DeeperThanInk (8 page)

Chad listened to her slow, steady breathing, the euphoria of
having her in his bed starting to wane. Life had taught him not to doubt the
things that came a person’s way. Not to worry too much. But he was feeling both
where Becca was concerned.

Her doing the tattoos was more than a little worrisome.
Their entire experience at Club Rosenthorn had left him disturbed. Not because
of the voyeuristic scene they’d witnessed, everyone had their kink of
preference, he supposed.

It was because Andres Herzog seemed to be able to read them
both. And it was clear he thought Becca had potential. That with a few lessons
at his hand she’d fit into their scene.

There was no way in hell Chad was about to let that happen.
Not today. Not tomorrow. And certainly not whatever day that asshole decided
Becca needed to return to the club for her final payment.

He looked down at her face, her strong features relaxed in
sleep.

Yeah. No way in hell.

Chapter Five

“Holy freakin’ hell, look at you!”

Becca stopped dead in her tracks in front of the lunchroom
and glanced over her shoulder. She wanted to make sure her boss was talking to
her and not one of the other artists who might be following in her wake.

“Miss Clairol and the Sephora Fairy go at it this morning or
what? I guess we know who came out on top. I like it, Wiley. Less is more, I
hear it all the time.”

“I’ll bet you do, Joseph. And aren’t you lucky they have a
pill for that?” she teased, realizing his shock was centered on her new hair
color and not some outwardly discernible sign that she and Chad had spent the
past eighteen hours banging like bunnies. She’d been running so far behind this
morning she’d only done one layer of mascara. Didn’t even prime. Her lashes
felt naked.

Mmmm. Naked, huh?

Becca had known she was going to have a hard time
concentrating this morning when the light of day had shone through Chad’s
wooden blinds and she was still wrapped in his embrace. Panic had started
climbing from the pit of her stomach straight up her throat until Chad had
placed a light kiss against her temple and ordered her to be still for just a
while longer. And she had. She’d pushed all other thoughts aside and focused on
the delight of having Chad’s tall, solid form next to her as opposed to
flinging a knee over a big fluffy body pillow. The squeezing part was much more
rewarding.

But the moment she’d stepped out his door, her thoughts had
gone haywire. Her stylist could have dyed her hair Oompa Loompa green and she
probably wouldn’t have noticed. She’d spent her time in the salon chair
reliving the bliss that had constituted the previous afternoon and evening with
Chad. He had nudged her awake with a raging hard-on around six o’clock, which
delayed their pizza-fest by another hour but Becca didn’t care. And when he had
wrung a few more orgasms out of her and they crawled into his shower, reverting
right back to their easy conversation and banter, she’d grown to love over the
past eight months. That had been her biggest fear. That sex with Chad would
change all that. That she’d have to start weighing her words.

She shouldn’t have worried. Should have known he was going
to be the same straight-talking man he’d always been. He stopped her when she
started rehashing their stupidity at not acting on their attraction for each
other soon. He’d told her all that was in the past and couldn’t be changed. But
he’d told her he planned on making up for lost time. He assured her they’d
never lose the intimacy that was born from friendship. But he also promised
there’d be banging. And lots of it.

Becca’s thighs felt as if she’d done a two-hour spin class.
The pain in her lower back wasn’t much better but she smiled, happier than
she’d been in a very long time. Which made teasing her boss especially easy.

“It’s a bit disturbing that you know about high-end cosmetic
stores, Joseph.” Becca hooked her thumbs in her back pocket and offered him an
angelic smile. “Is that your latent Sperry and Lacoste sides showing?”

He offered her a noncommittal snort. The kind that generally
equated to a big “fuck you”.

“Give me some credit, will you? That store is right next to
those sirens at Starbucks. You
know
that one chick on the six-to-ten
shift has a thing for older guys. I try to stop by on a regular basis. Show her
the standard other men should live up to.”

“Right.” Becca chuckled.

“Promise me one thing, Wiley. Please tell me you’re not
going to start channeling any of the craziness that goes along with being a
redhead. I’ve got enough of that with CeeCee and Brendan.”

“Those two are gingers, boss man. This,” she said, rocking
her head from side to side so her hair bounced around her face, “is light
auburn.”

“And that’s supposed to convince me you’re not going to turn
bat-shit crazy?” His piercing gray eyes raked her from head to toe and back
again.

“How would you even notice in this place?” she replied.

“No kidding. I got your request for room four,” he said, his
demeanor turning businesslike.

