Coletrane (3 page)

GODDAMN. SHE LOOKED
FIIINE
. It was a Saturday. I guessed her idea of slumming it was wearing a sarong that bared the length of one of her amazing legs, a pair of sandals that wrapped up her calves in soft leather, and a strapless top that hugged her fuckhot figure in all the right places.

And her idea of going ghetto must’ve been trawling down here by the train yards.

Shock carried across Sin’s face as she took in Trixxie, me, and the aforementioned cock ring.

“Oh, hon. You worried about a little cock ring? Cole has things up his sleeves you ain’t even—”

“Trixx,” I cut her off midstream.

“Yeah.
Yeah
. I’ll zip it.” Swooping into one of the back rooms, she poked her head out for a final zinger. “Call me if you need a fluffer for her.”

Sinclair stood just inside the door, shafts of sunlight making a halo of her hair. “Are you with her?”

“No. We’re coworkers. I don’t fuck where I earn money.”

“Then how does she know about your cock rings?” Staring at the silver ring I closed my fingers around, she perfected the
hands on hips
stance once again.

“Why? You jealous?” One of my eyebrows hooked up.

“Hardly.” She flicked back her amazing pure blonde curls and peered at me. “Just seems like something personal.”

“We tattoo and pierce each other, see half-naked bodies all day long. Ain’t much that’s personal around here, precious.” I punched my knuckles down on the counter, the muscles in my shoulders and arms bunching. “Your driver waiting outside?”

“No. I drove myself. I have my own license and everything.” She used that same
give it to me, big boy
breathy voice she’d taunted me with last night.

Like she knew exactly what I thought about her—overprivileged, unused to hard times, freewheeling and fancy-free without a care in the world.

Her soft green eyes widened to complete the look of total ingénue. Too bad her body spoke another story. And I knew she was taking me for a ride with this Little Miss So Innocent façade.

I stalked to the windows and checked outside. Then my mouth dropped open. I rocked on my heels. I looked some more.

I groaned. “You’re fucking kidding me.” Pressing my index finger to the window, I think I probably drooled. Like a fool. “Tell me that’s not yours.”

“All. Mine.” Her sultry whisper hit my neck, and damn, that was hot, but not as hot as the car illegally parked outside the shop.

A kick-ass ’77 Trans Am.

“Four hundred horsepower in that thing?” I asked.

“Kicks like a mule with the engine of a bull on ’roids.” Sin slid next to me as I goddamn salivated over the muscle car.

With the pop-out top windows and the massive hood bird decal an authentic red and black Firebird, the car was sex-on-four-wheels.

“Fuckin’ A.” I almost jizzed in my jeans. I wanted to fuck her in it, on it, see her drive it, and get behind the wheel with her in my lap.
Fuck
. “I thought you’d drive a Merc.”

“This is my weekend car.” Her fingers traipsed down my arm. “What can I say? I have a thing for hot rods.”

And I just happen to have the one for her.

It fucking thumped in my jeans.

Dragging myself away from the imminent girl plus car-gasm, I walked back to the counter and ignored the ancient black bakelight phone ringing at the far end.

“So, what can I do you for, Sin?”

And how soon can I do you?

“Sadie told me where you work.”

Of course she did.

I made no comment.

Sin glided across the floor as I heard Trixxie get on the horn in the room next door, answering the call I’d tuned out.

“I think I want some ink.” Sin stood right in front of me.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure yet. Can I see some examples?”

We-elll
,
there were photos all over the walls, but I just so happened to have some living art to show her.

“Sure.” I whipped off my shirt.

I wasn’t a small boy. I was a badass man. The muscles came from daily workouts. The height—a mere six foot two that put Sin half a foot under me—matched my framework. The tats? They detailed memories, moments, people . . . my life.

Sin sucked in a breath and her eyes grew wide. Her touch on my chest fizzled through my skin, but I stood stock-still.

