DeeperThanInk (3 page)

“Seal Team Six? Now I know you’re full of it.”

“Rumor has it, more than a few local, national and
international dignitaries have walked through the front door. Or more than
likely, through an underground passage that spikes off to several parking
garages throughout the city. And one that may actually lead to a private estate
along the river, for those wishing to arrive by yacht.”

“How did you get all this info?”

“Intel, doll. It’s called intel.”

She turned onto Fourth Street and he pointed to a spot down
the block, on her side of the street.

“How?” Becca asked again.

“It’s not important.”

His little oration started out as if he had gone on a
fact-finding Google-a-thon, but it ending with just enough secrecy that Becca
was skeptical. “Did you have to pay?”

“Good god, woman, let it go.”

She pulled to the curb, killed the engine and turned in her
seat to face at him. She wasn’t going to give up. He knew that.

“For shit’s sake,” he muttered. “A bottle of ‘03 Château
Margaux and the chef’s table next New Year’s Eve. No biggie.”

“No biggie?” Did he not realize she paid attention during
their lengthy conversations about everything under the sun? “Is that 1903 or
2003?”

He laughed. “Two thousand three. The crop a hundred years
earlier sucked ass.”

“From your stock or the restaurant’s?” She stared at him,
waiting for an answer.

“Where do you think?” he replied.

She realized, at that moment, there couldn’t be anyone more
selfless than him. Or maybe she’d known that all along. Maybe it was one of any
number of underlying qualities that made her adore him. And she did adore him.
More than she probably should.

Without looking she undid her seat belt, leaned across the
console and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, one so brief, she didn’t have
time to think. Or feel. Which was a tad disappointing. Because in her
fantasies, their kisses were mind-blowing.

“Thank you…so much,” she stumbled.

“For what?” he asked. His breath warmed her already heated
lips.

“For always being there. For being an awesome friend.”

It was his turn to stare. His gaze drifted to her lips and
her heart beat a little faster. She should lean in and give it another try. But
he jerked his head away and gave her a look that bordered between surprise and
upset. She’d said something wrong, she could tell by the way he sat up straight
and reached for his own seatbelt buckle.

The driver’s door was suddenly pulled open. She spun around
to find Mr. Bulky standing on the sidewalk. He reached quickly for her elbow
and Becca acted instinctively, knocking his hand away with an upward chop.

“Good girl,” Chad praised in a rich tone.

Becca’s head snapped around. Where the hell had that
specific timbre come from? And
good girl
? Seriously?

Chad hopped out of the vehicle before she could offer a
response. Or remind him the Blazer didn’t have automatic locks. She reached
over and pushed down the button on his door before turning in her seat. She had
the sudden urge Chad might leave her behind. Which was ridiculous.

“Andres is waiting,” the other man said, barely glancing at
Becca as he watched Chad walk around the front of the truck. They had another
brief stare down before Chad gently elbowed him aside and took her hand as if
she were royalty. Chad helped her out of the vehicle, let her walk a few steps
and then opened the back driver-side door and grabbed her machine and supply
case. He stacked them together and wheeled them out of the way.

The whole scene was becoming a little surreal, but what had
she expected with them rolling up to the local BDSM club? Becca locked her
side, slamming the door when Chad was clear. She reached for her equipment but
he placed one hand on her hip and moved her effortlessly aside.

“I’ve got this. You go ahead,” he said, sliding his palm
over the back of her thin More Ink T-shirt until it rested low, against the
base of her spine. His hand was warm, but she shivered nonetheless.

They reached the door of the club. Glossy black. No windows.
Not at all inviting. “This way.” Mr. Bulky opened the door into even more
darkness.

For the second time in as many days, Becca was happy to have
Chad by her side.

Chad’s thoughts kept looping back to how that kiss had
sucked. It had surprised him, but it had still sucked. It was so quick he
hadn’t had time to react as he should have. As he’d dreamed of. And then she
was thanking him for being her friend. Fuck. All that was left at that moment
was for someone to cue the
Golden Girls
theme music.

