Solitude (Artistic Pricks Ink #3) (2 page)

“I wouldn’t fuck you if my twat was made of razor blades. Herpes isn’t a parting gift I’m interested in, whore,” I toss out, slapping his arm. “You have my spare key; hand it over now and I may let you keep your balls.”

“I hate to interrupt whatever kill or be killed scenario you two have going on today, but some of us actually come here to work,” Luke says, interrupting my plot to make Mitch eat his own cock and balls for lunch.

“Imagine that,” Mitch laughs, his eyes still locked on mine. “Working at work? What a concept.”

“You should try it sometime,” Luke deadpans, as I turn my attention to him instead of Mitch. “We need to dig in and get this paperwork done, Shelby. I’ve got an appointment in just over two hours.”

“Looks like you’re safe for now,” I mutter low enough so only Mitch can hear me. “That key better find their way onto my desk, or I’m going to teach you the torture tactic ABCs. You’ll love ass rape with a fire ant infested cactus and bleach ball submersion.”

“I think we should talk about your obsession with my ass, sweetness. It can’t be healthy,” he teases, pinching my cheek.

“Call me that one more time, Mitch,” I seethe, pulling away from his touch.

Lacing my fingers, I crack my knuckles and stride over to my desk where Luke is now sprawled out in a chair. Stretching out his long, denim clad legs, he wraps an arm around Kionna and pulls her into his lap.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she settles immediately. “Hey, Ki,” I say sitting beside them.

“Hey,” she smiles.

After everything she and Luke have been through, it is good to see them so happy. Ki has not just become a part of Luke’s life, but a part of this crazy family unit we have too. It’s just how it is, when you’re in, you’re in.

“You know what I think, Shelby?” Ki asks, cocking her head to the side as she studies Mitch while he digs through the drawers again. “I think you’re too hard on him.”

I laugh, “Oh please, he’s still breathin’, isn’t he?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

Booting up my computer, I type in the log in information before typing in my password to access the system, waiting as it begins to load. Reminders pop up for bills to be paid, and I make a mental note to handle those while Luke is here as well. Notifications fill my screen for invoices that must go out, supplies that need to be ordered this week, and the payroll needing to be submitted to have checks cut for the week.

I live for this, for orchestrating routine and maintaining order with a damn near flawless system, even though this shop is complete chaos. When I started here, Luke was in over his head and had no real system in place. Now, Artistic Pricks Ink is a smooth running, well-oiled machine that has quickly become one of the most profitable tattoo shops in the entire state.

The shop is my baby, just as much as it is Luke’s, in my mind, and I am damn proud of her.

Growing up, life was one chaotic mess after another. There was no routine, no structure for the day to day. It was survival. I came and went, never knowing what to expect when I would walk through the front door. Would my father be there or was he out hustling? If he was home, was he going to be alone? Sober? As for my mother, I could say she checked out when I was a baby, but that would imply that she ever checked in the first place.

I have no memories, or even a photograph, of the woman I not so lovingly refer to as my incubator. Just a lot of resentment toward the two people that made me, but lost their ‘give a damn’ when it came to actually raising me. Evictions and shut off notices from the power company were the only things I could count on. No one should have panic attacks at the sound of someone knocking on the door because they could be telling you he isn’t coming home. At eight years old, that was my reality. It was then I realized that I was the only person in my life I could really count on. If the man who is supposed to protect you from the world is more worried about placing his next bet and dodging the loan shark’s goons, you learn to fend for yourself. When you are told by total strangers that you will never amount to anything,
because of your last name, you either accept it or prove them wrong.

I promised myself, at an early age, that I would break the mold that was set by Eric Winston. That me, and only me, would be responsible for the path of the fabulous life I would live. I would take control of my life, get out of the hell I was in, and grab hold of all the happiness I could stand. Once I was old enough to get a job, I moved the hell out and never looked back.

That day is the day Shelby Winston was truly born.

Tapping on the counter beside my desk has me glancing up and meeting Mitch’s eyes. “Make a note, would ya, sweetness?” he asks, reaching down to tap the edge of my notepad with his finger. My teeth clench tightly and it takes everything in me not to smack the smug bastard in the face with it. Who in the hell does he think he is anyway? “Let me know when my appointment shows up, I’m grabbin’ a nap in the employee lounge.”

