Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
M y brisk pace into the break room slows when my eyes are inundated with a set of curves I have no chance of ignoring. Clara has one arm braced against the refrigerator while the other is propped on her hip. The top half of her body is hidden as she seeks something in the sparsely filled refrigerator. The figure-hugging fire-engine red dress she’s wearing displays every perfect curve the clients at Inked won’t stop raving about—inches of luscious, soft skin, a mouthwatering ass, and a pair of legs that go on for miles. And let’s not get me started on the regions of her body I can’t see.
The inviting image of a bent-over Clara has a particular area of my body springing to life.
Sensing a presence in the compact lunchroom, Clara tilts her torso out of the refrigerator. The hardness of my cock turns fatal when my eyes zoom in on her painted red lips wrapped around the end of a whole carrot. Illicit thoughts slam into me on more appropriate things her plump lips could wrap around.
Just like the intense bout of flirting we’d been undertaking the two weeks prior to her move, nothing has changed. If anything, our playfulness is venturing into new territory since a few hours of our time together have been spent outside of Inked’s walls.
Clara will never admit her new surroundings daunt her, but the fact she has invited me to her place for a late supper each night this week is all the sign I need to know she hates being alone in her dingy, cramped apartment even more than I hate her living there.
Don’t take my admission the wrong way. Our flirting has never crossed the path it did in my office three weeks ago, but we’ve been cutting it close. Although I’d love nothing more than to sample her lips again, I’ll never make the first move. I have a massive ego and confidence in the bucketloads, but in the back of my mind, I know a woman like Clara is way out of my league. Hell, she’s way out of my universe. But by waiting for her to make the first move, I know she isn’t being coerced into doing something— or someone —she doesn’t want to do.
Shaking off the thoughts that will have my good mood sin-binned, I make my way to the coffee percolator in the corner of the room. Clara’s eyes track me as I step toward her.
“Did you enjoy my salmon, Brax?” Her tone is a unique mix of bitchy and playful. “Probably the first time a guy of your standards has sampled something so refined.”
I lift the coffee pot from the base and pour myself a generous helping before turning around to face Clara. “Salmon? What salmon?” I brace my back against the counter.
She arches one of her perfectly manicured brows high into her hairline. “I saw my empty container on your desk.” Her eyes drop to a stain on the top left-hand corner of my white shirt. “Not only can I smell the garlic lemon sauce that was drizzled on my salmon leaching from your pores, but you also stained your shirt with it.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t eat your salmon, Princess. That’s a toothpaste stain. ”
That’s a total lie. When I first saw a fancy takeaway container in the refrigerator with Clara’s name on it, I had planned on jabbing my finger into her food just to mess with her, but when the delicious aroma swamped my senses, my initial plan went to shit.
Although I’ve never eaten pink fish before, it was quite tasty.
Clara glares at me, not believing a single word seeping from my lips. I return her leering glare while taking a large gulp of my unsweetened coffee. Black liquid comes spraying out of my mouth, dousing the lunch table and my jeans when my taste buds recoil at the disgusting flavor besieging them.
I lift my shirt and run the cotton material over my tongue, doing anything to lessen the ghastly taste that has my stomach heaving. Although Clara is quick, I don’t miss her eyes dropping to absorb the exposed skin of my lower stomach.
Glad to see I’m not the only one having a hard time keeping my eyes above the belt.
While running my now thickened tongue under the tap water, I spot a nearly empty box of Epsom salt sitting next to the percolator.
No fucking way. Is she pranking me?
Although the crew and I have pranked Clara numerous times during the past four months, not once has she gotten us back. If she’s pranking me, this will expose a side of her I’ve never witnessed before.
Clutching the box in my hand, I shift on my feet to face her. Her amused eyes lock with mine as she takes a big bite out of the tip of her carrot. Even knowing it is only a carrot, my cock scampers away, frightened by the determined look in her eyes.
“Don’t touch my food, Brax,” she warns, glaring into my eyes. “Or things will get a lot more… complicated .”
