Inferno Anthology (277 page)

I smiled back, clenching my jaw.
You shouldn’t,
I thought. She’d run screaming from this place right now if she knew she was currently starring in an episode of
Tattoos Gone Wild
playing in my head. It didn’t have a whole lot to do with tattoos, either, and everything to do with sex on just about every surface in this place.
Dude,
I growled internally,
she just lost her brother—your friend. Have a little respect.

That put a mild damper on my raging hormonal thoughts—at least enough to let me get back to the task at hand. But placing my fingers on her soft skin threatened to be my undoing, once more. I couldn’t help the slight stroke over the design, just to feel her beneath my fingertips.

“How’s that look?” I asked, and she leaned forward a bit. I didn’t miss the soft flush of her skin as her gaze moved from the design to me. “I like it.”

“I do, too,” I replied honestly. She made the tattoo look sexy, even though the tattoo itself wasn’t. “Try to relax,” I coached, as I moved my rolling stool over beside her hip. Snapping my latex gloves into place, I stared at her. “This is going to hurt; but if you can relax, it may even become pleasurable pain.”

“How many tattoos do you have?” she asked, glancing to where part of a tribal peeked from beneath my short sleeve.

“Six,” I answered, dipping the tattoo gun into the ink and testing the flow.

“Six,” she echoed. “Is that how you got your nickname?”

“No,” I responded, not offering any more. “Are you ready?” She released a deep breath and nodded as she lay back into the chair, and I began.

The sting bit into my flesh and I clenched my fingers tightly around the edges of the reclining tattoo chair, staring at the ceiling tiles overhead, as the buzz of the gun filled the air.

“Relax,” Six said, as he continued to etch the memory of my brother into my flesh. “You’re doing great.”

Allowing the breath I’d been holding to slowly leak free, I tried to do as he asked, but it was easier said than done. I lowered my gaze, staring at him as he concentrated on his work. The heat from his hand traveled through the thin latex layer between us, sending sparks of his own through me. I wondered what he thought of me, if he imagined me as some silly teen determined to fight against what her parents dictated, sneaking out to get a tattoo.

Out of all of Tommy’s friends, Trey Jagger, or Six as he was called by everyone, was the one I’d found most intriguing—not that I knew him at all. In fact, I was pretty sure we’d never actually spoken to each other, which was why it surprised me that he knew my name.

Tommy’s friends were never allowed at my house. Tommy had barely been allowed there, at times. My dad said his friends were too wild, and a bad influence on society. I’d been warned to stay away from them and Tommy had been warned to keep his dirt away from the good name of our family, too, something I found completely ludicrous.

Our family was far from perfect; and judging from the way my parents fought with each other when they thought no one was looking, I was pretty sure my dad was the reason his first marriage broke up. Scott Hall was not a nice man. Sometimes I envied Tommy, even wishing I could go live with him and his mom, Dee Dee—anything to get away from the constant fighting at my house.

But my dad was the mayor, with ambitions to move higher up the political ladder, and my moving somewhere else would only further sully the family name. So, I did what any self-respecting teenager would do. I kept my mouth shut, followed the rules to avoid notice, and stayed busy with extracurricular activities, spending the night with my best friend, Bailey, whenever possible, or hiding out in my room when I had to be at home.

Six. His nickname had always puzzled me. How did someone end up with a name like that? He had six tattoos apparently, but denied that as the reason. I couldn’t see anything else that had to do with sixes. Did he like six shooters? Did it take six shots to get him wasted? Had he slept with six girls in one night?

That one made me pause. I didn’t like how it made me feel—jealous. He certainly looked like a guy who’d be capable of sleeping with six girls in a night, though. The few times I’d been in proximity to him made me want to melt.

I wanted to be brave enough to just ask him about his name, but he hadn’t seemed too willing to talk about it, earlier. Truth be told, he was more than a bit intimidating. He had thick wavy, dark brown hair, shorter around the edges, but longer on the top, leaving it sort of casually messy—as if someone had recently run their fingers through it. I could imagine sinking my fingers into its silky depths and losing them—if I could even stretch far enough to reach his hair. He was tall, somewhere in the neighborhood of six foot three, I’d guess, six-four, perhaps, if you added in the biker boots he was currently wearing. Compared to my five foot six, he seemed like a giant. I always felt tall, until I saw him. He made me feel tiny.