“My office,” Luke corrects him, clearing his throat, “is not your own personal nap corner, dickhead.”

Walking over, Mitch claps Luke on the back. “It really isn’t, but it’ll have to do. I know you try your best.” Without another word, he disappears down the hallway toward the back.

I take a deep breath and push the frustration from my body. Yanking open the bottom drawer of my desk, I grab a big stack of the hot pink sticky notes I use for the guy’s messages. Taking a black marker from the cup beside my computer screen, I stand to my feet and head for Mitch’s station with determination.

“Oh shit,” Ki laughs. “What are you gonna do?”

Brushing the pink and blonde hair off my shoulder, I meet her eyes and grin wickedly. “He asked me to make a note.”

“I thought I came in early to do paperwork,” Luke says when Ki pushes to her feet. “That's what I get for thinking I’d be working at work.”

She reaches me, holding out her fist for me to bump causing me to quirk my brow. “I thought I was too hard on him?” I ask sarcastically, repeating her words.

She shrugs. “Chicks before the Pricks and all that. Besides, you’re not a secretary, Shel, you’re a badass office Pricktator.”

“Pricktator,” I giggle. “I love it.”

“I feel as if I should be offended by that,” Luke says scowling. “I’ll just be over here working. Hopefully, I’m not screwing shit up to the point of bankruptcy,” he adds dramatically.

“You can handle it,” Ki replies, brushing him off and heading my way. “No way you'll mess it up, baby.”

“Famous last words,” I giggle, knowing that I spend more time fixing his errors than actually doing the books in the first place. “Don't worry, boss man, all I need is your signature on the invoices and payroll sheets. You can't possibly fuck that up too much.”

Ripping open the plastic packaging, I stare at the blue wall of Mitch’s station and smile as I start arranging the bright pieces of adhesive paper.

***

Thirty minutes and four packages of hot pink pages later, I sit back and admire my handiwork. “Oh my God!” Ki laughs from Mitch’s chair, taking in the giant hot pink dick taking up nearly the entire wall. “A prick for a prick! You're a genius.”

Yanking the lid off the marker with my teeth, I shake my head. “Wait for it,” I tell her, before writing Torture Tactic ABCs across the top in big black letters then starting with atomic fire ant ass rape, I list twenty-six ways to torment him daily until he gives me my keys and stops being such a shit.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” Skinner says, tapping his finger over the words
thumbtack lined chair cushion
. “I think I'm in love.”

My eyes meet his and I wink. “You could never handle me, Skins.”

Chuckling, he plants a kiss on my cheek. “I don't doubt that for a minute.”

Completely satisfied with myself, I head back to my desk to help Luke with the paperwork and wait for Mitch to come back out and see my clearly thrown neon gauntlet.

“Dance with me, Sailor?” she asks, running her fingers up the buttons of my shirt, her right hand stopping over my heart to feel it beat beneath her palm as she waits for my answer.

“There’s no music, Becky.”

Smirking at me, she shakes her head. “That’s never stopped us before.”

She’s right. Nothing could ever stop me from wanting to hold her in my arms and feel her against my body, not even lack of music to dance to.

Taking her hand, I pull her to me and spin her around the floor of our living room. “I love you so much,” she whispers, brushing her lips over mine.

“Forever or bust, baby.” My reply makes her smile, just like it always does.

“Forever or bust,” she repeats with a laugh, her black hair falling down around her face as I stare into her brown eyes. Becky has never looked as beautiful as she does right here in this moment.

“Mitch…”

I see her lips breathing my name, but the voice echoing in my ears isn’t hers. Then she is gone.

We are no longer in the apartment we shared. Now, I stand in the parking lot of a truck stop. Gunshots and screaming make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and a feeling of dread, worse than I’ve ever felt before, settles in my chest.

My feet move, but they feel so damn heavy it’s like they’re made of lead. I run for the glass doors of the store and everything else fades away except the look in her eyes.

Becky.