After issuing me a knee-clattering stink eye, she saunters out of the room, her hips swinging even more provocatively than normal. Even though I won’t taste anything for a week, I have the biggest grin stretched across my face. Not only did Clara return my prank, she did it without a single drop of blood being shed.
Finally, after four long months, the real Clara is emerging from the shadows, and I can’t wait to share the experience with her.
M y head lifts to the clock hanging on the wall on my right when the buzz of my cell phone clatters through my ears. Since my last client’s tattoo didn’t take as long as expected, I headed down to a fancy deli a few miles away from Inked to replace Clara’s salmon I ate. Call me pussy- whipped, but I hate the thought of her only eating a carrot for supper because I couldn’t calm my stomach’s cravings.
After wiping my sweat-slicked hand down my jeans, I yank my cell out of the front pocket. My lips quirk when I peer down at the screen and notice it is a call from Inked’s landline.
“Fucking hopeless,” I mutter under my breath.
I only left Inked twenty minutes ago, and they’re already interrupting me. Unfortunately, this is nothing new. It wouldn’t matter if I were gone for five minutes or fifty, I field calls from my crew the instant I step out of the premises.
God forbid I ever have a vacation day.
I swipe my finger across the screen and press the phone into my ear. “What’s up?” I try to keep my annoyance at the interruption out of my voice. My effort is fruitless.
“Hey, sorry to disturb you.” Johnny’s deep tone is more jittery than normal. “But some shit went down out back I thought you’d want to know about.”
I grit my teeth. Probably another bunch of gangbangers brawling in the side alley. Unfortunately, that’s a regular occurrence at Inked, even more so since it is Saturday night. Standing from my seat in the waiting area of the deli, I head to the far corner of the room to ensure I can hear Johnny over the hum of patrons enjoying their overpriced meals.
My head cranks to the side when the restaurant hostess calls my name. Jennifer—the bunny who stuffed up my order of a cheesesteak months ago—jingles Clara’s order of salmon in her hand. I lift my chin in thanks before pointing to my ear, advising her I’ll be right there after my call. She nods before sauntering into the kitchen at the back of the deli. Her hips sway even faster than her words did when she thought I’d rocked up tonight for a replay of our rendezvous in the supply closet at Inked six months ago.
I swear I let her down as gently as possible, but I’ll still be checking Clara’s salmon for spit before I serve it to her. No girl likes being told they’ll never take the leap from cocksucker to sheet-warmer—no matter how polite you say it. Nothing against Jennifer, she’s a nice girl and gives great head, but the instant she lost the interest of my cock, she also lost me.
I shift my focus back to Johnny. “Has Diesel got it handled? Or do you need me to call in Ryan?”
“Ryan’s already on his way.” Johnny’s tone is still off-kilter. “Diesel said you’d usually want to keep this type of thing in-house, but considering Clara was involved, he told me you’d want the authorities called in…”
Although he continues speaking, I don’t hear a fucking word he’s saying. His deep voice is nothing but white noise as I sling open the restaurant door and barrel onto the sidewalk. “I’m on my way.”
Not giving him the chance to reply, I disconnect the call and house my cell back into my jeans. Since it is early on a Saturday night, the sidewalks are populated with heavy foot traffic. My heart thrashes against my chest as I weave through a throng of people completely oblivious to the anger blackening my blood. Just the thought of any woman being hurt makes me furious, but since it is Clara, my anger is reaching levels I’ve never experienced.
Upon reaching my bike parked half a block down, I throw my leg over it and shoot out of the car park not even thirty seconds later. Within minutes, I’ve reached Inked. My fists are balled, my jaw is clenched, and red-hot fury is seething through my veins, but nothing can slow me down—not even the close call with death I had on the way here. I’m running on pure adrenaline.
As I guide my bike down the alleyway, I dart my eyes in all directions, both assessing the situation and seeking Clara. Diesel is on my left talking to three teens. Charity has her shoulder braced against the brickwork near the dumpster, and Johnny is manning the back door.