“There’s not a problem, is there?” It was the largest room
in the shop. The only one that would hold Herzog’s entire entourage.

“No. I’d have called you if there was. But that love bite I
noticed while you were swinging your hair around like some bimbo in a shampoo
commercial, along with the shit-eatin’ grin you can’t hold back—I’m thinking
you might not have answered. You got everything you need?”

A flush rose up Becca’s neck and settled in her cheeks.
Joe’s innuendos never made her blush before. He didn’t crack a smile. Right
now, she’d show him she could be professional. When she got home, she’d kick
Chad’s ass.

“I’m doing some UV work. Using the ink I bought a few months
ago. No color—”

He held up one weathered hand and stopped her. “You don’t
have to give me a rundown of what you’re using or not using. When do you
start?”

“Noon. I have a total of five today,” Becca said.

“There any chance four of them would be together?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“They’re already here. Came in about fifteen minutes ago.
Had to prod like hell to get the one chick to talk. All she said was, ‘We’ll
wait.’ The rest just sat there, not looking up at all. Fuckin’ freaky if you
ask me. I couldn’t even get them to sign consent forms. You’re going to have to
take care of that.”

“No problem. Thanks, Joe.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that.” She heard him mumble, but she
was already on her way to the reception area.

Becca was startled to find it wasn’t the four women waiting
for her. The man was there, but the platinum blonde was absent.

Which means it isn’t the guy getting the collar.

Becca shook her head. That tattoo was going to be her
biggest challenge. She remembered the woman’s alabaster skin. The ink would be
awesome, but Becca still couldn’t comprehend the possession it represented. The
sooner she got the smaller ones started, the better. She grabbed the paperwork
off the corner of the counter and said, “Follow me.”

She led them through the shop to the room in the back,
garnering stares from the other artists as they followed her single-file. Once
they were inside she motioned to the table. “Who wants to go first?” she asked.

Silence.

She let her gaze rest on each of them. The tall, skinny man
with mocha-colored skin and a sky-blue afro. The ridiculously skinny girl with
a jet-black pixie cut. The voluptuous older woman with long dark-blonde hair.
And the leggy brunette whose fists were clenched at her side.

“Listen. One of you is going to have to talk. This vow of
silence or whatever it is you do with Andres can’t apply here, okay? I’m going
to ask you questions, now and while I’m inking you, and I’m going to need
answers.”

They raised their heads and looked at Becca with an
intensity that made the base of her neck tighten. They remained silent. She’d
inked the most exalted rulers of some of the country’s largest motorcycle gangs
and they hadn’t made her this uneasy.

She was getting paid well. She’d make it work.

“We’ll start with you filling out the consent forms. Joe
said you didn’t want to do that earlier but they’re required by law. Real
names—”

“You mean we can’t use our aliases?” the brunette asked in a
sarcastic tone.

“Delia!” The full-figured woman turned her head and
chastised her friend.

At least Becca assumed they were friends. How could you be
ordered about by the same controlling person, forced to kneel in supplication,
and not form some type of kinship?

The brunette raised her chin a little higher. “She thinks
we’re like strippers, Gretchen. That we hide behind some insipid stage names.”

“Delia, don’t.” The man reached out and grabbed her arm.
“The Master ordered us not to speak.”

She shook free of his grasp. “She thinks we’re ashamed of
our lifestyle, Franco. But what does she know?” The woman stepped closer to
Becca. “We don’t need to lie like other people. Master makes sure of that. A
person like
her
couldn’t begin to understand that. Or us.”

Becca straightened her spine, drawing herself to her full
height. Customer or not, she wasn’t about to put up with her condescending
tone.

“I know plenty of strippers, honey, and guess what? They’d
have signed the fucking paperwork without going off on some rant. Especially if
they were getting inked for someone they loved. Someone they respected. Which
leads a person like me to assume you don’t hold Andres Herzog in as high of
regard as he thinks you do. How ‘bout that, Delia?” Becca asked, not expecting
an answer. “And let’s not even go into the fact you’ve somehow lost all
semblance of subservience. What would your master think about that?”

“No,” Franco gasped and rushed to Becca’s side. He trapped
all ten of Becca’s fingers between his soft hands, palms together as if in
prayer. “Don’t be angry with Delia. There’s no need to tell the Master. Delia’s
just jealous.”

“Jealous?” She looked at Franco then back to Becca. “Of that
cu—”

“Enough!”

