16. Roxy
Roxy
Every call I make, my head throbs just that little harder. Setting up a brand new phone, just to endless calls to my contacts wasn’t how I imagined I’d be spending my day.
Turns out, slowly taking apart the wreckage of my business is no easy feat. Maddy’s old room has now turned into my cave, with papers scattered all over the bed. Flopping down and crinkling them all, I sigh.
I’ve spent all evening calling my clients to gently cancel their appointments. Indefinitely. The word is out about my ruined studio.
Some took it well, some were concerned. But some acted like total cunts, cussing me out as if I planned this bullshit. I blocked those assholes. They can go fuck themselves next time they want a tattoo.
It’s not like I asked for my entire world to be flipped upside down and fucked sideways. Sorry, dickhead, you're right. Your tattoo is just as important as my safety. I’ll see you in five! Fuckers.
I peek over at the charcoal box that holds my brand-new tattoo machine. One that I’ve been too pussy to even open properly. I’m scared that if I touch it, it’ll break. Or someone will come and stomp on it.
Things I love usually end up ruined.
And I love that tattoo machine.
Huffing, I scrub my hands over my face and groan.
Kai has been avoiding me. Always watching like a shadow, but never from where I can see.
Never crossing any lines that need to be crossed.
My body is all strung tight, just waiting for something that never happens.
That, and the impending war in the city’s underworld right now.
No big deal. I swear, I’m getting a stress ulcer.
Which is barely soothed by all those fucking client calls. I just have one more call...
They probably won’t answer anyway. It’s getting late.
With that, I give them a go and dial the building owner.
I fidget with my pretty nails, listening to the rings.
“Hello, this is Havenport Agency, how may I help you?” a sweet voice coos.
Jumping upright, I clear my throat. Not expecting anyone to answer, I didn’t prepare what I was going to say.
“Oh, hi... hello. This is Roxy Kavanagh. I rent the building down on High Street.”
I hear tapping on computer keys. “Oh, yes. How can I help you, Roxy?”
I swallow. I don’t want to do this, but I have no choice. With no customers and no equipment... I can’t afford it. I’m fucked from just the repairs alone.
My eyes flutter closed, grieving for the small space. For the work put into it, and what the freedom it symbolised.
“I... I need to cancel my lease,” I whisper, voice cracking.
“I’ll just pull up your file,” she hums, clicking away. “Oh, are you sure? It seems as if you are well ahead of your rent for the next... year!”
My mouth parts, closing and opening twice more before I find the words to say. “No, sorry, you must be mistaken. I’m actually behind.”
My face heats at the admission.
She hums softly. “Roxanne Kavanagh? Occupant of the space at 77 High Street, Havenport Harbour?”
Brows drawing, I nod, even though she can’t see me. “That’s me...”
“We’ve received a payment on your behalf just yesterday. Your rent isn’t due for a year.”
Lightheaded, I fall back against a mountain of paper. “Are you sure?”
She sounds far too patient to be dealing with the likes of me. “I’m sure, Miss Kavanagh. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No, thanks heaps,” I murmur, hanging up the phone.
A year?
First, the idea of my brothers paying for the rent pops into my head. Another ploy to mess with me. But it just doesn’t sound like them.
Then, it hits me... Fucking Maddy!
I bet she’s done this.
A giddy laugh spills from me.
Roxy: I know this was you... Thankyou from the bottom of my heart.
A year is everything. A year to get ahead. To play catch up.
Maddy: What was me?
I grin. She’s the only humble rich girl I know. Too sweet for her own good.
Roxy: Don’t play dumb, just let me love you!
There’s a long pause before the typing bubble appears.
Maddy: Maybe I really am dumb, but I’ll accept the love!
I giggle. Approximately five hundred kilograms have been taken off my shoulders. Weight, I didn’t realise had settled there, slowly crushing me.
The tattoo gun. The studio. These things don’t happen to someone like me. It’s such a foreign feeling to have people who want to help me, that I have to blink my eyes furiously to stop them from tearing up.
