Page 14 of Red My Lips

“Have you let her see you yet?” Messer asks, strolling over to my desk to look at the security feeds. He’s known about Jill from the moment I laid eyes on her since he was with me that night. Unlike Anders, Messer doesn’t share the same dark possessive qualities as me—at least, they don’t present the same way. He might obsess over one woman, but he doesn’t mind sharing her. In fact, he gets off on it.

“Yeah, I have.”

“Understatement of the year,” Anders laughs.

“And she likes it,” I say. The memory of Jill soaking up my attention last night has me itching with need. The need to see her, feel her.

Fill her.

I force myself to focus on the task at hand while I prep my station to finish Anders’ tattoo. Sitting on the stool, I roll closer and pull on my disposable gloves.

“That’s unexpected,” Messer says thoughtfully, gazing at the screen, probably at my Jill. “Out of all the outcomes you’ve been planning, that wasn’t even on the list.”

He’s right, at least not one I said out loud. After watching Jill for so long and fantasizing about the day she’d finally see me, I’d braced myself for every possible outcome—screaming in fear, violent anger, calling the cops. I was ready for anything, I still am. Everything except arousal. Jill being turned on by my unrelenting presence proves that we’re made for each other. And I intend to take full advantage.

“I didn’t hate watching her either, especially with her hot blonde friend shaking her ass like that.” Anders grins at the memory. “Lana Love. She was bangin’. I’d put my lovin’ on Lana, believe that.” Despite his easygoing tone, there’s a sharpness in Anders’ eyes that tells me his interest in the blonde is more than casual. I won’t be surprised if I hear her name out of his mouth a lot more in the future.

“Shut up and stop fantasizing about her. I’m not touching you if you get a boner in my chair.” I pull my tray over and turn on my tattoo gun. Anders shuts his mouth and lets me get to work while Messer updates me on Jill’s movements.

Messer tries to get me to elaborate on Jill, but it’s none of his business. They don’t need to know Jill the way I do.

No one ever will.

I zone in, diving into my work as I weave artistry on my canvas. With Anders’ deep skin tone, it’s essential that all of my blacks are saturated and precise without being muddy. While I work, Messer tells us about the restoration project he’ll be working on—an estate from the Gilded Age on the East Coast.

“How long are you gonna be gone for this one?” Anders asks. Messer is an architect and a fucking talented one at that. When I bought this building, it was just a crumbling church full of dusty pews. He transformed it into the tattoo shop I’d always pictured.

“Right now, the plan is six weeks. But knowing these types of projects, it’ll probably end up being at least twelve. I leave in four days,” Messer explains, leaning back in his chair. He travels a lot for his work, so spending a few months across the country doesn’t faze him. I’m not stoked that he’s going to be gone again, our friend group isn’t the same without him. But he’s pursuing his own art, and I would never fault him for that.

“We’re gonna have to video chat for twelve whole weeks like a couple in a long-distance relationship? Damn,” Anders jokes, even though he’s half serious. The three of us are in constant contact with each other.

“You know I’ll always make time for you,” Messer says, blowing Anders a kiss. We might all be laughing, but we’re dead serious.

We’re not just friends, we’re brothers. Family.

Back when we first met, I’d hated both of them. I was an angry teenager who had been taken from my parents and forced into the foster care system. My mom and dad were in and out of prison for everything from petty crimes to grand larceny. For most of my adolescence I had no contact with my parents or my younger brother. I’m on good terms with them now, but those relationships didn’t happen until a few years ago.

Back then, my lack of family ties made me volatile and reckless. The boys group home didn’t know how to handle my temper, so I was thrown into the room for the more ‘troubled’ kids. Those troubled little assholes were Anders and Messer.

We fought at first—verbally, psychologically, and physically. Anders was always the biggest, so I knew better than to get in the way of his fists. I’d play mind games instead. Messer didn’t give a shit about anything, so the only way to get to him was when things came to blows. Eventually, us versus each other shifted to us against the world. We were stuck in a shitty situation together, but we all wanted the same thing.

To be someone. To build something.

We got out together, doing whatever it took to make names for ourselves and build the lives we wanted. I was going to be an ink master, and become the best tattoo artist in the world. Anders built his elite private security company, Obsidian Security Solutions, from the ground up and became one of the best in the business. And Messer is now one of the top architects in the country, specializing in historic restoration and modernization.

Now, the three of us are unstoppable and unbreakable.

Chapter Six

Jill

I’m squinting against the daylight in my room before my eyes even open. Every one of my muscles aches, either from the amount of alcohol I consumed last night or the intense amount of dancing—probably both. A low groan leaves me as I sit up slowly and prop myself up against my backboard. Inhaling a deep breath, the faint scent of leather blended with tobacco, and a warm musk fills my nose.

Gage.

I inhale again but can only pick out my amber room spray, making me question what I thought I smelled before. Am I still drunk? No, I’m too miserable.

Damn, I’ve completely lost it.

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