This isn’t something you do to make a quick buck. Not if you’re working with me, at least. Did you get a chance to actually give anyone ink?”

  “No. The apprenticeship only lasted three months before he bailed.”

  Bee nods. “That’s good. I actually rather you have hardly any experience—that way I don’t have to train bad habits out of you.”

  “I’m not a dog.”

  “No one said you were. Chill out, Scratch.”

  I tense at the name, but before I can really say anything, she starts asking questions again. “Do you lean toward liking only black work or are you into color too?”

  Everything I have so far is only black, but as I look at her again, I see a variety of black and colorful work. “Depends. I don’t want to do only one or the other. I love work with shading too. I’ve seen some pieces that are really incredible just because of the shading.”

  She nods and I wonder if that was the right answer.

  “I’m not saying you don’t, but this is something you have to take seriously. There are a lot of dumb-asses out there who think it’s all fun, but it’s not. Stuff like being clean and safe is even more important than the picture you put into someone’s skin.”

  “That’s a given, isn’t it?”

  She grins. “You’d think, but it’s not always like that.”

  We’re both quiet after that. Bee glances down at my artwork again. “I’m surprised I even let you in here tonight. It’s important that you know that. I don’t take shit from people.”

  One look at her and that’s obvious. Part of me didn’t expect her to open the door for me either. “I’m surprised I came, so that makes two of us.” When she looks up at me, I’m not sure how I feel about the way her eyes take me in. Don’t know what I think about the fact that we have shit in common or that her look is familiar to me. I give it myself.

  Bee stands, walks around to the front of the desk, and then leans on it. “If we do this, can we keep things from getting awkward?”

  My answer comes automatically. “I can if you can. It was one night. We don’t know each other and I’m never with someone more than once anyway.” I’ve shared this strange sort of honesty with her tonight that makes my body overheat. I want all the words back because they’re a part of me and I don’t want anyone to see who I am, but this is it. Saying these things to her is the only way to get what I want.

  “Now that you’ve asked your questions and realize this isn’t a game to me, I need to know if we’re doing this or not.”

  Silently she walks toward the door and opens it. I hold in the groan, pissed at myself for fucking this up again and even more pissed that she’s in control.

  Bee turns toward me, her blond hair messy from sleep, but it’s another thing she doesn’t care about. It doesn’t take away from how sexy she is either.

  “We’re doing this. Don’t make me regret it. Now I need to get some sleep and then we’ll talk tomorrow about a schedule.”

  I let out the breath trapped in my lungs. Thanks, echoes through my mind, but all that comes out is, “Cool. We’ll talk later.” Then I walk out the door.

  Instead of going home, I head to the high school. It’s such a dumb fucking thing to do, but like I’ve done other nights, I jump the fence and head to the football field. Sitting in the middle of it, I let my eyes trace over the whole thing, trying to remember the time this used to be important to me. And trying not to concentrate on the fact that even though I got something I want, something I need, I still want to take out the fucking world because of everything I’ve lost.

  Chapter Five

  ~Bee~

  KIDNAPPED GIRL HOME AFTER NINE YEARS IN CAPTIVITY

  It was just like any other week when four-year-old Leila Malone went to the park with her mom. It was their Monday tradition. They played on the swings and the slide, which her mom, Katherine, said was her favorite. But on this Monday, Leila happened to slip away from her mother.

  “It wasn’t a minute. Not a minute and she was gone. My baby is gone!” Her tearful mother had cried that day. There were searches and news conferences to follow. Private investigators and even psychics.

  “I’ve never seen a family like the Malones. They fought the good fight and have never given up hope on finding their little girl. They love her more than anything,” Detective Harris had said when he announced the case had gone cold. That didn’t stop the Malones. The pictures never went away and anyone living in Virginia, maybe even the United States, knew the name Leila Malone, but nothing worked. It seemed their little girl was lost forever.

  Until now.

  Nine years after little Leila went missing, she’s back home with the family who never stopped looking for her . . . who never stopped loving her. It’s a miracle, and the world could use more of those. The two people who were responsible for taking her away from her family are safely behind bars, where they won’t be able to hurt anyone again.

  Good luck, little Leila. We’re so glad you’re home where you belong!