I remained silent except for a low grunt when she tugged on one of the nipple barbells.

“You weren’t kidding about the piercings.” Her warm gust of breath hit my skin, causing havoc to my willpower.

“I might be an asshole sometimes, but I never lie.”

She licked me, right across one of the barbells, right there in the middle of the shop.

My hand flew into her hair, and I pulled her back. “Unless you wanna get your pussy reamed across the counter right now, you better stand down.”

She moved back so suddenly she almost knocked over one of the boxes on the counter.

I shuddered all over, lifting half-mast eyes to her. “I’m not about to mar your perfect skin. Tattoos are off the table.”

She was gorgeous. Untouched. Peaches and cream and obviously protected from the hot South Carolina sun.

And she looked
sooo damn good
as she was, glaring at me.

“I don’t take no for an answer.” Her leg slid from the slit of her sarong as she cocked her hip and curled her lips.

“Too bad, precious. Ain’t gonna happen.” I smirked as I approached her. “And I’m more than happy to say
no
to you.”

“Then I’ll just get your colleague to do it.” Her arrogant chin lifted.

“The fuck you will. You don’t need another damn thing on you.” I set my lips to her ear. “You’re sexy. A stand-out. A walking wet dream.” I licked those lush lips I’d kissed the night before—just a taste. “There is something I wanna do to you though.”

“What?” she whispered, searching for my lips as I pulled away.

“I’ll pierce your nipples.”

Her mermaid eyes flicked to mine then down to my nipples. “Like yours?”

“Oh, no. Although I’m sure you’d like that.” Lifting my hands to my chest, I tugged on the two barbells and twisted them.

Hot flames of arousal coursed through me.

Sin moaned through parted lips.

I’d been hard before, but now my cock suddenly broke new levels of stiffness.

My voice dropped, and I skimmed a hand down the clenching ridged muscles of my abdomen. “It can make your nipples ultra sensitive.”

Her gaze drifted lower, following the path of my hand. “I can see that.”

Leaning forward, I whispered against her ear. “For you I’d do hoops. Pretty little ones for what I bet are your pretty little nipples. Hoops I can attach things to, charms . . . ” And weights. And delicate chains . . .

Oh hell yeah.

Sin licked her bombshell lips.

I set my teeth lightly on her earlobe then bit down with firmer pressure until she moaned.

Drawing back, I observed her with a lazy smile. She practically trembled, and it was an insane turn-on seeing her lose her control.

“Unless you’re too much of a good girl?”

“I’ll let you do it.” Her hair whipped over her shoulder as she met my burning gaze.

I inhaled harshly, the image of her baring her tits for me, holding still while I pierced her nipples, overwhelmed me with a surge of animal-like lust.

Not yet though.

Dragging my shirt back on, I grinned. “You have to earn it first.”

“What?” Her voice rose several octaves.

“You heard me.” I checked the clock.

Twenty minutes until my next appointment. Definitely not enough time to do what I wanted to with her. Not here. Not now.

Sin wouldn’t go down without a fight, of course. That was what made baiting her so damn fun.

She shoved me on the shoulder when I turned back to my sketch.

“Let’s get one thing absolutely clear, Cole. I’m the Executive Director of The Fairley-Chatham Family Foundation. I manage millions of dollars per annum. I might’ve been privileged”—she stomped her foot—“but I work for what I have, and I’m damn successful. So if you think you can keep treating me like some harebrained flake just because of where I come from—”

“Then act like it, precious.” I cut her off mid-riff.

Pressing up onto her tiptoes, she got in my face, hissing, “Stop calling me that.”

I glanced behind her, then quickly pushed her away from me. Three rough-looking losers were outside with their hands all over her car.

“You need to leave now.” I prodded her to the door, going cold all over.

“But I’m not done—”

“You’re done. We are done.” My voice flinty hard, I urged her to hurry up as the gang bangers strutted inside.

