Sinful Southern Hero: 2 (14 page)

“What the hell? Like I’m not here? I can kick ass too, you
know!” Abigail’s shout echoed through the building, intertwined with Dez’s
husky laugh.

Across the hall from Abbey’s studio, Jed stepped out of the
room he used for piercing with a teasing smirk on his handsome face. “Babe.”

One word, but it held a wealth of meaning. The buzzing of
the tattoo machine paused.

“Don’t start with me, Jed Weston. I’m a scrapper. I fight
dirty and I spend my working hours making grown men cry, then making them pay
me for it.”

Jed threw his head back and laughed as Dez joined in. “Hey!
I’m not crying.”

“That’s because we’re three hours in on this tattoo and your
poor little tear ducts dried up after the first ninety minutes.”

At this, everyone present broke into hearty laughter.

Once they quieted, Dalton turned to Lucy. “Behave and don’t
let Abbey pull you over to the dark side.” He kissed her cheek before moving
down the hall and clapping Jed on the shoulder. “Take care of my woman. I’ll be
back in a few hours.” The words were said in a lighthearted tone but the look
he and Jed exchanged was heavy, portraying the seriousness of his request.

Lucy swallowed hard, fighting her fear and forcing herself
to accept that Dalton wasn’t trying to control her by insisting she stay at the
shop. His actions weren’t about control but about protecting someone precious
to him. He met her gaze, winked, strode out through the back door, and Lucy
fell a little bit more in love with him.

Love?
Just the thought made her palms sweat and her
heart rap a too-hard rhythm against her ribcage. She couldn’t let herself fall in
love with Dalton. Lucy was nowhere near ready to give so much of herself to
another. She’d barely made it out of her marriage to Ross alive and he was
still a threat to her and anyone she cared for.

When Lucy had walked in on Dalton and Rachel, she’d seen a
darker side of him than he had been showing her. What if Lucy couldn’t handle
the kind of rough, masterful sex Dalton obviously liked?
Does he need whips
and ropes to be happy? If I can’t please him, will he get angry, or worse, run
back to Submissive Barbie Rachel?

She shook her head and walked toward Abigail’s studio. She
could come up with a thousand reasons why falling in love with Dalton was a
terrible idea. Too bad love was an irrational bitch and didn’t seem to be
giving her much of a choice in the matter.

As she stepped over the threshold into Abigail’s studio, the
scent of ink, antiseptic and ointment filled her lungs. The unique smell inside
the small room used exclusively for tattooing soothed Lucy’s ragged nerves.

She caught sight of the in-progress tattoo on Dez’s side and
felt her eyes widen. A swirling mass of skulls and flowers in shades of gray
and black accented with brief areas of vibrant red. The entire design managed
to be both masculine and elegant. Lucy’s inner artist demanded a closer look.

“What do you think?” Abigail kept her eyes on her work as
she asked the question, her hand moving the needle with sure, even strokes.

“I think I need to incorporate your work into some of my
graphic designs.” Lucy edged closer to Dez’s prone form, attempting to get a
better look without bumping him or the table he lay upon. “This is fantastic,
Abbey. Did you draw this?”

Abigail lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Sure. I
draw most of my clients’ tattoos unless they bring in a design they absolutely
won’t compromise on or they’re dead set on something out of the flash catalog.”

Lucy squinted, thinking she saw… “Protect?” The letters were
hidden within the design so the word might not be seen unless you were looking
for it. She knew from the magic Dez worked on her laptop that he was involved
in something more complicated than simply acting as the foreman for Dalton’s
construction business. “Why the word ‘protect’?”

Dez grunted but didn’t answer and Lucy decided to let it go.
She understood better than most the value of keeping one’s own council.

Abigail finished the last bit of shading, studied her work
with the intense concentration of someone searching for any minuscule
imperfection. Apparently satisfied, she set her gun on the tray table at her
side and turned off the tattoo machine before reaching for a bottle of skin-cleansing
solution.

Jed’s tall form appeared in the doorway, his hands curled
around either side of the frame caused his biceps to bulge in an attractive way
that drew Lucy’s attention.