  Opening a folder in the locked drawer in my desk, I stuff the old newspaper article back inside. I try not to think how Melody and Rex never hurt me, like the person who wrote it said. They did hurt me according to everyone else, and I get how that’s true. My brain knows it is because they kidnapped me. They took me from my parents. It’s my heart that has trouble remembering it because the truth is, even though I struggle with the concept of love, I didn’t always. And when I remember who taught it to me, it was them because they’re the only ones who hold my early memories.

  These are the
things no one will ever read about. How at first it wasn’t a miracle for me—I’d been taken from my family. I was scared and hurting and felt guilt for those feelings.

  My eyes sting, because I still feel all of those things.

  Before I let myself go through the hundreds of other articles in the drawers—the ones documenting my parents’ search for me, and the trail afterward, and the pictures of Melody and Rex, I shove the drawer closed again. I’m not sure why I even started looking in the first place because all it does is make me feel when I don’t want to.

  It’s been a couple days since I agreed to let Maddox in my shop. He comes in for a couple hours every day. I hate to admit it, because I almost hoped he’d screw up, but it hasn’t been bad. He’s up half the night working at Lunar, but he never shows it when he’s here in the afternoons.

  Even though I’m not the first person to work with him, he still studies everything I do. He watches me clean equipment and does everything exactly the way I tell him to. His dedication annoys me, even though it shouldn’t. He’s new, but he loves it, and it feels strange having that in common with him.

  For the millionth time I look at my cell. It’s almost 3:00, which means Maddox will be here any minute. It’s been slow as hell today and I’m hoping we get someone in not just because I want to work, but because it also helps when the scratch is here. We’re both quiet and even though I’m glad he’s not talking my ear off the whole time, it’s awkward as hell.

  When the door opens, I don’t look up, knowing it’s Maddox. Instead I turn to the computer to pull up my playlist so we at least have some music to listen to.

  “We have anyone scheduled today?” he asks.

  Now I let my eyes find him and wish he wasn’t so gorgeous. He still has that dark stubble on his jaw, which I’ve always found sexy, and eyes that are this unique shade of gray, with long black lashes.

  Eyes aren’t really something I’ve ever cared about drawing or tattooing, but for some reason, I think I’d like to draw his. I’d like to see if I could get the curl of his lashes right and the tone of his gray.

  “Nope. Hoping for some walk-ins, though. It takes a while to build up clientele.”

  He nods before sitting in one of the chairs. Maddox crosses his arms, and I can’t help but take in the long, toned muscles as they constrict with his movement. It’s crazy looking at him sometimes, because there’s always this edge of anger right below the surface. I see it almost come out, but he always finds a way to hold it back. If I thought he’d ever really let it out, he wouldn’t be here. Still, it’s definitely always there, making me wonder what he has to be so pissed about.

  But then there’s something in there that reminds me of Trevor too. Not that I know him really, but he has that pretty-boy look. He’s the type of guy who was popular in school and played sports and probably slept with the cheerleaders.

  It doesn’t fit, but I see that in Maddox too.

  “You’re staring at me.” His voice is calm, even, like it doesn’t really matter to him one way or the other.

  “So?”

  My reply seems to unbalance him, but he recovers quickly. “You’re looking at me like you want a replay of our first night. If you don’t stop, I’ll be watching you the same way and that’s something neither of us wants.”

  A shiver runs the length of me, but I don’t try to hold it back. I might not get with him again, but I’m not usually one who holds back on what I feel physically. What’s the point? It’s who I am regardless of if I’m Bee, Leila, or Coral. I’ve fought hard to make sure I know that.

  “Unfortunately, you’re right.” Leaning back in the chair, I cross my arms as Maddox looks at me. “What?”

  “I didn’t think you’d admit it.”

  “Why not? It’s true.”

  “Just because something’s true doesn’t mean people are honest about it.”

  I nod. He’s right about that. “There’s a lot of stuff we can’t change. A lot people keep in. I just . . .” I shrug. “There’s certain traits about me that are the way they are. Most of them I feel shitty about, so the ones I don’t . . . it seems ridiculous to hide those.” It’s too much to hide all the time.

  Maddox’s eyes concentrate on me hard. There’s a tick in his jaw, but he doesn’t look angry. More curious and I don’t want him or anyone else trying to figure me out. Who knows if he’ll ask me anything or not. Mostly I don’t think so because it doesn’t fit with the quiet guy he is, but I’m also not risking it.

  “That’s enough about that.” I push to my feet. “I’m getting antsy.”