Sin continued to resist until a skanky, skin-and-bones asshole brushed against her.

“Hey there, honey. What’s the rush?” He sneered at her.

Another one tried to sandwich her on the other side, his disgusting leer barely visible through a scraggly goatee. “Yeah. You look like you could be fun.”

“GET THE FUCK AWAY from her,” I growled, forcing my way between Sin and the wasters.

Kyle, Brett, and Curtis were nightmares from my past.

Maybe sensing she was out of her element in a major way, Sin zipped her mouth shut and hustled the hell out.

My old gang glued themselves to the windows to watch her. The second she unlocked the muscle car, the crude comments began:

“That rich bitch needs a cock in her hand, not a gearstick.”

“I hear that. I’ll be her gear daddy.”

“Piston the shit out of her,” scumbag number three said.

Shaking with rage, I only released a breath when Sin started the engine and squealed out of her spot. She shot down the road and out of sight.

With nothing else to keep their attention, the trio of thuglies turned to me.

“What the fuck do you want?” I pounded my fist down on the counter.

“Hey, Coletrane, that ain’t no way to greet old friends.” Curtis pushed off the hood of his sweatshirt, revealing red-rimmed eyes, a red-tipped nose, and hacked off mouse-turd brown hair.

He looked scrawnier and more tweaked than ever.

“You aren’t my friends.” Years ago I used to look just like him.

Down on my luck. Looking for a buck. Blitzed out of my head and needing a bigger dose of crank to reach my high.

Now I was bigger, stronger, smarter. And clean. I didn’t scare easy, just so long as these three delinquents never made a connection between Sinclair and me.

“We came to squeeze you for some money.” Brett, the biggest of the group, shoved up to the counter.

Maybe he was mixing steroids with his crystal.

“Who the hell do you think you are? The Godfather?” I knew one such Godfather type—Frankie Burelli—and he was the real ex-Mafioso deal, unlike these three runny-eyed meth heads.

That didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. I should know. I used to run with them.

“What about that hot bitch. Bet she’s loaded.” Kyle stroked the straggly ends of his sad attempt at a goatee.

Even from several feet away his unwashed stench nearly made my eyes tear up.

My jaw clenched. “Just a customer. Don’t even know her.”

“Probably not that hard to look up the owner of a car like that.” Curtis sniffed-sniffed-sniffed then swiped at his nose.

“See, we ain’t stupid anymore, neither. Maybe you went to college and all that, but we took over Charlestowne Crank Town when that Dirk asshole got himself shafted and sent up the river. Had to expand operations. Got our own inner-webz operations goin’ on.” Kyle inched closer, mentioning the bust that had nearly gotten Brodie Steele’s old lady killed.

“Then it doesn’t sound like you need money.” Reasoning with these brain-dead druggies was probably a waste of good oxygen.

“Here’s the thing. You gotta have
resources
to grow. And we’re gettin’ resourceful.” Brett pulled out a POS Lorcin handgun and spun it on his finger.

Seeing that gun reminded me of the time we’d been so wasted we’d played Russian Roulette. That was how stupid I’d been. I’d thought I was invincible, fucking badass. It’d taken a monumental wake-up call to realize just how wrong I was.

While Brett waved the weapon around, taking aim at various parts of the wall behind me, Curtis asked, “How’s your sister?”

My stomach dropped to my feet, my face hardening in rage.

Brett sneered at me and pulled the trigger. The empty chamber clicked, but he made the sound of an explosion.

“Oh yeah, now I remember.” Curtis smacked his palm to his forehead.

“She dead.” Kyle added, and they all laughed.

The need to do violence, bash some heads, break some skulls exploded inside me.

As I snarled, about to charge forward, Trixxie stuck her head into the room. “Hey, Cole. Where’d your girl go—?”

I didn’t spare her a glance as her voice cut off. She must’ve seen the gun.

“Go. See to your customer.” I knew full well she was back there alone but hoped like hell she’d get the picture and pull a disappearing act.

