Threat (28 page)

“Never knew what?”

“You were this fucking talented,” I
say with the most subtle pang of envy. I've never been artistic. I
don't have any God given talent like Threat obviously does. And
despite how hard I've worked, I can't think of one specific skill
I've mastered. I don't even know what I want to do once I get my
degree, but here he is with a clear and obvious path mapped out in
front of him. Must be nice.

“Yeah, well, you never ask,” he
replies bitterly.
Ouch
. His words sting true. Of course, I
knew he did tattoos. I guess I just wrote it off and didn't take it
seriously enough.

He takes the portfolio from my lap. “Hand
first, or knee?” he repeats.

I give him my hand, and he lets it slide into
his own.

“It's okay to admit that you missed me,”
he grins, readying his tweezers.

“Some things don't change, do they?”

His smile fades, his eyes dropping back down to
my hand. “I've changed a lot, actually,” he states.
“Ready?”

I shut my eyes and look away, bracing myself.
“As I'll ever be.” He plucks the first piece from my
flesh—
ouch.
It
was just a little thing but it was lodged in there good.

“
That
hurt?”

“
Like a
bitch.”

He chuckles. “And now, unfortunately, I'm
gonna have to do it again.”

He yanks the second piece before I was even
ready—ugh, this is not going to be fun. So I try to distract
myself instead.

“What are you even doing out here?”
I ask.

“Am I not allowed to enter the state of
California, or something?” Third piece—tiny, I'm shocked
he even found that. Didn't hurt as much as the first two, but I still
brace myself for more.

“I didn't say that. It's just...”
My eyes narrow suspiciously as I study his. “What
are
you doing out here?”

“You already asked me that.”

“Yeah, and you didn't answer the first
time.”

He stops, placing his hands on his knees. “You
think I followed you out here, don't you?”

And there it is, the elephant in the room.
“Well did you?”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “And
you call
me
cocky.”

“It just seems like an odd coincidence.
It's a huge state, and yet, you end up in the same city as me.”

“Maybe everything doesn't revolve around
you, Leah.”

He slides another piece out with surprisingly
gentility.

“You're still evading the question.”

“Would it be the worst thing in the world
if I did?”

“Besides the fact that I told you to
leave me alone,” I mumble.

“And have I bothered you so far?”

I sigh, looking away as he removes the last few
shards.

“Last one, this is the big one. Are you
sure you're ready?”

I close my eyes tight and nod. The pain
intensifies when he drags it out, but it quickly subsides. I'm just
glad to have the damn thing gone.

“And this is going to hurt even worse,”
he says. I don't even get a chance to protest before he pours the
antiseptic over my cut. I muffle my own pained groans by biting my
lip—he sure didn't lie.

“Now your knee,” he says. “Put
it up here where I can see it.” He wraps his hand around my
leg, pulling it up and placing my foot on his thigh.

In a flash of embarrassment, I pull down my
skirt. “I'm wearing a damn dress.”

His lips tilt, his gaze landing on my bare
upper thighs. “I noticed.”

He's changed, but maybe not that much.

“And to answer your question, I came up
this way for school.”

“You're in school?” That would
explain the books.

“Don't act so surprised. I can read and
write, thank you very much.”

“I'm not. I knew you could do it, I just
didn't think you would.”

He shrugs, his eyes narrowed and fixed on a
tiny piece of glass lodged in my skin. “Its no Stanford.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“It's just a few classes at an art
school.”

“Don't minimize your achievements,
Threat.”

His eyes meet mine, and then drop to my lips.
“I don't go by that anymore. Just David.”

“And you bar tend?”

He nods. “Sure do.”

“How do you find time for all of that?”

“I make it work. I don't exactly have
much of a choice, not everyone has a rich daddy supporting them,”
he smirks. He'll never stop ribbing me about that, will he? “It's
just a joke, okay? I'm playing with you.”

Silence falls between us again for a moment. He
focuses on the tiny shards in my knee and I pretend to focus on it as
well. My knee seems to have gotten it worse than my hand.

“You never come home anymore,” I
say finally, breaking the silence. “Your mom misses you.”

He sighs, his eyes averting mine. “I know
she does. I still talk to her a lot. I'm just busy up here.”

A wave of guilt washes over me as I bite my
tongue nervously. “I didn’t mean it when I said I
wouldn't go back home if you were there.”

“Again, you think everything is about
you, don't you?”

“I hope it's not. But just in case,
if
it is, I wanted you to know that I'm...I'm over everything that
happened. Completely.”

He stops. “Really, are you?”

No.
“Yes.”

He twists his mouth, nodding as he goes back to
work. I quickly lose count of how many pieces he's pulled out of my
knee. When he's done he doesn't warn me before dabbing my knee with
antiseptic. It stings, but it's not the worst pain in the world.

“Good as new,” he says after
bandaging me up.

“Thanks,” I mutter as I glance down
at my body.

He slaps his knees. He has that dangerous gleam
in his eyes again. “So, since you're here—”

“Uh oh.”

His eyes dart to his tattoo gun.

“Oh God.”

“How about that tattoo I owe you?”
he asks.

Exhausted, I fall back against my seat. “Why
the hell not?” What am I saying? Is there still alcohol in my
system?

He looks stunned. “Are you sure you heard
what I just asked you?”

