“Raped.” He says it for me, his voice calm, soothing, but I can hear a tightening in his tone.
“Yes. When I was eighteen.” I tell him everything: how Tag told me not to go to the party, but I went anyway, how I trusted Luke because he was Tag’s teammate, how Tag saved me and fought with Luke and they both fell out the window. And then I tell him about the threats that started when we got to the hospital—phone threats, email threats, a smear campaign on social media that suggested I was setting Luke up to get his family’s money. I tell him how we decided not to go to the police or tell our parents, to protect our family and to make it all go away. But, of course, it didn’t go away. I couldn’t paint anymore. Tag couldn’t fight. And our parents knew something was wrong and were hurt we didn’t let them help us.
Ray strokes my cheek as I talk. His hand is warm against my palm. He doesn’t shout or yell or cry or look at me as someone who needs to be pitied. He is simply there. And that is exactly what I need.
“I get panic attacks when I feel like I’m losing control or something that reminds me of that night.” I close my eyes and lean into the warmth of his palm. “I have trouble with trust and getting close to anyone—and I have real trouble with intimacy.”
“You trusted me enough to tell me.” Ray leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Means a lot to me.”
My cheeks flame. “Well…you’re different from the guys I was with. Charlie and James treated me like I was made of glass. They would get…overly emotional. They were so gentle, kind, and considerate, and I tried, I really did, but I always felt like a victim. I never felt normal. And Peter, another guy I went out with… I didn’t tell him what happened because I didn’t want to be treated that way again. But something about him set off my triggers, and when I finally told him, he cut things off and said he couldn’t handle my baggage. After that, I kinda gave up.”
“And then you met me.” He gives a satisfied grin and I laugh.
“You seem to think quite highly of yourself.”
“I got the hottest tat artist in California sitting in my lap. She’s got the biggest heart and the most beautiful face, and hell, when she gets going, you should hear her sass. Guy like me with a girl like you, yeah, that’s worth a smile.”
For a single irrational moment, I am insanely jealous of his wife. She didn’t just have his smile; she had his heart, and if they hadn’t suffered a tragedy, she would have had it forever.
“You know why I like you?” I stroke his cheek, rough with a five o’clock shadow. “Aside from the fact that you’re hot, sexy, an amazing fighter, always there for me, understanding, and good in bed?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “I’m waitin’ to hear more.”
“You’re everything I ever wanted a man to be.”
Ray kisses my forehead and chuckles. “And here I thought it was just about the sex.”
Not
anymore.
“He live around here?”
My brow creases in a frown when the rumble of Ray’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “Who?”
“The bastard who raped you.”
My heart quickens, and I will him not to be thinking what I’m pretty sure he is thinking. “He did, but then he disappeared. Tag tried to find him. He wanted to keep tabs on him just for my peace of mind, but even with all his resources, he couldn’t track him down. We figured he must have left the state.”
“Walking the streets like he has a right to be anywhere but jail?” His voice rises to a threatening growl.
“Ray…”
“Who is he? Gimme a name.”
Stomach churning, I push myself up to sitting and shake my head. “It’s finished, Ray. I made my choice and I’ve moved on. Don’t think I haven’t been through this already with Tag. I just want to live my life like it never happened.”
“But it did.” He cups my jaw in his broad hand and tilts my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze. “And you’re not living life like it never happened because you’ve locked part of yourself away.”
“Except with you,” I whisper. “Because you make me feel safe.”
A pained expression crosses his face. “You should feel safe every fucking day of your life. You and Tag should have justice. I got the resources to make that happen.”
Dread claws its way through my belly and I wrench myself away. “Justice isn’t going to change the past.”
“Maybe not. But it can give you a better future.”
My hand clenches into a fist against his chest. “Please, Ray. I didn’t tell you because it was a problem that needed to be fixed. I told you because I wanted you to understand why I am the way I am and why I do some of the things I do. I wanted to share my past with you but not to get you involved.”
“I am involved.” His voice tightens. “And you should know by now I’m not the kind of man to let something like this go. You’ll have justice, Sia. I promise you that.”