Fuck.
A wave of inspiration falls over me. One that I haven’t had since I got the keys to the studio and got to dream of how I was going to decorate the place.
Jumping out of bed, I don’t bother changing from my baggy tracksuit pants and my hoodie, just opting to slide my feet into my docs, before striding for the front door.
If I’m going to have a shadow always looking over me, I may as well enjoy the perks. I feel him, but don’t turn my head in his direction as I pass.
Maybe it’s petty. But I love a bit of toxicity. If he wants to ignore me, I’ll play the game. Although I can barely hear his footsteps behind me, I know he is following. The elevator is waiting for me, doors open. Stepping inside, I lean against the wall, tapping my nails against my forearm.
His eyes bore into mine as he joins me, watching with narrowed eyes as I press the button to the garage.
Finally, I meet his gaze. Bottomless pits of darkness stare at me. It floods my body with something addictive, and I bite my bottom lip.
But then he drops his gaze, eyes falling to the ground.
Huffing like a spoilt kid, I shake my head.
I don’t know what his problem is, but it’s starting to get on my nerves. Before, he was all broody stares and forbidden touches. Now... after what he walked in on his brother doing to me... he’s gone... colder.
Finally, the doors peel open to the freezing garage, and I step out, searching for the black truck that Kai usually drives.
“Where are you going?” he finally murmurs from behind me.
My arms cross. “Where’s your car?”
He ignores me until I finally turn and face him.
“Where are you going?” he asks again.
Slowly, I move to him. He watches with a tight jaw until I stop just a breath away. “You’ve been avoiding me,” I accuse, crossing my arms again and popping my hip.
Why does he have to be so fucking pretty? Under the dim lights of the garage, his high cheekbones and long lashes have my heart thumping. I take the final step towards him, unable to fight the hypnotizing pull.
“I thought you’d come find me,” I whisper, fingers trailing the patch on his leather vest. The one with devil horns and a forked tail. “Thought you’d come... admire my new piercings.”
Once again, he drops his gaze. Disinterest plastered all over his stony face.
I huff, shaking my head. “Never mind. I want to go to my studio.”
He shakes his head, just once, not bothering to look up.
My grin is fake as I shrug my shoulders. “That’s fine. I’ll Uber.”
I turn away from him, making my way to the garage ramp, pulling out my phone. I barely finish typing in my pin, before his hand circles my wrist.
His face is unreadable as ever, yet I can feel the annoyance radiating from him as he leads me through the garage with a firm grip. Stumbling to keep up, he leads me to a little alcove until I see it.
A sleek black motorcycle. Shiny, as if someone has spent hours buffing it.
Oh my God. He’s taking me on the bike.
My self-preservation instincts are obviously non-existent. Because the thrill my body feels when he lifts the one helmet and slides it over my head is so strong, it makes me dizzy.
His eyes still don’t land on mine as he adjusts the straps so they are snug under my chin. Also, swoon at the fact he is giving me the one helmet. The bar is low, I know.
Once it’s all strapped on, we stand just inches away, neither of us moving. It’s almost as if he’s in pain, trying not to acknowledge me.
Only the slightest flicker of the muscle in his jaw gives him away. He raises one gloved hand, and I shiver in anticipation, craving his touch like a damn addict.
Instead of touching my face, the way I expect him to, his fingers catch the end of my ponytail where it spills from beneath the helmet. The strands slide through his gloved hand, winding the length around his palm. Watching my hair wind and spill from his hand.
I inhale sharply.
The movement is almost detached, as if he’s not sure why he’s doing it.
Only then do his eyes rise, locking onto mine. I hate the way my stomach gives out when he does. Hate the way that for one long moment, everything else disappears.
Without a word, he lets my hair slip free.
His leg swings over the bike, the engine roaring with a twist of the throttle. Swallowing hard, I climb on behind him. When we roar away with a jolt, he tugs me closer until I’m pressed to his back, holding on tight.
Feeling the firm muscles and the rumble of the motor has my pussy throbbing. This has got to be the most insane foreplay I’ve ever experienced.