I park my bike to the side, dismount, and make my way to Diesel. My furious pace slows when, in the corner of my eye, I spot a flurry of blonde. Clara is huddled on the stained concrete ground shaking like a leaf. The furious heat scorching my veins intensifies when my eyes run over her bloody, scraped knees.
“Why the fuck is she still sitting in the alleyway?” I ask Charity, who is two steps up from Clara.
“She won’t let anyone touch her.” Charity’s voice is as shaky as Clara’s composure. “I think she’s in shock.”
I crouch down in front of Clara and lift her downcast face. The fiery spark that usually brightens her eyes has been snuffed, replaced with a haunted glint. Her lips are cracked and quivering, and her cheeks are stained with tears. Her defeated pose angers me even further.
“What happened?” I shift my gaze to Charity.
She shrugs. “I didn’t get the full story, but from the marks on her neck and wrist and the fact all her jewelry is missing, I’m assuming she got jumped. ”
“Fucking hell. I told her to take that shit off,” I mumble under my breath.
Even though my declaration was only meant for me, Clara must hear it as a painful whimper escapes her lips while a new flood of tears rolls down her cheeks.
Riddled with guilt at placing unwarranted blame on her shoulders, I seize Clara’s wrists and pull her into my arms. She must be suffering from shock as she doesn’t put up a single protest.
I stand from my crouched position, draw her in close to my chest, and amble to the back entrance of Inked. “When Ryan arrives, send him into my office,” I demand, not once taking my eyes off Clara gathered in my arms, staring up at me with a pair of bleak eyes.
B y the time Johnny announces Ryan’s arrival, Clara’s tears have created two large wet patches on my shirt. She hasn’t spoken a word for the past ten minutes, but the earth-shattering shakes havocking her body have simmered to a dull vibration.
Ryan smirks an uneasy grin as he strides into my office. After removing a pile of invoices from the couch, he takes the spare seat next to Clara and me. When he locks his eyes with mine, I’m not shocked to see they’re clouded with anger. He’s witnessed some bad shit no man should ever see. Unfortunately, not all of it has been from his service in the police force.
It takes a bit of effort on Ryan’s part to get Clara to open up, but the cocky statement he made at the strip club months ago rings true. He is a great detective, one of the best I’ve ever known, so with a little encouragement, he eventually gets Clara talking about what happened.
I will not lie. Over the past thirty minutes, I formulated at least a dozen ways to kill a man with my bare hands. The desire grew even more potent when Clara mentioned her assailants were carrying guns. If it weren’t bad enough she got jumped in the alleyway by three men while taking out the trash, two of them were wielding weapons.
I’ve never been more ashamed of this part of Ravenshoe than I am right now.
“Did any of the jewelry have distinguishable markings?” Ryan queries, his eyes lifting from the notepad in his hand to Clara.
She runs a tissue under her nose before gently nodding. “My necklace pendant has an inscription on the back.” Fresh tears prick in her eyes before she quietly mutters, “To C, Happy 18 th Birthday, Love Remy.”
Ryan snags a few extra tissues out of the tissue box on my desk and hands them to Clara. “That’s all I need for now, but if you recall anything you believe may help my investigation, Brax has my number.”
Clara nods while accepting the tissues.
When Ryan gestures his head to the corridor, I turn my eyes down to Clara, who is still sitting on my lap. “Will you be all right if I talk to Ryan for a minute?”
Her massively dilated eyes bounce between mine for several heart-pounding seconds before she gently nods. I stand from the couch, taking her with me. It takes all my strength to pivot around and place her back on the sofa. The only reason I do is because I want to know who is responsible for doing this to her.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I advise Clara. I wait for her to acknowledge that she has heard me before stepping into the hallway.
Ryan’s mouth opens, but I begin speaking before he gets the chance to say anything. “Was it the teens Diesel was talking to when I showed up who did this? ”
Ryan shakes his head. “No. They saw the assailants running out of the alley. When they discovered Clara, they were the ones who sounded the alarm.”
