I nod, murmuring. “Me too.” I rub my arms to ward off the chill. When he hugs me, I let him, hoping to feel something, anything other than mild interest. He’s warm, and it feels good against the chill on my skin, but it still leaves me feeling more sisterly than anything towards him. I don’t want to hug a potential date and feel like he’s my brother. I want the thrill I feel with Stone.
He leans in for a kiss on my cheek, but before he can touch my face, there’s a sudden explosion of the bike’s engine. It makes me jump back from Julian. I stare over his shoulder at the bike that is now rumbling in the parking lot.
“What the fuck!?” I utter, shocked. I look around, expecting to see the big bad biker I have a hard on for, walking fromaround the corner, but there is no one. Did we trigger the engine somehow? Is it some sort of alarm?
Julian chuckles. “Fucking cool. Remote starter,” he shouts near my face. It’s impossible to carry on a conversation because the engine is loud. The vibration goes through my body. I only hear the word bye before Julian is waving at me one last time. He heads to his blue Tesla and hops in, backing out of the parking lot and driving away.
The bike turns off suddenly, leaving it blessedly quiet. It must have been some sort of scare tactic that Stone installed to stop a possible theft. What other possibility could there be?
I turn to go back inside, to escape the chill, but something makes me glance around. A moment of fear. Someone is watching me. I can feel it. When I glance up, I look at the windows above my gallery. There is nothing except the soft glow of the lamp I left on. My eyes naturally go to Stone’s windows, thinking that maybe I would find him there, staring down at me, but they’re dark.
Addingthe soaked fabric to the canvas, I step back. Tonight’s mediums are fabric. Leather and silk. The gray and black face that’s taking shape pisses me off more. It’s his face. Again. All the sexy, sharp angles and brooding eyes. Which reminds me, I need to use some smoky glass I found thrifting for his eyes. Growling, I sigh and start cleaning up.
I look around my living room, where a few of my canvases stare back at me. I think about Julian’s words. The work I’ve done with Stone as my muse is some of my best. I’ve never worked this much on one subject before over the last months. I’ve created over 30 pieces. All of him. Stupid sexy bastard.
Storing the unfinished piece in my storage closet, I head downstairs. I’m grimy and covered in sweat, fabric fibers, and paint, but it was worth it. The piece is going to be amazing, even if it’s that fucker’s face.My pussy tingles, and I scowl, looking down. “Pipe down, missy. He is not going anywhere near you for the foreseeable future.”
Disgusted with the probable wetness in my panties, I roll my shoulders and head to the gallery. I still have a shitload of boring wall painting to do in the gallery. Everything has to be perfect. I can’t fail at this. Heading back to the wall I had started earlier, I picked up the roller and dipped it back into the paint tray, soaking up paint, before smoothing it along the wall in up-and-down motions.
The knock at the door makes me jump. I set down the paintbrush, wondering if it’s Julian. He must have left something. The windows and the door are covered with builder’s paper. I try to peek through the side, but don’t see anyone. A moment of fear makes me stop. The last few months of feeling like someone is following me make me more cautious.
“Who is it?”
“Open the door, Countess.”
My pussy perks right up at that deep voice. What the hell is he doing here?
Chapter 29
30 minutes earlier
A giggle erupts from beyond the wall, and I grip the handle of the tattoo machine harder.
It’s her laugh.
That full-bodied, throaty chuckle. A masculine voice follows another one of her laughs, and I want to punch through the wall and find out who the hell is in there with her. Not knowing distracts me enough that I lift my tattoo gun and wipe away the leftover paint. I need to focus or I’ll fuck up the latest portion of this piece. I’ve tattooed for what feels like hours.My back aches and my fingers are starting to cramp.
Since opening this morning, the shop has been busy all day. Onyx handled a steady stream of piercing clients, while Riggs and I tattooed. It’s not often that Riggs can spend the entire day working, but when he does, it’s back-to-back appointments with many of his clients booking months in advance for his brightly colored pieces.
My eyes are tired from the hours of working, and I lift my head, hearing that deep masculine voice again. Not for the firsttime do I wish I had put cameras in her apartment. I have to quell the urge to drag her out of her apartment and demand to know who that deep voice belongs to, but I can’t just get up and kill someone in the middle of a tattoo.
“You okay man?”
Looking down at the club member lying on my table, I ignore his question. He’s young, and I inwardly sigh. He must be around 19 years old, and I feel 90 in comparison. He’s sweaty and in pain. The piece he is getting will cover his entire back. He bit off more than he could chew. I stop and put down the gun. “Let’s finish the rest next week.”
He sighs in relief, wincing as he rises from the table. I clean him up, add the protective gel, and then the skin cover to help the colors saturate into his skin.
Once he’s gone, I clean up, my whole body attuned to what might be happening beyond the walls. I head to the doorway that leads to the stairs and listen through the wood. The stairs creak, and I hear two sets of footsteps; her door opens and closes. They’re in her apartment. I climb the steps to my apartment and open the door, heading to the wall, needing to know.
I lean against the wall, straining to hear their indistinct voices, their laughter. A groan reaches me, and I sit up, fury pumping through me. He’s in her apartment. I listen like a fucking asshole and take out a cigarette and light it, needing the nicotine hit to calm the fuck down. But I wouldn’t mind tunneling the red-hot tip of my cigarette into his eyes. I concentrate, preparing to hear another moan, or anything else that will confirm that I’m going to kill the man who’s touching her tonight. But there’s no more moaning, and I wonder if it means she fucking him in another part of her apartment. Despite being a mirror image of my apartment, the only wall we shared is part of her living room and bedroom wall.
I only hear silence, and then the voices come from beyond the window. I look through the glass and watch them exit. She’s wearing those fucking fishnets she always seems to wear. Just like before, I imagine ripping the crotch and fucking her, while holding onto the shredded fabric, anchoring her in place. Her hair is up in a pretty ponytail. Perfect for wrapping around my fist.
Wood cracks beneath my fingers from gripping the window frame. He’s young and, from the looks of it, artistic. The asshole leans in to hug her, and I want to rage. His hands are on her body. The touch pushes me over the edge. I pull my bike keychain out of my pocket and turn on the remote starter.
The deep, rumbling sound is loud and aggressive.Try talking with that much noise, motherfucker.I squeeze the tip, the burn from the ember making me hiss in satisfaction. ‘Skater boy’ gets in his sporty Tesla. I take note of his license plate, memorizing the number.
I blow the last bit of my smoke in my lungs to the ceiling, and pick up my black tin of cherry candy and pop one, sucking on it to help settle my rage. I feel a bit calmer. Moving away from the window, I turn off the engine.