“Proof.”

Feeling her face heat, she snapped her gaze from Jed’s arms
to his face at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry?”

If he caught her ogling his muscles, he didn’t mention it. “You
need some proof against your ex-husband. From what you’ve told us, I’m guessing
you never got the chance to file a formal complaint against him with the
police.”

Lucy stood a little straighter but knew her pretense of
strength was ruined by her arms, now wrapped protectively around her stomach. “No.”
Mad at herself when the word sounded weak and broken, she dropped her arms and
fisted her hands at her sides. After clearing her throat, she tried again. “No,
there are no police reports on file. I’m sure the hospital has a file on me an inch
thick, but those records only prove I was injured, not how the injuries
occurred.”

“It could be argued those injuries were self-inflicted,” Jed
said, nodding in understanding.

Embarrassed and disheartened, Lucy felt tears prick the
backs of her eyes. She cursed her inability to hide her emotions.

Jed’s expression softened. “I don’t believe that bullshit,
Lucy.”

She frowned, feeling her brows draw together in confusion
and…hope.

Someone
believed
her? It hadn’t settled into her mind
before this moment and the idea was profound.

“Not for a fuckin’ second,” Abigail added.

“Nope,” Dez agreed.

Scratch her first thought. Lucy’s breath caught on the lump
of emotion expanding in her throat. Someone believed she’d been abused by Ross.
Not
one
but
four
people had shown their trust in her today.

Lucy suddenly felt as though she’d lived her entire life in
a world tilted at an unnatural angle and, with the words of these relative
strangers, her world had just spun on its axis and righted itself. She blinked
rapidly in an attempt to stop the tears in her eyes from escaping.

“How many times did you attempt to have a police report
filed?”

Lucy shook her head to clear her thoughts before answering
Jed. “Once.”

All movement within the room came to a stop. In her
peripheral, she saw Abigail’s stunned look. Jed’s brows rose toward the ball
cap placed atop his head.

Lucy shivered but met Jed’s stare head-on, knowing what they
must be thinking. “Trust me, once was more than enough. I would have had Ross
arrested in a heartbeat. I wasn’t confused or so overcome with some sick sort
of love that I wanted to protect him. I never believed him when he said it
wouldn’t happen again. I just… I didn’t want to die. The first and only time I
tried to file a report… Afterward…”

Abigail unfroze and growled an angry “bastard” before
lifting a digital camera and lining up a shot of the fresh tattoo on Dez’s side.
The click-and-whorl sound of the focus adjusting prodded at a memory in the
back of Lucy’s mind.

“He hurt you to make sure you never tried to file a report
again, right?” Though Jed hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway, his voice
sounded further away.

Abigail’s camera flashed and Lucy flinched, the bright light
igniting a memory Lucy had buried deep inside the tangle of her mind.

“That’s when he… The cigarettes… Ross, he…” A camera flashed
again but Lucy couldn’t decide if it was Abigail’s camera or the one in her
memory. She thought someone was calling her name but they were too far away.
They couldn’t help her. No one could help her now.

A part of her realized Jed was moving toward her and Dez had
rolled off the tattoo table but her vision was locked onto the camera now
hanging forgotten in Abigail’s grasp.

What else had happened that day, the day she failed to get
charges filed against Ross?

Lucy’s breaths came in short pants, her heart racing while
her vision tunneled down to show nothing but the camera. She swayed, someone
grabbed her and the contact, the firm grip, flesh on flesh, overwhelmed her
broken mind. An anguished scream ripped from her lungs before her world went
black and she knew nothing else.

Dalton glared at the open box in front of him. The puke-pink
Italian marble tiles nestled so carefully inside seemed to be giving him the
finger. “Mother fucker,” he growled. “Twenty fucking grand. Black. They’re
supposed to be black. It’s not like we asked for some off–the-wall, rare color.”
He raised his gaze to the man standing next to him. “We
did
ask for
black marble, correct? Please tell me this is not our fuck-up.”

