Page 92 of Under the Ink

Walking past him, she muttered, “Hey,” and kept moving.

“We should probably talk sometime.”

“Nothing to talk about,” she said, wishing she could run but refusing, knowing it would signal fear. He said several times since his attack that he wanted totalkto her and she’d blown him off, telling him there was nothing to talk about—emphasizing thathehad plenty tothinkabout. From personal experience, she knew how those conversations went, and she refused to be gaslighted into believing his attack was somehow her fault.

Fuck that.

Reaching her room, she pulled her card out of her jeans pocket and quickly opened the door, leaning her back against it for a moment. Just seeing that man made her heart race in the worst of ways.

After changing her clothes, she felt better again—and then she brushed her teeth and put on eye makeup. Barely five minutes later, she was heading back out the door, ready to explore—and, having two days instead of one here, she had lots of plans. Today, she’d see the beach and tomorrow she’d explore some of the city.

When she threw open the door, she realized too late that she’d been so damn stupid.

Her guard had been down. All the way.

Because she hadn’t known Andy was right there, waiting for her. Not standing in front of the door because, even had she looked through the peephole, she wouldn’t have seen him.

But he was right there and stepped in front of her before she could even get all the way out of her room.

“Hey, darlin’. You keep blowin’ me off, but wewilltalk. And we’ll do it right now.”

“IsaidI don’t want to.”

When she tried stepping around him, he grabbed her about the shoulders and shoved her back in the room so hard, she fell.

“I don’t care if you don’twantto. We’regoin’to.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Oh, I will. But I just want to talk for a little bit.”

Naomi took a deep breath, trying to assess the danger level—but, even if he did something, it wasn’t like she hadn’t survived before, right?

No, she had to stop thinking that way.

She had tofight.

Picking herself up off the plush carpet, she stood as tall as she could. But she tried not to look threatening while at the same time avoiding the appearance of weakness or defenselessness. Willing to talk but not letting him think he could do anything to her.

“Fine. Then talk. I don’t have all day.”

“Sassy. I like that. Maybethatcan be your new nickname.”

She wanted to spit back at him that she didn’t want a stupid nickname but figured it might be better to just let him get it off his chest so he’d leave. No use prolonging it. Raising her eyebrows, she hoped to communicate impatience, inviting him to simply say his piece and then leave.

But he took a step forward—and her instinct was to back up…except shecouldn’tdo that.

She had to stand her ground.

“So the roadie’s not good enough for you, is that it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re suckin’ Sage’s cock every night. Just had to be a fuckin’ groupie, didn’t you? Worshipping the stupid fuckin’ rock star like every other stupid woman on the planet. Just like that fuckin’ whore Annabelle. What’s so bad aboutme? I thought you and me had an understanding.”

There was so much there that was wrong and messed up—and she didn’t even know where to begin except picking up where he left off. “Where did you get that idea?”

“We bonded, darlin’…we talked ink and beer and all kindsa good stuff. And I told the guys on the crew that you was mine. Hands off.”

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