Hard As It Gets: A Hard Ink Novel

  “Yup.”

  “Becca?” He finished a line and spared her a glance, and she appeared absolutely rapt.

  She nodded. “Great.”

  “So you don’t have any tattoos, Becca?” Alek asked.

  “No. I like them, but I’d never thought seriously about it. Until recently.”

  Those last two words pinged around inside Rixey’s skull for a few minutes.

  “What would you get?” he asked. Nick was grateful Alek was asking the questions. Truth be told, he was damned curious, but it wasn’t like he could focus on a conversation with her when he needed to pay attention to what he was doing.

  “I’m not sure. I’d definitely want something with meaning. Maybe something to remember my older brother who died. His favorite thing in the world was playing the . . .” She gasped.

  Forcing himself to finish out the line, Rixey resisted looking at what had caused her reaction. He pulled the machine away from Alek’s skin and glanced at her. “You okay?” he asked, concern curling into his gut.

  Her wide eyes cut to him. “The guitar. His favorite thing was playing the guitar. I could . . . maybe . . .” She looked to him with a small shrug, like that revelation hadn’t just been the big fucking deal Rixey knew it was. A blush filled her cheeks. “I had his guitar, but it got broken.”

  “Definitely sounds meaningful, then,” the guy said.

  Rixey bored his gaze into her, wishing like hell they were alone so he could hold her and comfort her and paint a picture on her skin. Man, this woman had the ability to tie him up in knots like no one he’d ever known, and it was crystal fucking clear why. He was falling for her. Hard. Part of the reason he’d been so pissed at himself this morning was that he’d known being with her hadn’t just been about the physical.

  Damn, he hated that this stranger was in the room with them when she shared that idea for a first tattoo. It was too personal, too sentimental, and the thought that Alek might be sitting there imagining her naked with the dark lines of a fretboard running up her spine had the blood nearly boiling in his veins.

  But Rixey couldn’t say any of that right now, could he? He didn’t have the time or the privacy to tell her how special he thought her idea was, how special he thought she was. Instead, he just said, “I think it sounds perfect, Becca.” He bottled the rest of that shit up, took two more hits of ink, and dove back into outlining, shutting their occasional chitchat out.

  Seventy-five minutes later, he was done, and Alek’s soldier-fireman had come to life on the skin of the man’s arm. “See what you think,” Rixey said, pointing to the mirror. He leaned out of the doorway. “Hey, Jeremy? You out there?”

  “Yo!” came his voice from the lounge. He appeared a moment later.

  The guy examined it for a couple minutes. “Wow, man. It’s . . . frickin’ phenomenal.”

  “Damn, Nick, he’s right,” Jeremy said, stepping into the room. “That’s some fine work. I knew this one was yours.”

  The piece was good. Maybe his best. “Mind if I take a picture of it for my portfolio?”

  “Sure. Actually, would you take a shot with my phone, too?”

  Rixey took a few snaps with the office camera and a few on Alek’s smartphone. Jeremy clapped Nick on the back, then excused himself.

  “What do you think?” Alek asked Becca, standing in front of her and flexing.

  She smiled. “I think it’s pretty fantastic. Looks great on you,” she said, her gaze sliding to Nick. “Consider me impressed.”

  Man, the way she was looking at him did all kinds of bad things to his body. Her gaze was appraising, appreciative, as if she was seeing him in a whole new—and approving—way. Heat and arousal licked down his spine and brought his cock to life. He arched an eyebrow, but he still had work to do. He put a dressing on Alek’s arm and secured it with a wrap, then gave the guy his aftercare instructions.

  Finally, Nick walked him out, locked the door behind him, and killed the front lights. The shop had closed about an hour earlier. He’d heard Jeremy and Jess finish up with their clients, and Jess had left a while ago. When he returned to his room, he found Becca exactly where he’d left her, a faraway look in her eyes. The moment his gaze landed on her, she blushed. He stopped in his tracks. “What is that about?”

  “What?” she said, playing it off.

  “Horrible. Liar. Remember?” Crouching in front of her, he rested his hands on her thighs. “What’s the blush about?” He gently squeezed her quads.

