Love and War: Part Two (Shadows in the Dark Book 2)

“Stairs,” he says, as he guides me blindfolded by his hands and stops, halting me with him. He made me close my eyes about fifteen minutes ago, and in an effort to not ruin his mood after what happened back in Kaston’s office, I didn’t peek. It has been the longest fifteen minutes of my life, but the familiar smell reminds me of the shop.

I’ve always loved the smells of the shop. Kross is a big user of incense and essential oil diffusers at work. For a man, he’s knowledgeable, and he’s done his research. It’s sexy as hell.

Maybe that is one of the many reasons why he’s so successful. He believes it relaxes the customer and gives them a better experience when dealing with pain and sometimes long sessions, which can lead to restlessness.

He changes them up, and occasionally Cassie sneaks in a more feminine aroma like Rose from his massive collection, but for the most part, you’ll be welcomed by scents like Vanilla and Patchouli or Sandalwood and Lavender. My favorite, though, has become Cedarwood and Jasmine, and with it being frequently used lately, I think he’s noticed. “Open the door in front of you.”

I place my arms out, my palms colliding with a metal door. His cologne wafts through the air from him being so close to my backside. His bulky muscles and the soft cotton of his shirt feel good against me. I search for the doorknob and turn it. He pulls me back when the door touches me, allowing me to open it completely.

He then presses his body against me, inching me forward. “Climb the steps.”

I do as told, extending my arms out and using my hands at my sides against the walls as a guide. I’m positive we’re at work now. There’s no mistaking this narrow staircase; something you don’t see all that often in a business, but in tight, well-developed cities the only place left to go is up. He said he had a surprise for me, though, so I’m not sure what we’re doing here. “Why are we at work when it’s closed? Are you itching to get a needle in my skin?”

“You’re pregnant. No.”

“Such a buzzkill, you are.” He sinks his teeth in the muscle running from my neck to my shoulder, sending a surge of wetness into my panties. “Fuck,” I whisper as he stops me.

“Open the door.” I follow instructions and step up onto the floor. “Keep them closed,” he says, and then his hands fall from my eyes.

I squint, trying not to let my eyelid muscles get too excited. The sudden, cool, rush of air has me wondering where he went, but in a moment’s notice, he returns. This time he’s in front of me, grabbing my hand. I let him pull me toward the back of the room.

When we come to a stop yet again, he positions himself behind me, aligning his front to my back, snaking his hands around my waist to eliminate the space between us.

I shiver when his palms take rest over my still flat belly. “Merry belated Christmas,” he says. “Since I fucked it up before. Open your eyes, Delta.”

Nervous, I slowly open my eyes, starting with merely softening my lids, and then finally, I raise them. “Oh, my God.”

Words fail me. The right words anyway. The words that would adequately describe the feelings roaming around my body as if they’ve lost belonging. The room is dark, except for the neon lights that show ownership of each station. Only this time, there is no vacant one.

Above the station next to Kross’s, my name shines bright in a cursive, neon pink font. I have a place to call my own. He’s going to keep me. I’m part of the family. And in his eyes, I’m worthy enough to be called an artist. That means the most of all.

And suddenly, my stupid eyes start leaking, uncontrollably at that. It’s like a pipe burst inside. My shoulders hunch in my attempt to stop it before I ruin my makeup. My body starts to shake. He turns me around, placing his hands on my wet face. I can only see a slight glow on his face since he left the overhead lights off, but I can tell he’s concerned. “Is this a pregnancy thing?”

I start laughing, tears still streaming down my face. “Yes. No. Maybe. It’s a happy thing,” I finally get out. He kisses me, and with the soft touch of his lips, I calm. I’m able to breathe freely, and easily, and my chest stops heaving. I wrap my arms around his waist to hold onto him. “You think I’m ready?”

“I’m not a man that does before he knows. To act on a thought isn’t the behavior of a successful business owner. I know you’ve got the basics down. You can only tattoo so many practice skins before it becomes no different than someone learning the art of combat on a game system but doesn’t know shit about actual warfare. You’ll never know everything, no matter how long you shadow me or the guys. Time and dedication separate average from the best. Mastery comes with practice, experience, and research. I know you’re ready enough for me to offer student tattoos at a discounted price. It’s a new thing I came up with. Protects the shop with a waiver and allows you to actually practice on a human being.”