  Maddox gets up right behind me and walks out the door. What the fuck? Did I miss something here? It’s only a few seconds later that he comes back inside and I feel my body relax. Why I was so tense over him walking out, I don’t know and honestly I don’t like it.

  Without a word, Maddox hands me a piece of paper. When I turn it over, I see it’s a flyer with the same picture on it as my sign outside the door.

  “You made this?” I don’t know why it shocks me. Actually I do. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to do something like this.

  “If I want to learn, we need business. It only makes sense.”

  Ah, so there’s the why. “You did this freehand from memory?”

  “It’s important.”

  “I gave some out before I opened.” I don’t admit that his looks better.

  “I’ll give some out at Lunar. My little sister is a waitress. She can maybe sneak and put them on cars at work or something. Laney and a couple of her friends go to the college. I’m sure they can hook us up with some people too.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to mention something about his little sister not really being “little.” They can’t be far apart in age, but then I remember I’m not supposed to know about her. And really, her age doesn’t matter. I’m only trying to distract myself from the fact that he put a lot of thought into this. Yeah it helps him, too, but it still means something to me.

  “That’d be cool.”

  “I’ll grab the rest of the flyers, then. We can each take some. I also thought it would help to have some specials. Did you do anything when you opened? I have a few ideas that—”

  “Whoa.” He’s throwing so many ideas at me I’m getting dizzy. All I can think is he’s trying to take over. He doesn’t think I can do it. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. What’s all this ‘we’ stuff? Masquerade is mine, Scratch. I don’t need you telling me how to run it.”

  Maddox steps back, emotions flashing through his eyes that I don’t understand. I cringe, guilt layering my annoyance.

  “Keep the flyer,” he grits out before heading toward the door. It would be the smartest thing in the world for me to let him leave, but the paper in my hand makes the guilt burn brighter.

  A voice in my head keeps telling me to apologize, but what comes out is, “You give up too easily.”

  Maddox stops moving. “You treat people like shit too often.”

  “True, but I have a feeling I’m not the only one here who does that.”

  With those words he turns around and looks at me. He wants to argue with me. I can tell by the set of his jaw and the tension in his features. Hell, what am I doing here with this guy? We’re too much alike. I think he sees it too. There’s no way this can end well.

  “I’m not trying to be a bitch. This place is important to me and I’m protective.”

  He nods, understanding lightening his face.

  “I also don’t apologize well.”

  “I don’t need apologies. They don’t mean shit anyway.”

  In that second I realize how different I am from so many girls, because those words are sexy. Brutal honestly is underrated and I can see that he has it, like I do. If I were a different kind of girl—the kind who believed in love—Maddox would be the guy I’d fall for. Though I guess if I really wasn’t me, he probably wouldn’t be what I’d want.

  Maddox steps closer to me, close enough that I
swear I smell a faint tint of tattoo ink mixed with the scent of man. He looks down at me, strength and anger rolling off him. Not like violent anger, but frustration at the world. Like he’s given up, but not in the way that he wants people to feel sorry for him. He’s real and doesn’t paint the universe as a happy place like so many people try to.

  I suddenly want to touch him. To see if the two of us coming together like we did that first night can give the world a little more of the realness that it lacks.

  Totally not a good idea and definitely not happening. I step away. “Why don’t we call it a day? I don’t think we’re going to get much business and you work tonight. There’s a lot of trouble we can get into if you stay. Trouble neither of us wants.”

  “It pisses me off that I want you,” he says with all the honesty in the world.

  “You do pissed off well, I think. And sexy too.”

  As he’s backing toward the door, Maddox says, “Yeah . . . I’ll grab the flyers for you and then I’m gone.”

  I’m breathing hard when I don’t want to be. A slow, tingly need building in my stomach. I almost ask him to stay. We could do that—enjoy each other with nothing attached to it, but if it becomes a habit, it could be a problem. It’s important I remember that, so instead of standing here, I go into the back until I hear him leave the flyers before going out front again.

  Chapter Six

  ~Maddox~

  The next day I’m sitting on my porch, trying to wake up with a cigarette in my hand. It was a long night at work with stupid-ass drunk people making fools of themselves. It gets tiring after a while. I’ve never been into shit like that. Don’t do drugs and rarely drink. My one vice is cigarettes. There’s something relaxing about the deep breaths in and forced breaths out. I think it was something I did to rebel when I was younger, and I haven’t stopped yet. They keep me busy, as fucked up as that sounds. Maybe I have an oral fixation or some shit like that.