  Her gaze brushed over his face, lingered on his lips, and fell to his hands on her legs. “Just thinking.”

  He tilted his head to catch her eye. “That sounds promising.”

  Becca chuckled and shook her head. “I was just wondering what it felt like to get a tattoo.”

  “It differs by placement, pain threshold, size, how much color,” he said, watching emotions run over her expression that had nothing to do with curiosity. She was turned on. He’d put money on it.

  “And I was wondering . . . if I ever decided I wanted one, if you’d do it.” She looked at him from under her lashes.

  He stroked his thumbs back and forth along the insides of her thighs and fought the urge to strip her down right here and now . . . for some ink and a whole lotta other things. Her muscles flinched and clenched under his touch, and the fact that he was maybe making her a little crazy turned his cock to steel. “In a heartbeat, sunshine. You just name the place and time.” What he didn’t say was that the thought of any other man putting his mark on Becca’s skin made him feel more than a little violent.

  She licked her lips and squeezed her thighs together. And that simple flexing of muscles had him wanting to tear her jeans off and bury his face between her legs until she was panting and writhing and screaming his name. Like this morning.

  Much as he’d told himself all the reasons to resist his attraction to her, facts were facts. He needed to be there for her—to protect, comfort, support. And he needed the redeeming light of her sunshine on his body, his heart, his soul. God, he just wanted her. Right or wrong.

  Her fingers reached out and slowly dragged along his bottom lip. Masculine satisfaction roared through him at the desire in her eyes. He leaned in, wanting to taste her again.

  Knock, knock, sounded against the doorjamb.

  Rixey turned and found Jeremy standing in the doorway with some papers in his hands. Frowning, he turned the sheets around in his fingers and held them up. The sketch artist’s drawings from this morning and Louis’s sketches of the Church tats. “Someone want to explain why and how you have pictures of these gang tattoos? And what, if anything, they have to do with the obviously unhappy reunion of your team?”

  Chapter 18

  Becca looked from Jeremy to Nick, unsure what to say. A small sense of Oh shit slithered through her belly, because Jer’s questions made it clear Nick hadn’t filled him in on what was going on. Whatever his approach to this, though, it wasn’t for her to say. “Maybe I should—”

  “Stay,” they both said.

  She lowered back into her seat. “Oookay.”

  Nick quickly cleaned up his table and supplies. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “You know about as much as you should probably know. Becca thinks she might’ve seen a tattoo like one of those on the guy who grabbed her.” He washed and dried his hands.

  Jer scoffed. “Nick, these are gang tats. And not just any gang. The Church is about as bad as they get. Drugs, guns, prostitutes, you name it. What the hell?”

  “How do you know so much about them?” Nick’s eyebrows slashed down.

  “There are dozens of gangs in this city. They all use tattoos for identification. Most of them have guys do it in-house, others find tattoo parlors and sorta claim them for their gang. I never knowingly do a gang tattoo, but that means I have to be familiar with what they look like and who they represent.”

  Damn, his brother was smart. Nick nodded, leaned against the counter, and crossed his arms. “Interesting, but I wa
nt to keep you out of this, Jeremy. You hear what I’m saying?”

  “I think you’re the one who’s got a problem with his hearing. Whatever this is”—he held up the papers again—“you need to stay way clear of it.”

  Lips pressed in a tight line, Nick landed his pale green gaze on her, and she hated that her situation might cause tension between them. Bad enough Jeremy was already mad at Nick for being late.

  “I can’t,” Nick said. “We can’t.” He nodded to Becca.

  Jeremy turned to her, and she saw in his face the moment it clicked. Her stomach squeezed. “The Church has your brother?” When she didn’t answer fast enough, he plowed forward. “What are the cops doing?” His face went pale. “Oooh, shit a fucking brick.” He dug his hand into his hair and flicked at the piercing on his lip. “This is why your team is here?”

  Nick gave a tight nod.

  “Why . . . what are you . . . ? I—”

  “Cops involved in this are dirty, Jer. And that’s the last fucking thing I’m telling you.” Nick slipped the pages from his brother’s hand.