I stare at him, no longer worried about my makeup as my wet lashes continue to touch together. “For once, I don’t know what to say.”

“You could start with, ‘thank you, Kross. This is the best Christmas gift ever’.”

I laugh, more so at the fact that his humor is never detectable in the tone of his voice. “Thank you, Kross. This is the best Christmas gift ever.”

He never reciprocates the look on my face or cracks a smile. Instead, he brushes his calloused thumb along my cheekbone, his eyes drilling into mine.

He studies me in a way that I’ve never been by a man. It evokes a sense of nervousness and makes me feel beautiful, wanted. “Nothing has ever had me quite like you. There’s something about you I can’t shake. I—”

He clamps his mouth shut before anything else can be said, and a part of me dies inside. All those months ago, the only thing I wanted was to be somebody, to be the best fucking female artist there is, or at least be well on my way. I wanted a mentor. I wanted to be trained by the best. I wanted to become a legend. I wanted Kross. I still want Kross. The difference is that now more than anything else, I want him to love me. I need him to need me. I long to be his . . . in every possible way there is. All he has to do is say the words. Make the decision. Ask the question. Maybe, despite everything I’ve ever known, there is a sliver of a romantic locked away inside, begging to be freed. “What, Kross?”

“I don’t understand the way I feel.”

“Explain it to me. Maybe I can help you.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head in frustration. When he opens them, his eyes are clear, distant. I’ve lost the moment quicker than the passing of a gust of air. “Let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

And then he turns, and once again, tows me in the direction he wants me. I let him. Maybe one day he will love me. But even if he doesn’t, I know I love him enough for both of us. The way he wants me is enough for me to stay.

There is no greater truth than this: the broken ones hold us captive the longest. They entrap our hearts in a way we don’t want them back. He captured me the moment I laid eyes on him. I’m in love with my captor. My biggest fear isn’t being kept—it’s being let go.

Kross

I pull her through the packed-out Underground Atlanta looking for a decent spot to stand. It’s body to body, the crowd hyped up and ready for some action. We’re cutting it too close to midnight because of the hotel party with Kaston and Lux. Delta felt it was shitty to leave early since they paid for the tickets. In my opinion, we didn’t ask for the damn tickets in the first place, so I don’t see it as we owe anyone anything. This is supposed to be our night.

I was planning to get here earlier, much earlier, as in not long after we ate dinner at one of the upscale hotel restaurants with a panoramic view of the Atlanta skyline at dusk, dim lighting, and eating over candlelight with some kind of orchestra music in the background—not any music that I like. I’ve never felt so fucking awkward; not even at the New Year’s Eve event in the ballroom, surrounded by people in cheap novelty items representing the New Year we’re supposed to be bringing in.

The waiters were dressed formally, their speech way too controlled. The atmosphere was stifling and silent, reeking of money, and the food was too fancy and overpriced for someone that looks like me, but the outfit she was wearing when I picked her up didn’t belong in a casual steakhouse, and the smile on her face as we stared at each other from opposite ends of the table had me keeping all thoughts to myself.

The glow across her face from the flame of the candle as it danced made it easy. She’s never looked so beautiful. I remained quiet, watching her, while she mentioned repeatedly how romantic it was for me to take her to a place like that when I’m almost always void of feeling. If that’s how she saw it, I wasn’t going to take that from her. I just thought after all the shit I’ve dealt her way she needed something out of the ordinary. I don’t know how else to get her back home. I figured it would take something drastic.

I continue pushing through the never-ending maze created by so many bodies. People are screaming, taking selfies, and binging on booze and God knows what else. Body count in this magnitude puts me on the edge. Words like Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram are being thrown around like confetti. I’m sure most of these people will post the same damn videos on YouTube later. Females are actually dressed more season appropriate out here compared to the scraps of fabric labeled as dresses I saw inside the hotel. Flasks and cups are out in every size and color. My eyes set on the place I want to be.

I stop suddenly when a drunk girl in heels stumbles in front of me, spilling her drink all over the pavement. She looks up, a huge clown-like smile plastered on her face. “Fuck, the guys are hot here. I’m Candi, and I’m interested.”

“I’m not. Keep moving.”

“Your loss, sexy. You’ll be missing out on probably the easiest lay you’ve ever had. Tourist goals.”

Delta smashes into my backside, and shortly after, her voice sounds. “Back up, asshole.”