You can’t protect me from everything
Tag is released from the hospital the next morning and decides to hide out at my apartment to avoid Mom chasing him down while he’s on sick leave. He watches TV beside me on the couch and grumbles about how he can never show his face at Redemption again. I pull out my sketch pad and start to draw.
“You doing up a stencil for someone’s tat?” He rests his feet on my glass coffee table, then lowers them when I raise an admonishing eyebrow.
“No. I just…wanted to draw.”
He nods at my dining room table, still set up with my easel and the half-finished painting from Ray’s visit. “Like you just wanted to paint?”
My cheeks burn and I shrug. “Yeah. Ray was here the other night and he opened my closet and everything fell out. He asked me to paint something for him.” My throat tightens with emotion. “It had been so long…and… Oh God, Tag, it felt so good.”
His face softens. “I’m happy for you, Sis. I missed your art. I mean, I see your tats on the guys at the gym, but it isn’t the same.”
Holding up the sketch pad, I flip through the pictures. “I started drawing too. Every spare minute.”
He looks at the pictures and laughs. “I see a common theme. Are they all of Ray fighting in the ring because he’s the one who opened the door?”
“I love watching him fight. He’s so confident in the ring. So utterly competent and in control. I used to watch him and wish I could feel like that.”
Tag’s smile broadens. “You ever want to learn to fight, just let me know. I’m your man. Starter class is called Get Fit or Die and even though you’re my sis, I’ll show you no mercy. Love that class. Love running the newbies into the ground.”
“So does that mean you’re going back to Redemption after all?”
Tag leans over and ruffles my hair. “If you’re gonna learn how to fight, I’m gonna be there.”
For a moment I feel like I’ve got my old Tag back. The lines are gone from his forehead and he hasn’t mentioned his case since he left the hospital. I lean into his shoulder and sigh. “I guess we’ve got a deal.”
* * *
Tuesday morning I walk into the studio with a happy smile only to discover our time in paradise is almost over.
“You missed one hell of a fight on your day off yesterday,” Rose says as she hands me my schedule. “Torment found out Slim had ordered his own supplies, and they weren’t the quality Torment wants for the shop. It got so loud that a couple of the fighters came in and pulled Torment away. Slim’s had it. He says we’re outta here at the end of the week. His shop isn’t finished, but he says it’s good enough to get things going.”
“It’s going to be hard to leave.”
“Hard?” Rose rolls her eyes. “It’ll be impossible. I’m ruined for tat studios for life.” She motions me forward with a crooked finger and then whispers in my year. “I’m gonna ask Torment to keep me on. He’ll need a receptionist who knows the business when he fills those chairs.”
My breath catches in my throat. “You can’t. We’re a team. Slim will be devastated.”
Rose shrugs. “I don’t think his heart is in the new shop or he would have pulled out all the stops to get it done. He never liked the business side. He’s too much of an artist.”
“Then why does he keep going head-to-head with Torment? This is the perfect setup for him. Torment handles the business and he handles the art.”
“Pride.” She pulls her chair up to her desk and taps on her keyboard. “It brings the best of men down.”
Before the clients arrive, Christos, Duncan, and I sit down to check out the modeling programs Torment has had installed on our new superpowered computers for the increasingly popular 3-D surrealistic tattoos. By the time we open the shop, I am so nauseated by the 3-D images of guts, muscles, and flesh that are all the rage, I am perversely grateful when Doctor Death walks in the door.
“Good morning, beautiful ladies.” He beams and Rose laughs.
“Good morning, beautiful man. To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“I was looking at my ass in the mirror the other day,” he says, his expression growing serious, “and I had an idea for an addition to the cover Sia did for me.” He hands me a piece of paper with a drawing of a bird perched on a broken heart. “Hope.” He points to the bird. “From the Emily Dickinson poem. I thought the broken heart might be a bit depressing for the ladies, but if we add the bird—”
The door opens and closes behind me, and I shiver as cool air brushes over my skin.
“It’s lovely.” I hand him back the drawing. “I’ll be happy to add it. Do you want me to make a stencil from your drawing or make up one of my own?”
Doctor Death tilts his head to the side and gives me a questioning look. “I was hoping you could do it freehand.”
Rose coughs and bangs her coffee cup on her desk.