Anderson, next in line behind Dez within Dalton’s
construction company, removed a battered yellow hard hat from his bald head and
tucked it under one arm. “No, Boss. I checked our records.” He hitched a thumb
in the direction of the trailer set-up on site which functioned as a mobile
office. “Took about an hour to find a copy of the fax you sent to the supply
company. You ever place an ad in the paper for a secretary? Don’t know how you
get anything done in there. Place is a damn mess. If you had a—”

“Anderson!”

The man cleared his throat. “Anyhow, the fax you sent to the
supplier said ‘black Italian marble’ clear as day. Wasn’t no mistakin’ it.”

Dalton released the breath he’d been holding. This was good
news, at least. Now he’d have to call the supplier, which was not good news,
being that Rachel worked as the secretary of the man Dalton bought his high-end
supplies from and the damn woman always answered the phone. Why Harris, the
owner of Elegance Supplied, couldn’t answer his own phone, Dalton didn’t know.
Shit.

“Dalton Loretto! You are not putting this tawdry pink tile
inside my house. I asked for black. Did you not hear me when I said I wanted
black marble? I’m not paying for this!”

His client’s thin, shrill voice was annoying when she spoke
at a normal conversational level. As she yelled at him, the white poof atop her
tiny head vibrating with every word, Dalton had to clench his jaw shut to keep
from slapping his palms over his ears to block the sound.

Jesus.
At exactly what age did old ladies decide this
cotton candy-meets-beehive hairdo was stylish? He had to shut down her tirade
before she started poking her bony fingers into his chest. Though Dalton would
never hurt a lady, or any senior citizen, he did have two feet of height over
the tiny woman and was as amazed by her fearlessness as he was annoyed.

“Ma’am, I’m gonna take care of everything.” He held a hand
up to stop her when she opened her thin lips to interrupt. “You won’t pay for
any tile except the black marble that was originally agreed upon. My records
show that I ordered the correct tile from my supplier so it must have been a
shipping mistake. I’ll contact the company and get this pink mess removed and
the black marble re-ordered. It’s an inconvenience, nothing more.”

The woman huffed before crossing plump arms over her chest. “What
about our deadline? Will I be compensated if you don’t finish the project on
time? I want a discount!”

Lord, give me strength.

“There is no reason we can’t still finish the project by the
deadline.” Dalton looked to Anderson for confirmation. The man nodded before
slapping his hard hat onto his shiny head. “There’s plenty we can work on
without the marble. Now, if you’ll go on back inside, I’ll call my supplier and
get this straightened out.”

“But—”

“Please, ma’am. The sooner I make this call, the sooner
you’ll be smoothing your hands over that lovely black Italian marble you picked
out.” Dalton added a grin, hoping his charm worked on little old ladies the
same way it worked on younger women. Well, not
exactly
the same way.

She bobbed her head, setting another quiver loose on her
wispy hair helmet. “All right, young man. I’m counting on you to make this
right.” She wagged a finger at him before spinning on her white, low-heeled
pumps and moving back to her front door.

“That is one scary lady.”

Dalton eyed Anderson and gave him a grunt of agreement. “I’ll
call Harris, get this clusterfuck straightened out.”

Dalton walked away without further instruction, trusting
Anderson to get the crew off their asses and working on an area of the project
not involving the marble tiles. He did not want to make this call, knowing he’d
have to speak to Rachel. They hadn’t parted on good terms and the way she’d
behaved and spoken about Lucy had shred every last ounce of respect Dalton held
for Rachel.

Turning his head, he twisted his neck until he heard and
felt a satisfying pop. Best to get it over with so he could pick Lucy up from Hart’s
Ink and take her home where she’d be safe. Dalton trusted Jed and Dez but knew
he wouldn’t be able to relax until he laid eyes on Lucy. Her parents were up to
something and it had Ross’s stench all over it.

He hoisted himself into the cab of his truck after
retrieving his cell from the front pocket of his jeans. Tapping the screen with
his thumb, he found the number for Elegance Supplied and pressed Send.

“Elegance Supplied, this is Rachel. How may I help you?”