Of course, part of that, too, was probably due to his large frame being covered in vast muscles. I wondered how many hours he spent in the gym to look like that. He was the textbook image of “rippling with muscle,” but with just the right amount—not too overdone, but not necessarily what one would consider lean muscle, either. He was tough looking, built like a stack of bricks. I had no doubt that he could hold his own in any fight that might arise.

Then there was his face, his square jaw and chiseled features, high cheekbones, straight nose, full lips—all were perfection—giving him a slightly exotic look, but it was his eyes that held me captive.

They were ice blue—like those on a wolf or an Alaskan Husky—so light as to almost be colorless, but edged by a dark ring. When he’d stared at me earlier, in the front of the store, I felt like he could see right through me—like I was caught in the gaze of a predator, or something. It was both a little thrilling and terrifying, but I liked it. I couldn’t see his eyes now, as he concentrated on his art.

“How was the funeral?” he asked softly, not looking up.

“You didn’t go?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t seen him, but I hadn’t really been looking to see who was there, either, mainly concentrating on Dee Dee, who was having a very hard time. She’d squeezed my fingers so hard they’d turned white. My dad made a big show of comforting her, but I knew it was fake. So did she. They did not get along well, at all.

“No.” He sighed heavily, sounding regretful. “Funerals aren’t really my thing. I prefer to remember people how they were, alive and well.” Glancing up briefly, he locked eyes with me. “Does that sound bad?”

I shook my head. “Everyone grieves differently.” I paused, watching as he returned to his project. “The funeral was nice, but Tommy would’ve hated it, I think. He would’ve thought it was…bogus.”

“Really? Why?”

“Everything the
Mayor
does is all for show. Don’t you know that?” I didn’t wait for a reply. “If the service was truly to honor Tommy, it would’ve been a big barbecue with a keg of beer and a bunch of guys talking about restoring cars—not some fancy church overloaded with flowers and a bunch of rich people who had no idea who he was.”

A slight grin tilted the corner of Six’s mouth. “I agree with you. That’s how come Tommy and I started hanging out. Did you know that?” He glanced up again. “He came in for a tattoo and started talking cars. I told him about the one I’d been restoring with my granddad and he had to see it. He even helped work on it.”

“The red 1970 Jaguar, right?” I asked, and he raised his hand away from me, genuinely smiling.

“You know it?” He seemed truly surprised.

“It’s parked out in the lot,” I replied with a laugh.

His features fell a little. “Oh, yeah.”

I hated seeing his smile disappear. “But yeah, I know it. It’s kinda of hard to miss a hot—,” I broke off, realizing I was about to say “a hot guy in a hot car.” “. . . Car.” He eyed me carefully for a minute, and I was positive he could see the raging, heated blush spreading across my face. “So, did your grandpa give it to you when you finished restoring it?”

He chuckled, returning to the tattoo, and I had the feeling he wasn’t fooled at all. “No. It was willed to me when he passed away.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I paused. “I mean about your grandpa, not that you got the car.”

“I knew what you meant. And thanks.” Once again, the buzz of the needle was the only sound between us.

“I’ve seen your girlfriend driving the car around a couple of times,” I said, trying to fill the silence.

He gave a soft grunt. “That must’ve been at least a couple months ago, then. We broke up.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said again, even though I was secretly thrilled with that revelation. I didn’t like her. She was too snobby—well, at least she seemed that way to me. I didn’t actually know her.

“Quit apologizing. It’s not your fault. Besides, I’m glad she’s gone. I’ve had my eye on someone else for a while, but things are a little complicated in that area.”

And instantly I was disappointed, again. I didn’t know why, though. Sure, I had a crush on him—me and probably every other girl who knew anything about him—but I was just some kid to a guy like him. Still, my heart felt a tiny tinge of envy for the girl he’d set his sights on.

