Page 1 of Beg for You

Chapter One

Cassandra

Rocktown, Montana

If my father ever found out about this…

Nerves had rioted inside me during the thirty-minute drive from Springhaven, and they didn’t appear to be letting up.

I doubted very much that any of my father’s friends would be visiting Rocktown—the small town was not a place “our kind of people” would ever be seen dead in—but I still found myself glancing over my shoulder.

I reached for the door then dropped my hand again. Dammit. I’d been standing here like an idiot for close to ten minutes.

I stared at the fluorescent blue sign hanging above the tattoo parlor’s door: Rocktown Ink—then flinched when the music coming from inside was turned up so loud the glass door vibrated. It was giving the thumping bass coming from the dive bar across the street a run for its money.

The door of the place—The Lucky Mule, going by its own glowing sign—opened then closed with a crash and someone laughed, voices carrying over. I gripped the strap of my bag tighter as wind blew through me off the surrounding mountains.

God, I was positive I could hear my father’s disapproving voice booming all the way from our ranch. Just the thought of him had my hands sliding down the sides of my designer skirt and up to my hair, making sure nothing was out of place, perfect, as was expected.

I gritted my teeth.

Stop it, Cassy.

I was twenty-six years old, for God’s sake. I chose what I did with my body. Nobody else got to have an opinion. I was done being someone’s puppet. Done being guilted into attending functions, schmoozing with my father’s associates, and playing the charming, dutiful daughter.

Just…done.

Today the real Cassandra Deighton stood up. Well, at least, here’s where she began, where the road to finding her began.

I had no control over my father’s thoughts or feelings. But I could do this, for me.

There was no erasing the memories of that day, the most painful day of my life, but I could transform the ugly reminder I carried on my body into something else, something beautiful.

The only time I felt alive was when I was riding, the cool wind on my face and in my hair, at one with my horse Tierra as we cantered across our property, or what was left of it.

I wanted that feeling, needed to experience it in other aspects of my life. I was more than the scars on my body.

God, I felt like a caterpillar stuck in a cocoon, never fully growing her wings, restrained, confined, desperate to break free. No, I wasn’t going to run off and join a circus or have an affair with the hot mechanic who serviced my car—not that I’d know what to do with him if the opportunity arose—but that wasn’t the point. The point was, I could…if I wanted to.

I stared at the artwork taped to the windows again and took a steadying breath. Whoever drew these was extremely talented. They were nothing like the pieces I displayed in my gallery, but they were equally impressive in their own way. My father would have said they were tacky and cheap…

Enough.

This time when I put my hand on the painted wooden doorframe, I pushed it open.

Heavy rock hit me as I walked in, the bass moving through my body, right to the soles of my feet. Another wave of apprehension swept over me, gnawing at my confidence as I took in the room. It was small but brightly lit. There was a worn leather couch by the window and a glass counter opposite filled with jewelry. The walls were covered in more of that amazing artwork—pictures of the work they’d done here, some faded like they’d been there years, others new and bright.

I toyed with the strap of my bag then gripped it so tight the leather dug into my fingers. I’d never in my life been to a place like this. I had no idea what to expect. What was expected. I hated this feeling of being out of my depth, unsure.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

I jumped, and spun around, then got annoyed with myself for my overreaction. I curled my lips up in what I hoped was a friendly smile and not a grimace, aiming it at the young blue-haired guy standing in front of me, while doing my best to battle the nerves erupting in my belly like mini firecrackers. “Hello.”

He was probably in his early twenties, maybe even late teens. He had a lot of facial piercings, and tattoos covered every bit of exposed skin.

“You in the right place?” he said, a smirk curling his lips.

“Um…” Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. My determination of a moment ago started to wane. Surely there was somewhere else, somewhere less…less…this.