Page 83 of Charity's Redemption

Max was a specimen all on his own. He was sex incarnate, the bad boy of your dreams, and I could have him between my legs anytime I desired. He worshiped me, but most importantly, he loved me.

These girls didn’t know what type of man stood before them, but I did. He was the man that urged me to do better, but encouraged my darkness to step forward. We fed on each other’s need for violence and bathed each other in the blood of our victims. Not literally, of course, but the true aphrodisiac was to see each other in our element and slaying it with ease.

“I like these,” Max said, thumbing through the chains hanging against the wall as I tugged on a blonde wig with pink undertones. He turned towards me, holding up a pair of fluffy cuffs. “We should get some.”

I flicked my gaze towards the lusting teens, then back to him. “Ask to borrow Luca’s, he likes to share.” I winked. “What do you think of this one?” I asked, pointing to the long fake hair on my head.

“It’s different. I wouldn’t recognize you.”

“That’s what I’m shooting for.”

I took the wig off, put it back on display, and then stepped into him. “We’re being watched,” I whispered.

He glanced over his shoulder as I wrapped my arms around his waist. His lips quirked up in a devious grin as he turned back to me, his thumb moving over the hickey he marked me with. “Should we give them a show?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “No. They’re teens. They’ll put it in their spank bank for life.”

“I thought that was just a guy thing.”

“A spank bank?” I patted his chest. “You have so much to learn about the opposite sex, big guy.”

Girls had a special place in their minds used to store the images that turned them on and would draw from it regularly. It may not be as full as men’s whose minds run off sex-filled images, but we used it all the same.

I grabbed a box off the shelf that held the same wig I tried on, then meandered through the aisle until I found the tattoos.

They had henna stain, tattoos that washed off, and ones that stayed on your skin for months. Clearly, I didn’t want the evidence to remain that long, so washable it was.

“Here, do this one.”

He held up a black and gray rose with a short stem and buds hanging off the sides. “You want me to get a matching tattoo with you?”

It didn’t exactly match Max’s colored rose tattoo that filled the entire side of his neck, but the premise was there.

“It’s perfect for you. Big enough to be prominent yet fits your style.”

“What about this one?” I asked, holding up a musical note.

He scrunched his face and shook his head. “No.”

“This one?” I held up a colorless sparrow.

“No.”

I exhaled and put it back on the rack. “You’re stuck on the one in your hand, aren’t you?”

“Look in the mirror.”

He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me in front of the mirror. His towering frame hovered over me as he showcased his tattooed hands and fingers and the ink covering his throat and neck.

If anyone knows tattoos, it’s the man standing at my back.

He turned my head to the side and placed the picture of the rose right behind my left ear. The stem ended mid-neck, whereas the closed blossom hid behind my ear. It was perfect, and it looked good on me.

“I like it.”

“I knew you would.”

Our eyes met in the mirror as he kissed the top of my head, avoiding the knot that still throbbed.

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