Page 76 of Roses Are Dead
A man’s gotta do honest work once in a while. And Mondays meant a full day at the tattoo parlor. Inking others, not getting inked, although I had an idea to add something to my left calf. Maybe a little witch or thorns or something?
Rose was my fantasy formed as flesh. Not only was her body banging, but the things she did with her hips when she rode my dick were mind-blowing. And stamina? Damn. I didn’t have the energy to jog this morning she rode me for so long.
But the best part was the look of wonder on her face when she finally let go.
At first, I thought I’d done something wrong. The change from vixen to joy was so complete. But her soft smile, the warmth in her eyes, and the languid way she collapsed on my chest, they all made me feel like I was the only man who’d ever made her feel that way. And that was just the first time. A man could lose his mind fucking her as much as I did in the last thirty-some hours.
I didn’t dare think too long about that, knowing she’d been Carl’s up until a few days ago. I doubted Carl ever coaxed those reactions from her.
I pulled the sterilized packs from the autoclave and sorted the bags into their respective bins. Doubt? No. Probability, and the amount of info I had on Carl made doubt seem generous. That man didn’t know how to make a woman come. Not like I had.
So, I doubled down on what worked. I kept her within arm’s reach yesterday, and kissed her fiercely this morning before I rode off.
But thinking about her wasn’t getting shit done. I had books to manage, chair fees to total, and a couple of regulars on my schedule. That didn’t stop me from adjusting the tiny hair ring she made for me. It was so delicate and fragile. One good tug would ruin it. Just like whatever Rose and I were doing with each other.
The bell above the front door jingled as my first client arrived. And with him, fantasizing about Rose got sidelined until I tugged off my gloves and immediately panicked. The ring had come off with it. Carefully, I pulled the glove from the trash and folded it between a bunch of paper towels. I needed to do a better job of protecting her, every piece of her.
Another customer came in, and I forgot about all of that until KC strolled in with Fish.
“Yo, Bear.” KC flipped a finger salute in my direction.
“Hey Bro. How’s it feel to be free?” I smiled because that first few days of being a patched Destroyer was a heady time. Pussy, booze, and the massive relief of not being anyone’s bitch made for a wild ride. And several hangovers. KC had at least a three-day bender going by the glassiness of his eyes. I checked his buddy for wear and tear. Surprisingly, Fish looked sharp. So, I asked him, “Are you chauffeuring him around?”
Fish smiled quickly, but it fell with a wariness I didn’t like at all. “Yeah.”
“You got a minute?” KC glanced around at the nearly empty shop. I motioned to the other artist to take an early lunch and as soon as they exited, I flipped the sign to indicate someone would be back in a half hour. Then led them to the bullpen in the back. Out of habit, I flipped on the stereo and a jammer Skinner set up.
“What’s up?” I asked as I settled onto a stool.
KC nudged Fish. “Go for it. Tell him what you told me.”
Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. His skin turned a little white. “Uh… Are you fucking that broad?”
I shot a look at KC, warning him that this was wasting my time.
“I—I mean, she was Carl’s.” Fish didn’t know he was swimming in deep waters. But like any good predator, I let him get a little too comfortable, just to make the meat more tender.
“KC? Did you plan to waste my time?”
“Fish, spit it out.”
His buddy must have picked up on the warning signs. “That bitch of his stole money from him.”
“How much?”
Fish squirmed uncomfortably, then blurted out, “Twenty grand.”
I barely let a beat go by before asking, “When?”
“When she lit out of there.”
With me. I’d barely given her a minute and she’d executed a major heist in that time. If I wasn’t pissed off, I might marvel at the impressiveness of it. “So?” I layered a bunch of sarcasm over the angry growl.
“Well, h-he thought you should know.”
Ah. Fish was the messenger boy. Carrier pigeon. Stoolie? How much of this would go right back to Carl to give him ammunition against us?
Funny how my mind went there, rather than getting angry with Rose first. Maybe Jackson was wrong about me. Maybe I couldn’t remain objective after getting my dick good and soaked.