This had to end. He’d hit the proverbial wall of
self-denial. When they were done and Becca drove him home, he’d show her how to
do it proper. How two people who had no earthly reason
not
to be
together actually kissed. Body to body. Tongues dueling. Hands trying to touch
a hundred places at one time. But he couldn’t think of that now. Not with the
asshole leading them into the dark foyer of the club.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust but when they did,
he was shocked at the opulence that surrounded them. Tufted leather seating
areas. A huge mahogany bar that ran in a horseshoe shape against the far wall.
He doubted the wineglasses perfectly aligned on clear shelves were your
standard restaurant grade. The stems were too fine. If they were Riedel like he
thought, there was easily twenty-five grand in crystal. And that was just the
red wineglasses.

“Andres is waiting in the new game room.”

Becca remained silent, which set him on guard. He assumed
she would go in there with her usual confidence. It would be the best way to deal
with a man who was used to people groveling at his feet. If he knew there was
the possibility she would clam up, he’d have talked to her about that.
Emphasized that point.

They followed the man down a long corridor lined with
mirrors on one side and windows on the other. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind
that both were two-way. Chad watched Becca’s profile, could almost see the
internal battle she was fighting. She didn’t like to be told what to do, didn’t
like not being in charge. But he knew how beneficial a large payday would be
for her independence. They slowed their pace and she squared her shoulders. He
admired her strength. Her adaptability.

Two warnings had been given along with the info on Andres
Herzog. Be careful, and show no weakness. It was like dealing with a bear, he’d
been told. It was doubtful any harm would come to them if they didn’t piss
Andres off too badly. But his intel came with an additional request Chad
readily agreed to. He’d given up the time of their meeting and promised to drop
a text when the audition tattoo was over and both he and Becca were on their
way home.

The echo of their footfalls changed and Chad looked ahead to
where the corridor ended. A set of antique double doors. Burled walnut. With
thick hinges and two roaring lion doorknockers indicated their trek was over.
Without knocking, the dude who Chad actually hoped he’d have a chance to knock
out opened both doors and stepped to one side, allowing Becca and him to pass.
It was a grand gesture that Chad knew was totally false and misplaced.

“Welcome,” a heavily accented voice greeted from the center
of a column-flanked rotunda. It was three steps higher than the rest of the
room, giving it the appearance of a temple.

With the over-the-top-ornate vibe going on, Chad expected to
see Herr Herzog sitting on a throne, but the man perched on a backless
barstool. He was the textbook definition of mature and distinguished. White
hair in the quintessential executive cut, healthy tan. Wide smile, perfectly
fitted suit. As much as Chad hated to admit it, the guy gave off a refined air.
He was expecting something a little more sleazy.

A padded table and low doctor-type stool shared the obvious
place of honor.

“I’m glad you accepted my offer, Miss Wiley. Your reputation
precedes you, you know?”

“Yes. I do.” Becca’s words were clipped. Delivered in a
no-nonsense tone that had Chad giving her a mental high five. “This should do
just fine. I’ll need an electrical outlet.”

Chad wondered if nervousness was manifesting itself into
terseness. Or if she just wanted to get in the zone without the usual
pleasantries. Or maybe she’d noticed the iron rings attached to each pillar
they passed and had figured out the various ways a person could be restrained.
Or stretched. Chad had gone home the other night after work and
internet-searched the club, followed the links that had led to a quick
explanation of a lifestyle that so many found fascinating. He had thought he
already knew the rudiments of the fetish, but he’d been sorely mistaken. The
research, most of it visual, had ranged from informative to the point where he
thought he might actually puke.

“My goodness.” Herzog tipped his chin upward and looked down
his nose at Becca. Even on his perch he was a head taller than she. Chad nearly
smiled when she put her hands on her hips.

“Have you always been this direct, Miss Wiley?” Herzog
asked. “Or is it a role you like to play?”

“I’m a tattoo artist. That’s all, Andres.”