  “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t deserve to know you’re playing Rambo out of my house?”

  Becca rose, guilt sloshing into her stomach. She hadn’t just crashed into Nick’s life, had she? What if she’d brought danger right to Jeremy—and Jess’s—doorstep? Ears back, tail down, the puppy came to the doorway behind Jeremy and whined. After a moment, she laid down with her head on her paws against Jer’s foot.

  “You deserve to know it all. But the less you know, the better. So you’re out.” Nick slashed a hand through the air, as if the debate had been decided.

  Jeremy shook his hair out of his eyes and glared. “I’m not some fucking kid, Nick. I’m a thirty-one-year-old man. At the very least, you should’ve told me so I could keep an eye out for any kind of trouble. I may not be a soldier, but I could help—”

  “You’re right. And maybe I should’ve said something more sooner, but we didn’t really know what we might be dealing with until this evening. And we’re still not a hundred percent sure. You’re not a kid. But here’s what you are: you’re a businessman, you’re an employer, you’re a homeowner. You have things to lose and people who count on you.”

  “And you don’t?”

  Nick stepped back and tossed the papers to the seat of a chair, then scrubbed his hands through his hair. They both had the tendency to do that, and she might’ve found the similarity endearing if it hadn’t been a reflection of their shared frustration right now. “A lot fucking less than you.”

  The bottom dropped out of Becca’s stomach. He didn’t think he had anything to lose? Her and whatever they were or weren’t aside, how could he think that about himself? If Jeremy hadn’t been there, she would’ve run across the room, grabbed his face, and told him—

  Jeremy’s hands fisted. “You sonofabitch. You and Katherine are the last family I have on this earth. Don’t you dare talk about yourself as if it wouldn’t matter if something happened to you. It would matter to me.”

  At the strain in Jer’s voice, tears pooled in Becca’s eyes, and she looked to the ceiling to pinch them off.

  Nick’s shoulders sagged and his voice had a sudden strain to it. “Jeremy—”

  “I remember what it was like to get that phone call. You know, the one that said my big brother was in critical condition in a hospital following surgery to repair multiple gunshot wounds to the back. Been there, done that, burned the motherfucking T-shirt. I couldn’t do anything about that. I couldn’t help. But this? Now? I can. And you’re goddamned straight gonna let me.”

  For a few tense minutes, they faced off across the room, arms crossed over their chests, pale green eyes narrowed and blazing. She wondered if they had any idea how similar they looked or, really, how much alike they were as men. Both strong, both protective of those they cared about, both stubborn to a fault. In that instant, Becca realized she didn’t just like Jeremy, she cared about him, too. And she could’ve hugged him for the way he cared about Nick.

  She released a breath and stepped toward them. “Please don’t fight. I’m sorry,” she said, voice tight, sadness parked at the back of her throat.

  “I don’t want to fight,” Jeremy said, expression stormy. “And don’t feel like you have to apologize, Becca. I’m not mad at you. If my brother was missing, I’d go to hell and back to find him, too.” Eyebrow arched, he eyeballed Nick. “But I also don’t want to be shut out.”

  “Jesus, Jeremy,” Nick said, scratching at the scruff on his jaws. “I’m trying to protect you. Simple as.”

  “It’s a flawed premise, bro. If this situation gets worse, you don’t think that has the chance of affecting me whether you tell me all the details now or not?”

  “God . . . damnit.” He pounded a fist on the roll-away tabletop. “Shit we’re doing, we are breaking the law. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  “You’re my brother,” Jeremy said.

  “And you’re mine.”

  “Knock, knock,” a voice said from behind Jeremy. He jerked around as Shane stepped alongside him. “Sorry to interrupt. Uh . . .” Shane glanced between the Rixeys. “When you’re done down here, we have some things we wanted to talk about.”

  For a long moment, the tension was so thick it almost changed the physical composition of the air. Nick shook his head. “Shit, I didn’t want this for you.”

  “And I appreciate that,” Jer said, crossing the room. “But brotherhood is a two-way street. You have to let me walk it with you.”

  Nick blew out a long breath that ended in the word, “Fuck. All right.” He shook his head. “All right. Then let’s go see what’s up.”