“Freehand?” Very few artists will do freehand work because, if the client doesn’t like the tattoo, there is no going back. It is the ultimate statement of trust between a client and the artist. And something Slim has always claimed for himself.
“Slim doesn’t let anyone in the shop work freehand except him. If you don’t want a stencil, he’ll have to do it for you.”
Doctor Death strokes a finger over my cheek. “I trust you, Sia. You do great work. I was almost disappointed I’d asked you to do that cover on my ass because I would have liked to show that piece around.”
“Sia!” Rose shouts even though I am only a few feet away. “Someone is here to see you.”
Only then do I turn around.
Ray is sprawled on one of the big, brown leather client couches, taking up the space of four clients. This I know because the four clients that were there are now huddled on the other couch, clearly afraid to ask Ray to take his arms down from the back of the couch or perhaps close his legs so his manliness is not on full display. His posture is powerful, aggressive, controlling. And maybe he seems a tiny bit annoyed.
I make the wise decision to ask Doctor Death to come back another day, and I keep his attention focused on Rose and her appointment book so he doesn’t see Ray glowering in the corner. Catching on, Rose positions her screen so Doctor Death’s back is to the reception area. But I can’t stop Doctor Death from giving me a final peck on the cheek when the appointment is made and saying he looks forward to having my hands on his ass again.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Ray watching this exchange with avid interest, although his face remains an expressionless mask.
“Your boyfriend is pissed,” Rose mutters from behind her screen as she writes out the appointment card. Doctor Death’s phone rings, and he stands by the desk as he takes the call.
“How can you tell?”
She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the extremely aggressive, intimidating alpha-male gonna-getchu posture, or the way his eyes drilled into Doctor Death while he was flirting with you. Or it could have been the ‘When the fuck did he get here?’ he growled at me when he walked in before heating the place up so much I thought he was going to combust. But that’s just me. I might have it totally wrong.”
“You do.” I draw frowny faces on her notepad as I mentally prepare myself for an unexpectedly irritated Ray. “He’s not my boyfriend. Well, sort of. Anyway, it’s work. No big deal.”
“If you say so.” She lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow and turns away. “Although I think someone forgot to tell him that.”
Doctor Death ends his call, and Rose hands him the card. But just as he turns for the door, Ray pushes himself off the couch and closes the distance between them in three easy strides of his long legs. Positioning himself between Doctor Death and the door, he folds his arms and glares.
My heart thuds in my chest. Rose gasps and grabs my arm. Seemingly unaffected by the raging male in front of him, Doctor Death sighs.
“Excuse me.”
Ray doesn’t move. “I see you here again or anywhere near my girl, I’m gonna rip off your balls and shove them down your throat.”
“Ray!” I take a step forward. “He’s a client. You can’t speak to my clients that way.”
“He wants your hands on his ass.” Ray bites out each word.
“Actually, I already had her hands on my ass.” Doctor Death smirks. “I came back for more.”
Ah. Doctor Death has a death wish.
Before my mind has even registered he has moved, Ray has Doctor Death by the collar and up against the wall. “I know about Makayla,” he growls. “And I know about Amanda. You got a problem keeping your hands off another man’s property. But I’m telling you now, this ends here.”
“Ass work is part of my job.” I fold my arms and scowl. “So it ends when I’ve done the work my client asked me to do.”
Ray doesn’t take his eyes off Doctor Death, but his words are directed at me. “No more ass work. You don’t touch any man below the belt for any reason. And you don’t touch them above the belt unless you’re out in the open. And this fucker you don’t touch at all.”
“This is just like in the movies,” Rose whispers under her breath. “And he’s not joking. Look at his face. I thought Torment was scary but Ray is terrifying.”
“Put him down.” I raise my voice almost to a shout. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Ray glances over at me, but it is not Ray I see in his eyes, it’s the Predator. He loosens his grip on Doctor Death and lets him slide down the wall; then he lifts him and body slams him on the ground.
“Stop it.” But my words go unheeded as Doctor Death struggles on the floor. The four clients on the couch all have their cell phones out and are filming the action. Duncan is shouting into his phone for someone—hopefully not Torment—to come and break up the fight. And Christos has Rose by the arm and is trying to pull her to safety.