Trixxie wisely shut herself inside the room. I heard her hit the lock, too.

“Your girl, huh? That blonde? You said you didn’t know her.” Brett turned the gun on me.

My inner beast was in full force as I lurched forward. I drilled the motherfucker against the wall and slammed the gun from his hand.

With my forearm cranked against his neck, I almost foamed at the mouth. “You do not mention the blonde again. You do not look for her. And while we’re at, don’t you even fucking
think
about my sister either, because—God rest her soul—I will rip off your fucking limp dick and cram it down your throat until you choke on it.”

I pounded my fist in his meaty face.

The fast hard thud of the punch was so satisfying I let fly with one more. Blood spewed from Brett’s mouth, and he cried out.

“Thought you went legit and shit.” He cupped his mouth and nose, speaking with a wheeze when I backed away. “Just dropped us when Brooke bit it. Like it was our fault.”

“What did I just say about my sister?” I stared at the three of them, my breathing jagged, as jagged as the cuts on my knuckles. “Anyone else want a go at me?”

Maybe the cravings set in. Maybe they’d hit their lows and needed that next fix.
Maybe
I’d shaken their shit up enough they wouldn’t try to fuck with me again. Whatever it was they all stood down as if suddenly losing their swagger.

“Get the fuck out. Now. And do not come here again.” I pointed at the door as blood dripped from my ripped open knuckles.

Brett loomed in the doorway, cradling a sleeve over his mashed face. “Can’t promise that. We still need some cash.”

“You changed, dude.” Curtis slid toward the exit, pulling his hood over his head.

“Damn fucking right I did.”

****

After my old crew left, taking their druggie reek with them, Trixxie popped out. She asked a million questions a minute, none of which I answered.

Getting through the day was a slog. Normally I turned off my head and tuned right into the hum of my ink gun, losing myself in the designs I decorated on untouched skin.

Not so this time. Curtis, Kyle, and Brett showing up out of the blue bent my brain all out of shape. I didn’t care so much about me. It was Sin I worried about.

At about quitting time, I finally broke down and dialed Sadie, Kinkaid’s woman and Sin’s close friend. Two minutes later I had Sin’s digits.

I lit a smoke as I propped my back against the closed door of Inksanity. The parking lot next door for the Tattooed Moose bar had already filled, the night not even started yet. They made a killing on local brews and big servings of unusual fried foods. It helped that the casts of lots of lowcountry filmed movies and TV series frequented the place.

Everyone wanted a piece of the fame game.

Not me.

I just wanted a break from my past.

I called Sin, inhaling another lug of smoke from my cig.

“Sinclair here.” Her voice wrapped around me like soft silk.

“Hey. It’s Cole. Coletrane.”

“You can just say Cole. I haven’t forgotten you already,” she said, a rustle of fabric in the background.

“What are you doing?”

“Dressing.”

And way to add more fuel to the fire I’m trying to put out.

“In what?” I flicked my smoke to the ground and stomped on it, far more interested in what Sin had going on.

“A dress. I have to give a speech tonight.”

“Don’t suppose you want to tell me what the dress looks like?”

“Cole. Did you call me for a reason or is this about phone sex?”

“I don’t fuck over the phone. I prefer to do it in person with a wet pussy on my big cock.”

“
Cole,
you can’t say—”

“I can. And I will. But that’s not why I got your number off Sadie.” I planted the sole of my boot against the brick wall. “Those guys today at the shop. You ever see them again, you call me immediately. I’m not fucking kidding.”

“Do I need to be worried?” she asked, over the sound of a zipper being pulled.

UGH.

Focus.

“Sin. Are you dressed yet?”

“Just plumping my breasts,” she answered, oh-so-
not
-helpfully.

“I don’t think they need more plumping,” I gritted out.

“All done,” her sweet voice came across.

Jesus. So am I. My cock is pounding in my jeans.