  “No regrets, remember?” Jeremy knocked his fists together side by side, and for the first time, Becca saw what the block lettering on the backs of his fingers said. Reading across his knuckles from his right pinkie to his left, the letters spelled out N-O-R-E-G-R-E-T. Sometime she’d ask him the story behind that tattoo.

  The air was suddenly lighter, easier to breathe, and Becca had the sense that whatever had just passed between them was bigger than this moment, this conflict, this situation. Nick just nodded.

  As the guys moved around the space turning off lights and making sure everything was locked up, Nick gave Jeremy the quick highlight reel of the past days’ events to bring him up to speed. She hovered at the door with Shane, waiting for them to finish.

  “They okay?” he asked, genuine concern shaping his handsome face and filling his intense gray eyes.

  “I think so. I don’t know. I didn’t realize Nick was trying to keep Jeremy out of it.”

  Shane nodded. “If I had a brother, I’d have done the same damn thing.” Something flashed through his expression—something dark he quickly masked.

  “You have any siblings?” she asked.

  A storm moved in over his face, furrowing his brow and making the angles of his face severe and unforgiving. “No.”

  It was the most loaded use of that two-letter word she’d possibly ever heard. But everything about his demeanor said, “Topic closed,” so she let it drop. “I’m going to take the dog out before we go upstairs,” she said, patting her hand against her jeans.

  “We’re done anyway,” Nick said. They made their way into the stairwell, and Jeremy double-checked that the door to Hard Ink locked behind them.

  Becca pushed out the far door and let her girl do her business. The guys stepped outside with them. “You can go up. We’ll be right there,” she said.

  “Air feels good after being inside all day,” Jeremy said. Becca couldn’t have agreed more. A soft breeze shifted the cool night air around her. The soft caress on her arms was relaxing, like it was blowing the difficult parts of the day away, just right on off her body.

  “What’s the dog’s name?” Shane asked after a minute.

  Nick and Jeremy looked at her, then each other, and burst out laughing.

  “What?” Shane asked.
“What’s so funny?”

  She just shook her head, glad to see them moving past the fight.

  The guys apparently needed the release, because they quickly moved on from laughter to sputtering hysterics. Jer was actually crying. And every time Nick managed to get himself under control, he burst out again.

  And man, that laughter was deep and throaty, so damn sexy. The dimple was carved a mile deep into his cheek, and laugh lines curved up from the corners of his eyes. She wanted to grasp his face in her hands and kiss him until he was panting and gasping for breath for an entirely different reason.

  “Here’s what you need to know,” Becca said, distracting herself from the urge to jump Nick just as the dog returned. “Her name’s not Cujo, it’s not Killer, it’s not Tripod, or Three-Speed, Trinity, Skippy, Hoppy—”

  “Sneezy, Dopey, Grumpy . . .” Jeremy managed, cracking himself up again.

  “It’s also not Shiiiii-looooooooh,” Nick mocked.

  Oh, my God, they were all the way over the deep side. Becca rolled her eyes and stepped back inside.

  “Uh, okay,” Shane said as they started upstairs, the Rixeys having now devolved into teenaged giggles. Who knew two such big guys could make those high-pitched sounds? “What about Eileen?”

  “What?” Becca said, frowning at Shane. “You’re just as bad as—”

  The uproarious laughter from behind her made her turn around. Nick had taken a knee on the stairs, and Jeremy was hanging on the railing.

  “Ei . . . Ei . . . Ei-leen,” Jeremy gasped. “Get it? Perfect.”

  “No, not perfect. Her name is not Eileen.” Becca bit back a smile at their hysterics.

  Nick heaved a deep breath and opened his mouth. Not to speak, but to sing. “Come on, Eileen. Oh, I swear what he means, at this mooo-ment, you mean eeeverything.”

  Becca put her hand on her forehead and gaped. Nick Rixey was down on his knees singing an eighties anthem to her while laughing and holding his stomach. And it was the sexiest freaking thing she’d ever seen or heard. Even around the ridiculous hilarity, there was no question the boy could sing.