His answer removes three names from my hit list.
“Give me a chance to do my job before you step in, Brax,” Ryan requests, sensing I’m on the verge of dishing out my own form of punishment.
Mine won’t be as pleasant as Ryan’s. Guaranteed.
“She’s a member of my fucking crew, jumped in the alley of my fucking shop.” My loud voice bellows down the hall. “You know I can’t be disrespected like this without issuing some type of punishment. If I let it slide, you’d have to add Inked to your nightly drive-by schedule as we’d become a mockery to the community.”
“She’s a member of your crew…” His words come out a little hazy like he doesn’t fully believe my anger is solely based on Clara being a team member of Inked. “So if you’re genuinely worried about her well-being, the best thing you can do is take a step back from this investigation and look after her. She’s in shock, Brax. You need to convince her to let the medics look at her.”
I shake my head. Ryan suggested the same thing to Clara at the start of their interview. She blatantly refused his request. “She feels violated enough as it is. She doesn’t want any more people prodding her.”
Ryan runs the back of his hand over his tired eyes before nodding. He’s been dealing with so much shit the past six months, his exhaustion can be physically seen. His eyes are plagued with dark circles, his skin is blotchy, and his hundred-dollar haircut is well overdue for a trim. “I get that. I do. But she can’t be left alone like she is.”
I nod. “I know. I’ll look after her.”
Deep down in my soul, I know Ryan won’t rest until he finds out who did this to Clara. He doesn’t understand the word defeat , but it doesn’t lessen the fervent rage pumping through my veins that someone messed with a member of my crew on my watch. Let alone someone as important to me as Clara.
“I’ll give you twenty-four hours, but if one of my guys finds them before you do, I can’t guarantee they will call in the authorities.”
“Fuck, Brax, you can’t say shit like that to me,” Ryan replies, his eyes drifting up and down the corridor, ensuring none of his fellow officers are listening. Happy we haven’t caught the attention of any unwanted ears, he pulls me deeper down the hallway. “I’m asking friend to friend. Give me forty-eight hours before you send out your guys.”
I shake my head. “That’s forty-eight hours she will stay panicked like that.” I hook my thumb to Clara. “I can’t erase what happened to her, but I can ease her fear that the men who did this to her aren’t still walking the streets.”
Ryan peers over my shoulder to look at Clara. His composure alludes to the general confidence he exudes in bucketloads, but his eyes are giving away his true feelings. He’s as angry as I am. “Thirty-six hours and I’ll give you ten minutes with them when I bring them in,” he negotiates, drifting his eyes away from Clara and locking them with me. “Alone.”
I take a moment to consider his request. Although I’m sure Diesel and Johnny will locate the men responsible for jumping Clara, there’s no guarantee it will happen within thirty-six hours, and although I hate entrusting the care of my crew to an outsider, I’ve known Ryan most of my life. He’s like family to me, so I can trust he has me and my crew’s best interests at heart.
While exhaling a deep breath, I hold out my hand. “I’ll still send my guys out. If they find them first, I’ll instruct them to call you.”
Ryan looks like he wants to push the issue further, but thankfully, he leaves it as it is and accepts my handshake. “In her condition, please don’t put her on the back of your bike,” is the only request he makes as I walk him to the front door.
“I may have skipped the line for brains, but even I’m not that stupid.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a brief hug.
“When you’re out seeking your revenge, stop and think about who will keep an eye on Clara when you’re rotting in jail for defending her,” he mutters in my ear before pulling away and strolling down the sidewalk.
I should have known he wouldn’t leave the conversation as it was. Not only does he love having the last word, but he also knows how to play my weaknesses. My biggest weakness is the people left behind to fend for themselves.
After taking a few moments to ponder Ryan’s statement, I return to my position on the couch next to Clara. Not thinking, I pull her back into my arms.
She doesn’t protest.
She doesn’t cry.
She doesn’t do a damn thing.
And that worries me even more than her frightened expression.