Luckily Doctor Death is not just a pretty face. He has moves of his own. With a quick twist, he breaks Ray’s hold and jumps to his feet.
“Come on, Predator.” He waggles his fingers toward himself. “Hit me. Show Sia who you really are. Show her just how much you’re going to hurt her in the end when you walk away.”
“Don’t you dare.” My voice cracks the silence. “You touch him again, Ray, and it will be the last thing you ever do. This is my place of business and you are totally out of line.”
The door opens and Rampage and Blade Saw step inside, their faces covered in sweat. Rampage takes in Ray and Doctor Death squared off in the client lounge and looks over at me. “Everything okay here? Need a hand?”
“No, but thank you for coming. We’re fine. Doctor Death was just leaving.”
Doctor Death straightens and does the alpha-male side-to-side neck crack before taking his gaze off Ray. His mouth opens, and I just know he intends to goad Ray again, so I step between them and usher Doctor Death toward the door. “Thanks for coming in. If you give me the drawing, I’ll make a stencil of it, just so we can be sure you get exactly what you want.”
Doctor Death hands me the drawing and smiles. “I know what I want. I just don’t want to see her get hurt.”
Rampage and Blade Saw follow Doctor Death out the door. Rampage thumps Doctor Death between the shoulder blades and asks him what the fuck he was thinking, but before I can hear his answer, the door closes behind them. The clients return to their couch to compare videos of the fight. Duncan grabs the ringing phone, since Rose and Christos are nowhere to be seen. I gesture Ray over to my chair and then spin around to face him.
“What the heck was that? He’s a client. You can’t go around threatening to rip the balls off my clients.”
“Don’t like him.”
“You don’t like him? Oh. Well…that’s alright then. Pound away. Maybe you want to break his fingers too.” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice as I fight for calm. “How about we get something straight? I don’t give a damn whether you like my clients or not. I have lots of clients I’m sure you won’t like. Some of them scare me. Some of them make lewd comments. Some of them cop a feel. Lots of them ask me out. It’s the nature of the business, and I can deal with them. I don’t need protecting, and I don’t want you to interfere with my work.”
Ray stiffens. “Which ones?”
“Which ones what?”
“Which ones scared you, made comments, touched you, and asked you out? I want a list.”
“Did you not hear anything I just said?” My brow creases with my fiercest frown. “Do not interfere.”
“Heard it. Processed it. Ignoring it. Now I’m gonna deal with it. After what you went through, you should be kept safe. I’m gonna make sure no one hurts you ever again, in any way.”
My blood chills. Oh God. This is like Charlie and James all over again. He’s going to want to wrap me up and hide me away. He’ll be afraid to touch me the way I want to be touched. He’s going to think I’ll break. “What I went through was over a long time ago. It doesn’t mean I need protecting now. It doesn’t mean I can’t handle men like Doctor Death. I don’t want you to treat me any different than you did before.”
Ray shrugs. “Can’t help it. This is who I am. Man sees someone touching what’s his, he’s gonna do something about it. Man thinks his woman is threatened, he’s not gonna hold back until she’s safe.”
“He hardly threatened me.”
“You don’t know him like I do.”
With a sigh, I sit on my artist’s chair. “Actually, the person I don’t know is you. If I did, I would have known how you would react and I wouldn’t have told you what happened to me. But you don’t talk much about yourself. You don’t let me in. I hardly know anything about you. We never…go out and do stuff together.” Like Doctor Death said.
Tension coils in the air between us, and my head starts to throb in time to the pounding bass of the Metallica song Duncan is streaming through the speakers.
Ray folds his arms across his chest. “What do you want to know?”
Really, there is only one thing I want to know. The question that has been burning into my brain since Doctor Death first talked about Ray. “Why does Doctor Death think you’re going to walk away? Why did he say you aren’t the man you appear to be?”
His eyes darken, and then he shrugs. “Don’t know.”
Defeated, I try an easier question. “What kind of work do you do as a PI?”
“Surveillance mostly. Spent the morning watching a building. Gotta get back out there in an hour. Came by to see if you were okay after what happened at the hospital. I would’ve come by yesterday, but I was on a job and had to keep radio silence. Sent a text.”