It was the pixie whose voice cut them all off. Her deep
commanding tone belaying her petite appearance. “Don’t say another word, Delia.
If you fuck this up, we’ll all pay. And I’m too close to ending my
apprenticeship to allow that to happen.”

She moved between Becca and Delia and addressed the brunette
face-to-face.

“You are a submissive. And a submissive you will always be.
Don’t allow something our Master views as his latest challenge to cloud your
sensibility. Think of what you truly want. Then act in accordance.”

That “latest challenge” statement was pretty clear. Becca
didn’t want their master’s attention.

Seconds passed, then the brunette replied. Soft and contrite.
“Yes, Shawna.”

The woman turned and Becca couldn’t deny the air of
confidence that surrounded her. “Do you require an apology?” she asked.

Becca mentally applauded the woman’s finesse. The gentle
flip from the role of intimidator to that of complacency. The tension swirling
through the room suddenly dissipated and Becca exhaled.

“Not necessary,” she finally said. “But you can all fill out
the paperwork and I’ll get started. Do you want to go first? The others can go
shopping or grab a bite to eat.”

“We stay together,” Shawna replied. “Master’s rules. But
I’ll be happy to go first.”

Chad balanced the pizza box and another to-go container on
top of that and opened the door of room four, surprised to see it filled to
capacity with Herzog’s slaves. Becca looked up from her current customer, the
heavier woman with massive boobs.

“What are you doing here?” Becca blurted, her surprise
clear.

He should have been used to that response from the employees
of More Ink, including her. He figured it was the evening attire as opposed to
muscle shirts and wallets on chains.

“Well, thank you, baby,” Chad said, setting the pizza on top
of a pile of magazines stacked on the small end table. He looked up to find
three pairs of eyes glued to the red-white-and-green graphic of a rotund man in
a tall chef’s hat. “It’s always nice to know I’m wanted. I dig the new do, by
the way.”

He wasn’t shocked by the shade. She changed hair color more
often than any woman he’d ever met. But it was pretty easy to figure out that
she’d left his bed and apparently hightailed it directly to the salon. Was
that—and her curt greeting—symbolic? Maybe she regretted them hooking up and
was trying to change whatever she could to ensure she wasn’t reminded of
anything. Starting with the way she appeared when she looked at herself in the
mirror.

“It’s dinner rush, that’s all I meant,” she explained,
offering him a wide grin that made him want to kick himself. He didn’t need to
constantly wonder if she was going to bail. “What are you doing here and not at
work? How did you get away?”

“
Someone
placed this huge carryout order and there
weren’t any runners who could deliver it. So here I am.”

He watched her wipe away the final bit of ink from the
woman’s shoulder blade.

“How huge?” Becca asked.

One of the women chuckled and he looked over in time to see
the man pinch the too-skinny chick’s arm.

“Watch it,” Chad warned. The man dropped his hand to his
sides and stared straight ahead, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Chad moved to the table and stared down at the woman who
remained motionless. “I brought enough margherita pizza for my favorite tattoo
shop. I dropped all but this one in the break room. Didn’t know if you’d want
that or what’s behind door number two.”

She set her gun down and looked up at him. She tried to
downplay her curiosity. But it was there in her eyes. “And what is that?” she
asked.

“Chicken parm. Extra sauce.”

Her eyes lit up and he vowed to make that happen more often.
He knew she didn’t need extravagant reminders of a person’s devotion. He’d
heard all about her opinions on that when they’d discussed her past life. Her
ex.

“Thanks so much. But you didn’t have to—”

“How are they looking?” he interrupted.

The man got up without being asked and shut off the overhead
light just as Becca hit the other switch that shrouded the room in a white-blue
glow. Like little soldiers the others lined up at the head of the table and
turned away from Chad. One by one they lifted their shirts, baring their backs
to show him the artistry Becca had created. He took it all in. Not only the
designs but the way the inkees had responded. He glanced at Becca. She had a
tiny smile on her face. Being with them for half a day must have made her
somewhat immune to the strangeness.

“Very, very nice, Becca.” From this distance the chains
seemed identical. The letters on the charms were the only difference. F, D, S,
G. Their names, no doubt. Chad had almost expected to see Herzog’s initials.
Egomaniacal creep that he was. He wondered what Becca had learned about the
type of relationship they all shared. And he wondered how often Herzog
recruited new members. There was no doubt in his mind the old fart would have
creamed his khakis if Becca had told him she’d take her payment in cash and
tutorials.