Rachel’s husky voice shot a bolt of unwanted lust through
Dalton. He couldn’t remember a single time he’d spoken to her in the past
without the expectation of a sexual encounter in the near future. Damn. He
didn’t want anything to do with Rachel anymore but his body was like one of
Pavlov’s dogs, conditioned to respond.

“Rachel, it’s Dalton. I need to speak with Harris.”

“Mmmm,” she purred into the phone. “Dalton, how lovely to
hear your voice.”

“Don’t play games. I need to speak with Harris, now.” The
demand sounded rougher than he’d intended but he needed this conversation to be
over.

There was a silent pause, then the sound of Rachel taking a
deep breath before she spoke. “I’m sorry, Harris is out of the office at the
moment. Is there something I can help you with?”

Dalton used his thumb and index finger to squeeze his
temples. Her tone hadn’t sounded suggestive. Maybe she could actually help him
with the tile problem. He explained the issue, along with the fact that the
order slip contained the correct color, and waited for a response.

“That’s terrible. Unfortunately, considering the cost of the
mix-up, you’ll need to come into the office and speak to Harris in person.”

“Damn. When is he due back?”

Dalton heard the sound of keys clicking on a keyboard and
envisioned Rachel checking her boss’s calendar.

“He should be back within the next half hour. If you’d like
to come now, I can fit you in.”

Dalton narrowed his eyes, wondering if her voice had gone
lower at the end or if he’d only imagined it. Hell, it didn’t matter. He needed
this problem taken care of ASAP. “Fine. I’m on my way. Thanks, Rachel.”

Her cheery response of “No problem!” sent a cold touch of
foreboding trickling down his spine. He jammed the key into the ignition and
started his truck.
Just go in there, deal with Harris and get the hell out.
What could go wrong?

* * * * *

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“We better call Dalton.”

“Not yet. She passed out but she ain’t injured. I caught her
before she fell.”

The voices pinged around inside Lucy’s head, stirring her
out of the darkness.

“He’s gonna be pissed. Left her with us for an hour and
she’s fucking unconscious.”

“Just wait.”

Someone was patting her cheek. She wanted to tell them to
knock it off but her limbs and lips wouldn’t respond to her commands.

“Wake up, Lucy. Come on, hun. Wake up.”

She lay upon something warm and soft. Why would she want to
wake up?

“That’s not how you bring someone out of a faint.” A
masculine voice. Dez?

“How are you supposed to do it, then?” A deep, growling
voice. Jed.

“You need to smack her. Shock her out of it. Patting her
gently isn’t gonna do it.”

What? No! Don’t slap me!

“I’m not going to slap her. Jesus.”
Thank you, Jed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The feminine voice had to belong to
Abigail.

Smack!
Lucy gasped and her entire body jumped as if
electrified as the burning heat of a slap registered across her cheek. On
instinct, before she even had her eyes open, she threw herself to the side,
falling a few feet before landing on the unforgiving industrial carpet. Her
eyes finally flew open and she recognized the tattooing table above her head
and three shocked faces towering over her. Still in the grips of her flight
instinct, she scurried backward until something hard and cool hit her back,
stopping her retreat. She pressed her face into her drawn-up knees and covered
her head with her arms, preparing for the punch or kick heading her way.

“What the fuck was that? What’s she doing?” she heard one of
the guys ask.

“Lucy? It’s just me, Abbey. I’m sorry for slapping you. I
was afraid you wouldn’t wake up. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Lucy started to shake, a terrible tremor wracking her entire
body as her mind caught up to reality and realized she wasn’t in danger.
Get
a grip, idiot. These people are your friends. They’re gonna think you’re crazy.

She worked to slow her breathing, trying for the even breaths
she’d learned to use when hit with a panic attack. A warm hand settled on her
shin. She jerked away from the touch but forced herself not to run.

“Lucy? Talk to me. Tell me how to help. What’s wrong?”

It took everything Lucy had to force her arms away from her
head and raise her face from her knees. Fuck. She hadn’t felt like this since
the first few months after leaving Ross.

