Page 1 of Covert
Chapter one
Nikki
The bell on the door to Ruthless Ink makes a melodic sound as I push it open. Hopefully, that's a good sign.
"Nikki!" Leana shouts excitedly from behind a low glass counter when she sees me.
She comes around the counter and gives me a fierce, bruising hug.
My friend Leana is my favorite person on Earth. In her signature fishnet stockings and black platform boots, she's here for our smutty book club. Leana is a gorgeous biker/goth babe with black hair with a blue streak through it, and has as many tattoos and piercings as she can possibly fit.
It should be too much, but she is so confident and so unapologeticallyher, she pulls it off. What's that internet saying? I'm equally scared and aroused. That's how I think men are when they see her. Women, too.
She's one of those easy, charismatic people you can't help but fall in love with. Her outward appearance screams 'don't fuck with me, ' but once you're a part of her inner circle, there's nothing she wouldn't do for you.
We met when she approached me at the library counter about renting a space for her book club. Which, of course, I immediately said yes and then asked if I could join. And that was it for her. She decided we were friends, and we have been ever since.
Mind you, I don't have friends. I oscillate between the library and my tiny apartment, which doesn't leave very much time to meet peopleorganically. So, I was grateful when Leanna adopted me and introduced me to her book club friends. I'd gone from no friends to seven in an instant, and all because of the woman in front of me.
After she pulls back, I look around at the shop. The front counter is an open display with trays of different-sized and colored piercings. I can only imagine where they go. The walls of the tattoo parlor are deep red with a mix of modern, bright, and sexy artwork.
Behind the front desk is a half-wall that separates the front reception area and the back area. In the back area, there are three stations with reclining chairs and carts on wheels. Two of the seats are occupied by clients, with the artists hunched over them, working. The buzzing sound of tattoo machines mixes with some classic rock. It's a lot louder than I'm used to at the library, but I could get used to it.
The two artists working catch my attention. The one furthest to the left is muscular but lean. His arms are covered in a patchwork of brightly colored tattoos that I can't make out from here. His shirt's sleeves have been torn off, leaving a patch of rib showing where his arms are bent forward, and my eyes follow the tattoos there, too. He laughs at something his customer says, throwing his head back in an energetic and carefree manner. I swallow. God, he's gorgeous.
He's working on the calf of an older man with a grizzled gray beard.
When he finishes laughing, he follows his customer's gaze and sees me. I freeze like a deer in headlights and hold my breath. His dark eyes drag up and down my body once, before the corner of his smile turns a happy smile into a wicked one. Maintaining eye contact with him is difficult. His eyes are such a dark brown that they may actually be black. He licks his lips and takes his trucker hat off, spinning it and putting it back on backward.
Lord, have mercy, it only makes him hotter. His grin says he knows exactly what he's doing, and he knows exactly what kind of effect it's having on me. Thankfully, he returns to his work, and I suck in an inhale. For the first time, I'm second-guessing this job.
The second artist is a mountain of a man with long, thick hair pulled back into a bun, broad shoulders, and a trim waist. In contrast to the first artist, every exposed inch of flesh is covered in a mix of old-school black ink tattoos. Tattoos trail down the back of both hands - a design I can't make out clearly from here - and he's sporting ink across the front of his neck and up at least one side of his skull, behind his ear. He is the kind of person you don't want to be caught in a back alley with. He locks eyes with me and I still. He gives me a wary look, like he already doesn't trust me, and I swallow. This is really not going well.
Leana's talking, so I shift my attention back to her.
"This is Axel and Beckett," she says, motioning to the lithe man and the mountain, respectively. She leans toward me to whisper, "Don't mess with Beckett. He doesn't like women."
I shake my head, heat crawling into my cheeks. "I'm not planning on sleeping with them," I start to whisper in protest, but Leana cuts me off.
"No. He doesn't like women, won't touch them, doesn't take them as clients at all. Doesn't like to be in the same room as one. There's a story there, but I've never asked. It's just best if you give him a wide berth."
I nod, a little relieved that she hadn't assumed I was going to jump into bed with my new bosses, no matter how gorgeous they are. I'm aone-night-stand kind of woman, not a sleep-with-the-boss kind of woman.
"And Maddox's in the back," she says, leading me behind the tattoo stations into a combination kitchen and lounge room. Beckett pauses, wiping down the back of a man I can't see and watching me warily as I walk through the area. In the back, a warn-in black leather couch rests against one wall, where a TV and a dry bar are against the other.
The man named Maddox sits back on the couch, his scuffed boot propped up on a low coffee table. Leana can't be serious. Maddox is just as handsome as the other two. He has stunning blue eyes, long, dark hair pulled back into a sloppy bun, and a deep beard I want to run my hands through. He's wearing dark jeans, motorcycle boots, and a black t-shirt that stretches tight against his bulging biceps. Black and colored ink snakes down both arms, a mix of geometric patterns and watercolors.
He exudes a confidence and sexual energy that makes it hard to breathe. He's fully comfortable with himself and in his body, taking up more space and air in the small room than seems possible. I'm confident, but this man takes it to a whole new level.
"Maddox, this is Nikki. The new front desk receptionist."
Maddox's dark blue eyes slowly trace a path up and down my body. For a moment, I believe I can feel it, as if his hands were tracing the path instead. Goosebumps erupt along my legs, and I pray I'm far enough away that he can't see them. And just like that, he frowns, finding me lacking. I wince. He lifts a single brow quizzically at Leana.
"Where did you find Library Barbie?" he asks Leana, teasing, as if I'm not standing in front of him. I fight another wince. He knows nothing about me, yet he has me pegged.
I'm suddenly self-conscious about my clothing. I'm wearing my typical outfit of ballet flats, a skirt that hangs loosely around my knees, and an oversized sweater. I tug at the hem of my sweater. I like my understated wardrobe. I prefer not to bring attention to myself. But I also certainly don't look like I belong behind the front desk of a tattoo shop, I guess.
Leanna laughs. "Well, at the library, of course. Nikki's part of my book club. She just got laid off, and you need a receptionist." She throws a friendly arm around my shoulder. I was working as a “paid volunteer” at the library. Without a bank account, I have to get creative.