By the time we hit the road, the cool night air biting through my tracksuit pants and hoodie, my skin feels too tight and a hot sweat forms between my shoulder blades. I can barely enjoy the ride, whipping through the city at high speed, too focused on Kai.
My fingers absently play with the hard plains of his stomach over his shirt and I feel him stiffen. I don’t stop.
In a fever, we arrive at the studio, and I all but flop off the back of the bike, trying and failing to wrench the helmet off.
I can barely breathe. My fingers fumble with the strap until it finally loosens, and I rip it off, sucking deep breaths through my nose, thankful for his aversion to looking at me so I can fall off the deep end without him noticing.
I’m so wound up I barely notice that the glass to the studio has all been repaired. My mouth pops open, eyes widening as I reach for my keys. Unlocking the door, I reach for the light switch.
It’s definitely not back to the way it was, but it’s a blank canvas. All the rubble, broken furniture, and glass have been cleaned up. All the blood.
The walls have been painted black, and my artworks have been stacked neatly in a pile.
“What the fuck?” I murmur in wonder, walking around the room.
Kai watches with his hands in his pockets at the door.
Spinning around on the spot, my heart clenches. “Who did this?”
When Kai doesn’t answer, I peek up at him. He avoids my gaze. My heart quickens as I stride over to him.
“Did Ash do this?” I whisper.
He shakes his head just once.
My next breath is shaky.
“Did Maddy do this?”
For some reason, I already know the answer to the question. Confirmed, when he shakes his head again.
“You?”
This time, he does nothing. Eyes fixed on the ground.
My palm lands on his chest, emotion burning the backs of my eyes and making my nose all twitchy.
“And you bought me the tattoo machine?” I don’t need him to confirm or deny what I already know. He doesn’t, of course. “Thank you,” I breathe, lip trembling.
Cold eyes slide up to mine, unblinking and unfeeling. Until they narrow, just a fraction.
“I didn’t do it for you,” he bites out, his voice nothing but a rasp from everything unsaid.
I flinch, his words landing as he intended them to.
Why can’t he just accept my thanks? Why can he barely stand to look me in the eyes?
Irritation flares between my ribs, and I lift my chin. “Yes. You did.”
His eyes darken and a spark of fear flashes at that look. But I don’t back down.
“Thank you, Kai.” I repeat. “You’ve done more than you could possibly know for me, when nobody else has.”
“It was Boss’s orders,” he growls, gripping my hand and prying it off him.
I snatch it away and push up into his space. He can feign all the nonchalance in the world.
He can feign all the nonchalance in the world, but I love a man who plays hard-to-get.
Daddy issues and all that...
“No, it wasn’t,” I bite out. “Just admit it, Kai. You like me.”
The flare in his eyes takes me back. It’s the strongest reaction I’ve ever seen on his stony face. And when he pushes into my space, the hairs on my neck stand up.
“Don’t assume I’m capable of liking someone, Roxy,” he warns in a soft, menacing voice. “I’m only capable of pain.”
My eyes drop to his soft lips, just an inch away from mine. I could reach on my tiptoes and press mine against them. Prove him wrong. Instead, I murmur, “Liar.”
A soft growl forms in his throat, and his hand wraps around the back of my neck, a smile that is anything but kind forming on his lips.
“Just remember this, Roxy Kavanagh, when you’re crying and begging me to take it all back,” he says quietly. “Remember that you asked for this.”
Before I can think about what he’s saying, he turns me with one controlled movement, shoving me toward the studio door. His hand is firm around my neck until we’re outside, towards the motorcycle that waits for us.
He slides the helmet back over my head, and once it’s secured, that self preservation instinct finally kicks in. My feet freeze on the concrete, watching him swing his leg over the seat.
He doesn’t let me decide, reaching towards me and depositing me in the back of the bike as if I weigh nothing at all. His arms reach behind him and find my hands, pulling them around him before tearing off at high speed.
And I remind myself, just like he said, that I asked for this.