I saw him out with his previous girlfriend one night—on the Fourth of July, last year, actually. He was on the football field, which was covered in fair booths and games to entertain people while they waited for the local fireworks show to start. His girlfriend was laughing about something and I remember watching as he stood behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her, picking her up slightly off the ground. He was wearing a white wife-beater tank top and the muscles in his arms had rippled when he’d lifted her. She laughed louder, and when he put her down, she turned to face him and kissed him full on the lips for everyone to see.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away, caught up in the moment with them. I wanted a romance just like that—with a guy just like him. I wanted someone to look at me the way he’d looked at her. As if he’d heard my thoughts, he glanced in my direction and I quickly turned away, embarrassed.

The memory was still so fresh in my mind, I could almost smell the grass we were standing on. I couldn’t count the nights I’d lain awake, dreaming of having a relationship like that. It was always his face there with me, too. Yes, he was older than me, but I liked that about him. He was such a…man. Not some wannabe like all the silly high school boys who surrounded me on a daily basis. He’d become the guy I judged all other guys against, and found them all sadly lacking.

It really wasn’t fair of me, either. I barely knew anything about Six—not enough to reasonably use him as a comparison, that is. For all I knew, he could be a classic, number one jerk; but I didn’t believe that, either. A jerk wouldn’t be restoring cars with his grandpa, taking his girlfriend to fairs and fireworks, or staying after closing to give some girl he barely knew an illegal tattoo.

“So, you’re graduating this year, right?” he asked, breaking the silence this time.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t sound very excited.”

I sighed. “I’m not really. My dad wants me to come help out at his campaign office full time after graduation.”

“Yeah, I saw that he’s running for State Senator.”

“Heaven help the state if he gets it.”

Six laughed. “I’m guessing he doesn’t have your vote?”

“No. I’ll be eighteen by then, though, and he’ll expect it.”

“Good thing for you that voting is private then, isn’t it?” He winked at me and my heart fluttered.

“He’ll still ask me if I did.”

“He can’t force you to tell him.”

I snorted. “You obviously don’t know my dad.”

He paused again. “Does he hurt you?” I could tell he was dead serious. And, for a moment, I was lost in the intensity of his stare, before I shook my head.

“No. Not like you mean.”

He continued to stare at me and I felt like he was weighing the truth of my words before he looked down again, and went back to work. “You know, if you ever need someplace to go and get away from everything, you’re always welcome to come hang with me.”

My mind went completely blank. I truthfully couldn’t think of one thing to say in reply. A couple of long minutes passed, and then he was finished, setting the gun down on the metal tray.

“There you go. What do you think?” He wiped the area down and extended his hand, helping me up so I could stand in front of the mirror and look at it better.

“I love it. It’s perfect,” I said as I stared at it, tears coming to my eyes. “Tommy would like it, I think.” Glancing up, I saw him standing behind me staring, too. He seemed pleased with his work.

“I think he would, too. Let’s cover it for you, real quick, so you can get your pants buttoned back up. Goose bumps rose on my skin when he placed the thin, see-through, film over it. “Leave this on until tomorrow morning, then you can take it off. Be sure to keep it moist with some antibacterial cream and no swimming for at least two weeks.”

“Got it,” I said, as I buttoned up my pants. “How much do I owe you?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. This one’s on me.”

“No! I can’t let you do that. You stayed open late for me and everything.”

He pulled off the latex gloves and reached out, resting a hand on my bare shoulder. “This is for Tommy. Okay? It’s my way of paying my respects to him.”

Tears sprang into my eyes and I simply nodded, unable to form the words to reply, caught off guard by his gift.

“Here.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a business card, flipping it over and writing something on the back before handing it to me. “My cell number. I’m serious. If you ever need to escape somewhere, give me a call. We’ll grab a burger or something and swap Tommy stories.”

I accepted the card in awe; unable to believe he was being so generous. “Thank you,” I said, softly, looking at his handwriting scrawled across the card. “It means a lot.”

Another pregnant pause passed between us as we both stood staring at each other. He gave a small chuckle. “I guess I better get this cleaned up.”