I turn around, agitated, my eyes setting on the ‘asshole’ that has his dick practically glued to her ass and his lips pressed to her ear. I can smell the beer from here. She rips her hand from mine and grips his face in her hand, shoving him backward. “In your dreams, loser. Fuck off before you regret it. You reek.”

Against my better judgment, I keep my mouth shut. My temper needs to remain under control in a public place where cops are at every corner, watching and waiting for someone to fuck up.

If I’m going to leave her for a few days, I need to know she can take care of herself, because I can’t take her with me. Not for this. This is something that is long overdue, and as much as I’d like to pretend it’s been in the back of my mind, it’s been anything but. I finally have some answers. I finally remember things. I no longer feel foreign in my own mind.

I’ve thought about that fucking file about every ten seconds since we left Kaston’s house; through dinner, through the hotel party, and on the way here. This is something I have to deal with. I have no chance at giving her a normal relationship if I don’t handle this. Twenty-six years are riding on it.

Kaston is the only one who could tell my mind was elsewhere. An emotional cripple has some advantages in times like this. She needs to have fun, because I’ve been an angry dick to her long enough.

“Come on, girl. I know you’re easy. Look at you. I bet you spread those legs for a lot of guys.”

My head snaps to the short, playboy-wannabe fucker, and before I can stop myself his neck is in my grasp, my hand closing like a pair of pliers. The pressure buildup from his lack of air gives me a rush. His nails clawing at my hand sends me into overdrive. Everything blurs except for one thing: him. I want him dead. I want to be the reason his soul is disconnected from his body.

“Kross, it’s not worth it. Baby, let him go.” Her voice cuts through the silence in my head, enunciating the word ‘baby’. Suddenly nothing is silent anymore. The celebratory screams and laughter return. The thousands of conversations mix together in the air.

When I glance over, the sea of people is still present, most not paying any attention. His face is pale and his lips are turning blue. My size dominates his by a lot.

I pull him forward. “Touch my girl or talk to her like that again and I’ll leave your body parts scattered all over this goddamn city.”

My hand instantly releases its hold. I watch with regret as he rushes away. I can count on one hand the times I’ve let someone live in that state. When I make up my mind there is no going back. That dumb fuck got lucky tonight. Should have killed him.

I flinch at the feel of skin against my skin, a palm on my stomach, but I relax when the familiar touch registers. Memorize my touch.

I look at her. She wraps her arms around me and her smile is long gone. Her eyes are dull and the outer edges are sloped downward. “Are you okay? Maybe this was a bad idea. Do you want to go back to the hotel party?”

She shakes her head and tightens her hold around me. One, two, three . . . Delta. Delta’s touch is different. It’s . . . wanted.

I instantly relax, my hands going for her face, tilting her head back so that I can see her more clearly in the limited light. “He’s just a dickweed, Kross. Likely a Slim Jim—two-to-four-inch skinny dick that’s not visibly appealing or fulfilling. I’m used to guys like him. What I’m not used to is the way you just looked. I know we’ve talked about things, but I’ve never witnessed that. What would have happened had I not been here?”

One thought processes. “A fucking Slim Jim? Jesus, who comes up with this shit? Ruin my liking of a perfectly good protein snack. Maybe it’s because of my lack of friends, but I’ve never known guys to have the same views of pussy as girls apparently have of dick. It’s a wonder any of you get laid at all with those kinds of cut-downs.”

“Are you seriously taking his side after you were a second away from choking him to death?”

“No. He was a prick. I would have gladly castrated him for what he said and pressed against you. I’m stating the obvious. To most guys, their dicks are sacred. Those are suicide-worthy attacks. Not all men have swords in their pants.”

She smiles. Finally. A brief laugh follows. I like it better when she smiles. She then presses closer, before grabbing my dick through my jeans. “Like you?

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t sit around comparing my cock.”

“Oh, but I know you do, and that’s all that matters.”

“You didn’t know that before I fucked you. Most would call that luck of the draw.” Her smile changes. “What?”

“There is a lot about women you don’t know. We always notice. I had you sized up by the second week. The memory is very clear. I was wearing those black denim cut-offs and the mutilated sleeveless band tee shirt with the bandeau underneath to cover my boobs. I was prepping your station for your first appointment, nervous as fuck when the door opened. It was the first time we were alone in the studio after I started. When you walked in that morning you took one look at me and stopped at the door, before stomping over to your station like I had pissed you off. It seemed like I did that often. You were hard and moody as fuck. God, that fucking bulge. I was so wet I had to go to the bathroom. You thought I didn’t notice, but I did. Even saw you trying to casually press it down when I wasn’t looking. I likely would have let you fuck me then had you made an attempt. I didn’t think you were ever going to try to get in my pants. And when you finally did . . .”