The way the panic drains from her eyes turns my blood ice cold. The calm I see there, in the midst of the chaos is frightening. Why is she so calm? Doesn’t she see that she is in danger? My entire life is behind that door and I can’t protect her.

It’s fucking agony.

When I finally reach her, I wrap her in my arms, but there’s no warmth in her touch. The light in those beautiful brown eyes is dim, but I can’t bring myself to admit what’s happening right in front of me. I refuse to think of a world that doesn’t have her in it.

“I’m okay,” she says staring up at me and I force a smile as I hold her close.

No, Becky, you’re not…

I know how this ends.

“It’s so pretty.” The minute her eyes break contact, I feel my heart begin to shatter.

Stay with me, God, don’t take her and leave me alone…

“I love you, Mitch.”

My heart aches, burning like a wildfire that can never be contained. Looking down, the breath rushes from my chest when I see the gun in my hand.

Frantically, I look around and see the three bodies lying on the ground around me. Becky, Kelly, and Shelby all lie lifeless at my feet. I blink furiously, trying to make it go away, but it doesn’t.

“Murderer,” a voice echoes loudly, causing me to drop the gun.

“Mitch!”

My eyes fly open, taking in my surroundings. I stare around at the walls of Luke’s office, gripping the side of the couch like a lifeline. “What?” I snap, my heart slamming like a fucking sledgehammer. Dragging air into my burning lungs, I scrub a hand over my face before glaring across the room toward the doorway. “Are you tryin’ to give me a goddamn heart attack or somethin?”

Stepping into the room, Skinner looks at me with wide eyes. He holds up both hands in an attempt to calm me and steps closer. “Sorry, but your appointment is up front waiting.”

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath. Looking up at the clock on the wall, I groan and push to my feet. “Sorry.”

He nods, watching me carefully and I shake my head.

Why do they all watch me like I am two seconds away from falling apart?

Probably because you are, Taylor.

No one brings up Becky anymore, and that’s fine with me. Just hearing her name is like twisting the knife that is permanently embedded in my chest. There’s no reason to rehash the bullshit hand life dealt me. Fate dangled happiness in front of me then jerked it away and left me broken inside.

My nightmares and downward spiral have only gotten worse, since Shelby was nearly killed. All I could think about when I heard the gunshot was that it was happening all over again. People I cared about were in danger and, goddammit, this time I wouldn’t be too late.

I couldn’t be.

No one needed to die that day, however, that’s not how things went down. Greed and lack of sanity all packaged up in a desperate, blonde woman, with a gun, nearly cost us all our lives that day. Flashbacks haunt me, though in my nightmares, I am always too late. I live nearly paralyzed by the fear of losing everyone I love, so I shut them out.

“I’m headin’ out to pick up food for Shelby, Ki, and Luke, before I head out. You need anything?” he asks as we step out into the hallway, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I’m eatin’ with Ma once I finish up here,” I brush him off. “I’d kill for a drink though.”

Skinner’s eyes widen, he reaches out and grabs my arm. “A drink?” he asks, causing me to bite back a laugh.

“Yeah. You know, soda, tea, juice…,” I name off, tugging free of his grip. “Hell, I’ll settle for water from the fuckin’ hose out back at this point. I’ve got cotton mouth like a motherfucker.”

All at once, his entire body relaxes and I chuckle to myself. No need to worry man, I won’t be havin’ you play babysitter tonight. Your good time is safe.

“Sure thing,” he replies, then shoves open the backdoor and disappears out into the alley.

Heading up the hallway toward the front of the shop, I try to get my head on straight. You would think I’d be used to dreaming about losing Becky, since it used to happen every time I closed my eyes, but I’m not. Even though they happen less and less now, it’s a shock to my system; almost like losing her all over again. The last few weeks, it’s been these new dreams that jumble everything up. They are even worse, if that’s possible.

“Have a nice nap, princess?” Luke asks from behind the front desk where he sits, going through paperwork with Shelby.

He’s my best friend and has put me in my place more than once, but it’s fair to say that the last few months he has no idea what to do with me. Neither do I, though. I see what I am putting him through and, possibly, what I am doing to our business, by adding the unneeded stress to his life. No matter how hard I try, or how many times I apologize for the things I say and do, nothing seems to be getting any easier.