Chad didn’t miss the way Herzog’s eye twitched when Becca
used his given name. The intel was spot on. The man obviously thrived on
respect.

“But that isn’t the role you’ve played, now is it, my dear?”

Chad watched her closely and fought the possessive urge to
step next to her. He knew her past. Knew it wasn’t what she’d want.

Becca laughed, low and deep, and it startled them all.

“It’s the only role I’m going to play with you. Now get me
some electricity or we’re walking.”

Chad tensed. The dude who walked them in was moving around
to the left.

“Troy,” Andres finally spoke. “Electricity please.”

The man, who now had a name of his own, went to the post
closest to Becca and pulled a piece of the column upward, revealing a hidden
socket. He reached out his hand, silently offering to plug in her machine but
she ignored him and did it herself. Chad stayed out of her way, waiting until
she was ready for him. When she had her mobile tattooing station arranged the
way she wanted, she turned toward him.

“Which one?” she asked, opening a folder.

Last night they had talked about the three designs she came
up with but he’d yet to see them. He studied all three, once again blown away
by her creativity and skill. A Celtic knot. The single Chinese character for
balance. And a gnarled root of a grape vine.

They each had merit, and they each held meaning. He’d been
shocked when she’d told him the three designs. Shocked that she’d paid enough
attention when he rambled to recognize the things in his life that held
significance. He’d been engaged two years and his fiancée hadn’t bothered to
find out half of what Becca gleaned in just eight months.

“This.” He pointed to the intricately twisted knot, a
fitting choice for his Irish heritage and his new acceptance of life and death.
She nodded in return and picked up the transfers, clearing off the table. He
knew the drill. Same one he’d gone through when she’d done his first and only
ink, the memorial tattoo of his nephew that graced his right pec. All she had
to do was pick the exact spot on the inside of his upper left arm she thought
would be easiest to work on.

“Should I be concerned that you don’t have any visible
tattoos, Miss Wiley?” Herzog asked.

“I’ve got plenty of ink,” Becca’s reply was short. To the
point.

“I can’t see a thing showing. In my experience, most people
get the outer extremities done firsthand then move on to the more private
areas. I’ve never met a tattoo artist who wasn’t nearly covered from head toe.
That says something about your level of comfort where nudity—”

His words were cut off when Chad reached behind his head and
pulled his T-shirt off his body.

“I’m an anomaly,” Becca interjected.

The silence stretched and Chad eased onto the table. He
worked hard to keep in shape. He wasn’t usually uncomfortable being shirtless
but both of the other men were staring at him as if his abs held the secret to
world peace. Or more than likely, world domination. The latter took on a whole
new meaning when Chad thought about the metal rings attached to the pillars.

Chad looked his way and Herzog cleared his throat. “I
assumed ten thousand dollars would give me carte blanche to choose where—”

“Think again,” Chad interrupted. “Unless you have another
ten Gs at your disposal. If you do, then we can discuss.” He raised his arm
over his head and watched Becca roll her stool to the top of the table. It
would be easier for her to work that way than him trying to keep his arm turned
at an outward angle.

The man gave him another slow once-over and Chad forced his
features to remain neutral.

“You’re a delicious specimen, but not worth that price, I’m
sorry to say. That’s a rather odd place for the tattoo, don’t you think? When
you’ve got two strong healthy biceps. Bare and available.”

Herzog’s words dripped with innuendo. It made Chad want to
laugh at the insipidity, but he remained quiet.

“The skin on his inner arm is very similar to neck tissue.
It’s the closest to exact that we can get without actually doing a neck
tattoo,” Becca explained. She’d gone over all that with Chad the night before.

“And why doesn’t he want a real neck tat?” Troy asked.

Chad felt her tense. She hated when people used that word.
It showed what posers they were.

“Customer’s choice,” Becca replied. She shot Herzog a
sidelong glance. “Most of the time.”

Chad didn’t think she was looking for a response and Herzog
didn’t give one.

“Maybe he thinks you’re not good enough to do his neck?”
Troy needled.