“It had been building for way too long,” I admit, horny as fuck in the middle of all these people as I replay the memory and can’t do shit about it. Suddenly, I’m regretting my plans.

“And it was worth every degrading thing you said,” she whispers.

“Degrading?”

She laughs. “You aren’t the most complimentary person. Or the most filtered. You have very set ideals, especially in regard to stripping. Rather, you outright made me feel like a whore, but it was glorious.”

“Maybe I was too harsh. I understand now why I had such a problem with it. It was because of her. My . . . Rachel. I was acting out subconsciously. I was an angry person all the fucking time. You didn’t belong in there.”

“Too harsh? Is that your version of an apology?” The laughter in her tone and the grin on her face proves she doesn’t expect one.

“Are you sure you don’t want to leave? You’re quivering. I told you I’d be shit at dates.”

She pulls in closer, laying her cheek against my torso. “No. I want to stay here. This is us. Our style. It’s not often you want to do something like this. I’m wearing jeans and a jacket. Even a beanie. I’ll be fine.”

I wrap my arms around her, trying to warm her shaking body. It’s a cold one tonight. Every breath is visible in the black of night. I look around as I hold her close. People watching—it’s something I’ve always done since I’m not much for social interaction or talking. Friends, couples, large and small groups. There is one common denominator: they all look happy; something I’ve never been.

I lay my chin on the top of her head, freely thinking. It’s not the first time I’ve realized that with her, I’m the most peaceful. I’m happy, if that’s what this is. Less angry for sure. But there is a void. That void is one that she can fill, because she already has. We’re at a crossroads. It’s the close of one year and the beginning of another. With the knowledge of my past, maybe it’s time I change my future. Because once someone loved me, even if only for a little while, and that truth is enough to let go of some of the pain and some of the anger. I take a deep breath, letting the cold air invade my lungs, and then I pull her closer on exhale. “I miss you, Delta.”

She pulls away and looks up at me, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

It’s time I stop being a pussy, before someone else is calling her his girl. “I miss you. All of you. I miss you at home. I miss you in my bed. Our bed. Come back home.”

“Kross . . .”

The crowd starts the countdown as the giant peach begins to fall. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . .”

“I love you, Delta.”

Her mouth falls, and following right behind are the tears as they make a trail down her face. “Are you sure?” she whispers.

I pick her up, forcing her legs to wrap around my waist. “Yeah, I’m sure. I think I’ve been in denial for a while, but fuck all if this isn’t it, so put me out of my misery. Come home. I can’t promise I won’t fuck up. If someone touches you, I’ll still want to beat him to a pulp. I’ll probably swear a lot, even when I’m not supposed to. When it comes to understanding something obvious in regard to feelings, I’ll likely always flunk, so if I say something about the baby or this pregnancy that makes you want to run, just punch me in the dick instead. It’ll hurt a lot less.”

“. . . four, three, two, one. Happy New Year!”

Her warm lips press against mine in a rush. Her tongue seeks a connection but only briefly. Then she pulls away. “Is that a yes?”

She laughs. “Oh, it’s a hell yes. Have you not figured it out yet? That’s all I was waiting on. To know you loved me and weren’t just serving some kind of honorable manly duty.”

“Thank fuck. Though a hint would have been nice.”

I kiss her this time, and the popping in the sky as the fireworks go off break us apart. She looks up, but I look at her. I’ve never been as curious about a woman as I am with her. She’s holding onto the back of my neck, leaning back as she looks up at the onyx sky. The sounds remind me of gunfire. But the glittery sparks mirrored in her eyes are something more. Magical, if there was such a thing.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“You are.”

She looks down at me, a smile on her face. “Happy New Year, Kross.”

“Happy New Year, Delta.”

She leans in. “I think this is going to be the best one yet.”

“You think so? Why’s that?”

“Because we have a family.”

“Yeah . . .”

“Kross.”

“What?”

“Take me back to the room. There’s something I want you to do.”

“And that something is?”

“Make love to me.”

Fucking love. I’ll be damned . . .