“You’ll tell me if you see them again? The skanks from today?”

“Cole. Are you in trouble?”

“No. I’m not. Not anymore. Just please, be careful for me, precious.”

“I’m on my way to the car now. Absolutely no threats so far.” I heard a hot moist sound come from her.

“What the hell was that?”

“Just reapplying my lipstick.”

“Is it red?” My hand coasted down to my ever-hard cock.

“You know it.”

“One more thing, Sin.” I headed around the corner and grinded my punished fist against the brick wall. “Stay away from me.”

“Is that really what you want?”

“No,” I hashed out. “Not what I want at all. I want you. Not at the price it would cost you.”

“I’m fully loaded. No price is too high.” The sound of the V-8 engine rumbled in the background.

I rolled my eyes. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“Well, I try. Sometimes.”

Jesus, I wanted to find a reason to keep her on the line, keep her talking to me, but I needed to cut her completely loose.

“Hey, Sin?” My hand clamped around the phone.

“Yeah?”

I wanted to tell her good luck with her speech. Wanted to make a date with her. I hated that I couldn’t do that.

Hated myself when I said, “I meant it, Sin. Stay away from me. Stay away from the MC.”

I ended the call before she could respond.

****

Over the next few days I toyed with deleting Sin’s number from my phone. Couldn’t bring myself to do it. I managed not to stalk her on Instagram, Facebook, G+.

I was a grown man. Not a creeper.

My ex-friends didn’t show their faces again. Good thing, too. I did not like the threat against Sin. Next time I’d pound all their faces into bloody pulps.

Trixxie didn’t mention the incident again. Zeb never heard about it, and it was business as usual at Inksanity. Every new tattoo a fresh start, a fresh slate like the one I needed in my life.

I had nothing to report on Brett, Kyle, and Curtis, not really. Besides, I didn’t want Hunter catching wind of my connection with a posse of deadbeat assholes cranking out the crank trade. I could take care of my own shit. Always had.

In an effort to get Sin off my mind—because that scenario was impossible start to finish—I even gave Pincushion a bath. I held the scrappy little cat at an arm’s length after I’d dragged on heavy canvas work gloves. She hissed, clawed, bit, and mewled as soon as she hit the water. For my efforts I earned forearms covered in scratches, a soaking wet bathroom, and one seriously pissed off feline.

At least, I thought she was a cat. It was still hard to tell. But she smelled better when she pounced into my lap with her godawful, almighty yowl for attention.
Now
.

Several days later, August showed its face, and this time it was hotter’n Satan’s asshole. I was wound tighter than usual as I poured drafts, stationed behind the bar at Retribution. Tail had been working hard—
for a change
—the past few days, filling all the knife holes in the walls of the MC’s main room. Most of those nicks came care of Bo showing off his Krav Maga moves with his custom-gripped KA-BARs.

Tail, the big, black-haired wrecking ball of a dude, had even added a new coat of paint. He called the color
Whore Red.
I doubted that was gonna take off with Sherwin-Williams, but it was a pretty good description. And maybe the dude had been watching HGTV—though that didn’t seem likely—but he’d chosen well. The clubhouse makeover made the place look less man cave and more MC hot.

Not that it hadn’t been one class-act club before. The steel bar Kinkaid and I kept shiny, the bottles all lined up, mirrors polished, tables cleaned, floor mopped, and the maroon pool tables that were total boss . . . so what if the Miller High Life and Pabst Blue Ribbon lights had been detailed with pot tokers and silhouettes of naked women? I personally blamed that on Tucker. He got a certain satisfied gleam in his eyes whenever he looked at the low-hanging lights.

Grandfather MC dispensed his wisdom behind a shot glass of tequila, always looking out for the welfare of those he considered family. He was Preacher Man, Dog Whisperer, Old Man Philosopher, and he wasn’t afraid to school anyone about tunes, tats, or how to treat a woman right.