“Yup.” Okay, it
must
be the alcohol talking. Except I puked all that up in the bathroom. I
hold out my arms and continue. “Tattoo me anywhere you'd like,
put anything on me you want. I don't care.”

He pauses. “You know if you keep saying
that, I'll take it seriously.”

“I am serious. I want you to tattoo me,
David.”

He lets out a breath. “God that's the
hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

I hold out my bare arm to him. “Then do
something about it.”

“Not there.” He holds on to my
wrist as he steps off of his stool, moving closer to me. “Not
here, or here,” he continues as he runs his fingers lightly
over my bare flesh.

I swallow hard. “Then where?”

He slips his hand beneath my hair. “Maybe
here,” he says, his hand lingering on my neck. I tense as he
draws a line, long and slow, up behind my ear. “Or here.”

Seeing David in his realm is transfixing. He's
the artist and I'm just his blank canvas, but still, he looks at me
like he's looking at a masterpiece. His touch alone is intoxicating
in ways I can't explain—I try to fight the feeling, but he
draws me deeper and deeper into his web with every inch of skin.

“Or,” he starts again, his hand
falling to my knee. “Here.” His fingers brush over thigh,
trailing up the curve of my hip, taking my dress along for the ride.
“Right here.”

“I—”

His finger slips beneath the narrow side of my
panties. “There's nothing sexier than a girl with a hip
tattoo,” he says as he strokes my skin.

My body goes dangerously still. “Okay.
Right there.”

His brow cocks. “Are you sure you want
this, Leah?”

I nod silently. “Yes. I think.”

He pulls his hand out, and I find myself
instantly disappointed. “Deals off then.”

“What? Why?!”

He folds his arms over his chest and asks, “Why
do you really want this? Is it because you truly do want a tattoo? Or
is there another reason?”

“It's because...” Because I
secretly just want him to touch me? Because, deep down, I want him to
claim me? God, what’s wrong with me. I let out a sigh and look
away, pausing to regroup my thoughts. “Tonight I went out for
the first time since I started school.”

“Is that bad?”

“It's freaking weird, and you know it.”

“It's not weird for you.”

I groan. “That's the problem. I promised
myself I would change and I'm still the same old Leah. The same loner
with no life I was back in Vegas.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

“So? It's pathetic, don't act like you
ever thought otherwise.”

“What makes you think you need to change
who you are?”

“Even
you've
changed.”

“Maybe not as much as you think,”
he smirks. “I've changed directions, not who I am.”

“Well I tried to change directions and
have a fucking life. Or at least a friend or two.” God, I sound
so pathetic.

“And maybe you would if you stopped
trying so damned hard to be someone you're not and just embraced who
you are.”

I blink.

Dammit, I hate when he's right. But I wave it
off anyways.

“Whatever, just tattoo me already.”

“I'm serious. I can tattoo you from head
to toe and I assure you it won't change a thing. You'll still be you.
I'm an artist, not a fucking magician.”

“It's not just because of that.”

“Yeah? So what's the real reason then?”

I hesitate. “It's...it's because of you.”

He doesn't respond. His eyes soften. Shit, I
said the wrong thing, didn't I?

“What I mean is...I wouldn’t trust
anyone else to do this to me. Your work, it's art. Not just some
stupid tattoo.”

He folds his arms across his chest, nodding
slowly as he takes in my words. “Tattoos are art. They aren't
stupid, no matter who does them.”

I roll my eyes. “So are you going to
tattoo me or not?”

“So damn obstinate,” he says as he
reaches for his gun. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“That's the one thing I'm
not
going to change.”

“Fine. Just don't be mad at me in the
morning if you have buyers remorse. The last thing I want is for you
to have another reason to hate me.”

“I don't hate you any more. I don't think
I really ever did.”

He doesn't respond to that. He just drops his
eyes to the gun, staring at it for a long while. I watch as he
eventually fiddles with it, doing God knows what to prepare it. Then
he takes a seat back on his stool and pulls me towards him.

His eyes travel up the length of my body.
“You're going to have to take off that dress, you know?”

“Nice try,” I reply, lifting my
dress to reveal my hip. It's not entirely easily to do this and
retain my modesty. Especially not when David's eyes seem to enjoy my
bare flesh way too much.

“You're going to have to take off your
panties.”

God, he always makes that word sound dirtier
than it should. I roll my eyes and pull the side of my underwear up
over my hip. “Is that enough space for you to work with?”

He thumbs his chin. “It's perfect.”

“You sure you don't want to lay down for
this, it would be more comfortable,” he asks as he preps the
area.

“Nope.” At least, I don't think I
do.

When he finally has the gun pressed against my
skin he looks up at me. “This is going to hurt you know. It's
on a bone.”

“I can take it.” After everything
I've been through tonight, I know I can.

“Point of no return.”

“Just get this over with.”

“Alright. But don't say I didn't warn
you.”

The second the needle hits my skin my eyes go
wide. “Fuck!” I shout. This doesn't deter him one bit, of
course; he just laughs and keeps going.

“I did warn you.”

My whole face twists in agony, my teeth
grinding as I try to deal with the pain. Why did I think this was a
good idea? Why did I agree to this? Why the hell didn't I let him
choose a different spot? All those questions run through my mind and
yet I have no desire to tell him to stop. It might hurt like hell but
I want this. I need it.