Now that she was awake, her face no longer hurt and she
realized Abigail probably hadn’t hit her as hard as she’d thought. “Okay.” Her
voice sounded like sandpaper. “I’m okay.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair
before raising her gaze to meet Abigail’s. “Nothing to worry about.” A macabre
laugh escaped her lips. “Just a little flashback with a side order of panic
attack.”

Abigail’s shoulders drooped in relief. She spun around and
planted her butt on the floor, her back against the cool metal cabinets, close
enough to Lucy that their shoulders touched. “Damn, girl. You scared the hell
out of us.”

Lucy glanced around the room, finding Dez and Jed nowhere in
sight. “Do me a favor and tell the boys not to bother Dalton. He worries enough
as is.”

Abbey raised a dark brow and bumped Lucy with her shoulder. “You
sure? You might feel better if Dalton’s here.”

Lucy sighed. “I’ll be fine. I just need a few minutes to
myself. Please don’t bother Dalton at work. I’ve been a big enough burden
already. Don’t let the boys call him away from a job site.”

Abigail pushed to her feet with a grunt and looked down at
Lucy, hands on hips. She opened her mouth, paused, then shut it and pulled her
lips between her teeth as though she had something to say but decided to stay
quiet. With one last appraising glance, Abbey turned from Lucy and left the
room to track down Jed and Dez.

Lucy stood and stared around the quiet studio in a daze. She
glanced down at her hands, watching her fingers curl into her palms, release,
curl, without registering the sensation. She felt curiously numb, as though she
weren’t really a part of herself anymore. The same detachment she’d used to
overcome so much in her life slipped back over her, comforting and
impenetrable. Strange, she’d gone so long without it, opening herself to the
world and all the raw emotions it held after leaving Ross. Even knowing it was
something only a coward would do, she let the numbness settle.

“What? When did he leave?” Dez asked into the cell phone
pressed against his ear as he entered the room, followed by a frustrated-looking
Jed and a nervous-looking Abigail.

Lucy wished everyone would calm down. She wanted to tell
them not to worry but the apathy that accompanied her detachment kept the words
from forming and being pushed out between her lips. Nothing could touch her
now, nothing could reach her with her mind encapsulated in this safe place.

She tilted her head to one side, felt the slackness of her
face as she studied Dez’s changing expressions. His long blond hair had been
let free of its usual ponytail and now he ran a hand through it with rough
strokes as if agitated. The scar running from his nostril to his upper lip
twisted with a sneer when he growled a woman’s name. “Rachel?”

The name made her sluggish heartbeat trip, piercing her for
one quick jab through her newly reestablished armor. Though she only heard one
side of the conversation, she knew Dez must be speaking about Dalton. He wasn’t
at the construction site like he’d said. Dalton had lied, seeking out his
former—or not-so-former—lover instead of staying with Lucy.

Another layer of steel poured into the thick casing around
her mind, making Lucy feel as if she were no longer in the room at all, like
maybe she was watching this whole scene through the lens of one of those
expensive cameras she’d always wanted but never could afford. Distantly, she
watched Jed’s jaw harden and Abigail move close enough to Lucy to throw an arm
around her waist, as if she needed to be held up, supported in the face of the
betrayal she should be feeling.

“Son of a bitch, mother fucker!” Dez hit the End button with
his thumb and shoved the cell into his back pocket. He stared up at the ceiling
as if trying to decide whether the truth or another believable lie from yet
another person in her life would better befit the situation.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about hurting me and don’t lie to
me. I understand what’s happening.” Lucy’s voice sounded hollow and odd, even
to her.

A pained look crossed Dez’s face when he lowered his gaze to
meet hers. “No, you don’t understand. Your ex-husband was in town as of 2:00 a.m.
last night and I imagine he hasn’t left. Smart son of a bitch.” Dez exhaled
loudly and set his hands upon his hips. “He must have someone using his credit
card because I’ve been tracking it to track him and purchases have been charged
to it from Cincinnati in the last twenty-four hours. And unless he has a
program that imitates IP addresses so well even I can’t figure it out, which I
doubt, the bastard actually has someone going to his house and sending emails
from his home computer. Several have been sent out in the same time frame from
his home IP address. Clever fucker.”