Chapter twenty-six
The City of London
Samantha
Violet weaves her compact car through the labyrinth of London streets.
The clock strikes one, yet the roads are still teeming with life.
Drunken partygoers' laughter and off-key singing fill the air as they stumble along the pavement.
My friend remains focused, her eyes fixed on the road as if she’s on a mission.
“Where are we going?”
She glances in my direction and smiles. “Out,” she replies.
“Out where? We told them we would head back.”
“For some fun, but first, we need to lose them.” Her eyes flick up to the rearview mirror, and I glance over my shoulder. A black car I haven’t seen before sits behind us, following a matter of meters away. Two men sit in the front, both dressed in dark suits.
“Who are they?” I ask, a tad anxious that we’re being followed by men we don’t know.
“Security,” she tells me. “Harry thinks I don’t know that he has me followed when I go out by myself. Men can be so dumb sometimes, no matter how clever they are. I want to go out, drink, and have girly fun tonight.”
“Tonight?” I giggle. “Vi, it’s tomorrow already.” She shrugs, unruffled by my observation.
“I don’t care. London never sleeps. We’re having a girl’s night out. We’re celebrating that bastard who hurt you being at the bottom of the Thames.”
My chest strains with her direct assessment, and the uncertainty that I’ve been burying resurfaces. Tonight, I was involved in someone’s murder. Someone who had hurt me. And terrifyingly, it hadn’t crossed my mind to object when I heard what was happening. Hell, I wanted to be involved.
“Are you comfortable with all this?” I ask. She seems completely at ease with our current situation.
“All what?”
“This,” I say, raising my hands. “Your life, what just happened at the docks, the fact your husband pays men to follow you.”
She giggles sweetly and shakes her head. “My life is the one I must live if I want to be with the man I love.”
Her words are simple and honest, a perfect summary. Harrison’s career and lifestyle are interwoven with the criminal world, both on the right and wrong sides of the law. He couldn’t have one without the other, and she couldn’t have him without accepting that.
“It’s a decision you’ll need to make too,” she says, concerned eyes holding mine for a beat.
“You need to ask yourself whether you can be with a man who lives his life in danger. Because, Sam, that’s exactly what our men do. They walk a fine line every day. They create enemies not only for themselves but also for their families.
You need to ask yourself if that’s something you can live with.”
She pauses, smirks, then adds, “Whichever of my brothers you end up with.”
I ignore the jibe, not wanting to discuss my current romantic predicament with my two boyfriends’ little sister, who’s never shy about venting her opinion on anything.
My mind returns to the scene I witnessed at the warehouse parking lot.
How both Russell and Connor were there to seek vengeance on my behalf.
I felt love from both, not one, and my heart split in two as I moved between them, unsure how to show both I care equally.
Picking a favorite seems impossible, sorting this damn mess into a viable outcome more so.
“Anyway,” Violet says, interrupting my thoughts. “We have celebrating to do. There’s an underground car park a few minutes away with six different exits onto the street. I say we dump the car and run.”
“Will you not get in trouble with Harry for ducking past your security?” I question.
She lifts a hand and fans her face dramatically. “I hope so,” she replies with a cheeky smile. “Because angry make-up sex is so much better than any other kind.”
“You’re terrible,” I mutter but laugh. “Okay, I’ll follow your lead. Let’s ditch these idiots and find a bottle of vodka.”
Violet swings into a small basement car park, the simple red and white barrier lifting to allow us entry.
She floors the accelerator and aims for the furthest corner of the parking lot before coming to a screeching halt in a free space.
We grab our bags, jump out of the car, and run to the nearest exit as the black car following us comes through the barrier.
There are about twenty steps to jump up before we step out onto a busy pedestrianized street filled with bars.
Hundreds of people mill about in groups, talking and drinking.
Violet grabs my hand and pulls me toward a tiny, dank pub that sits between two modern ones with vibrant signs and huge glass windows.
She pushes open the old wooden door, and we step into a small traditional pub decorated in dark wood and faded checked material. A handful of men sit at the bar, and in the corner near the back of the room is a square pine table with two matching chairs.
“I’ll get the drinks. You sit down,” she says, signaling to the free table. “They won’t look for us in here.”
A few minutes pass before my friend joins me, placing two tall glasses filled with clear liquid, ice cubes, and fruit before me. She collapses in the chair beside me, then lifts her drink offering in my direction. I lift mine, and we chink them together.
“Thank you,” I tell her, and she cocks her head to one side.
“For what?” she asks, a genuine look of confusion on her face.
“For walking into that clothes shop last year and falling into my life. Meeting you has changed so much for me.” She smiles, a genuine smile filled with love and admiration. “I don’t know how I will ever repay you.
“Sam,” she says, placing her glass back on the table then taking my hand.
Her soft fingers squeeze mine. “You saved my life. Your friendship means the world to me. All I ask is you stay in my world and…”
She giggles, as Violet does when she’s due to say something naughty.
“Make one, or better, both of my brothers happy.”
“Oh, let’s not talk about that,” I mumble, and she laughs.
“So what do you want to do then?” I shrug, being quite happy sitting in her company, hiding from security guards, and sipping whatever fruity concoction is in my glass. “I have an idea.”
“What?” I ask, mildly concerned by the look in her eyes.
“How do you feel about getting pierced?”
***
Raven’s Tattoo and Piercings, London
Violet huffs dramatically as the shop owner, who is actually called Raven, explains again why she won't pierce her vaginal clit hood within three months of giving birth.
“You need to give yourself time to fully recover…”
Raven’s eyes flick to Violet’s I.D. in her hand.
“Mrs. Waite. I am sorry I can’t help you at this time.”
My friend pouts, sticking one painted red lip beyond the other.
It makes me chuckle; she can be so juvenile at times.
It shows how young she truly is, and exactly how sheltered her upbringing has been.
“Well, you’ll just have to get one, Sam,” she says, turning to face me. “You get it done now, and I’ll come back in a few weeks.”
“I’m not getting pierced on my own!” I narrow my eyes, and she glares right back. “You brought me here because you wanted to be pierced down there.”
“If you’re not breastfeeding, Mrs. Waite, I could offer you a tattoo,” Raven attempts to move Violet's focus from my privates to herself again. “That would be perfectly safe. Maybe your daughter’s name and date of birth? A small symbol? Or a combination of the three.”
“Oh, I like that idea. No, I’m not feeding,” Violet responds, her frown turning upwards.
“Okay, I’ll get a tattoo, and Sam will have the hood piercing.”
I wince at the thought of the pain. I’m sensitive enough down there without someone sticking a needle through my hood, but the benefits do sound intriguing.
And I did half-commit to having the procedure done alongside my friend.
So, I guess I’ll be walking out of here sporting jewelry on my bits.
Violet lies face down on the tattoo artist’s bed. She squeals again as the needle pricks her skin. My friend decided to get her daughter’s name and date of birth imprinted on her lower back.
“I’m glad you didn’t pick a more sensitive area, Mrs. Waite,” Raven says as she flashes me an amused smile. “The lower back is low to moderate on the pain scale when getting a tattoo.”
“Low to moderate? I very much doubt that. My skin feels like you’re ripping it from my body.” I laugh out loud, and my friend’s annoyed eyes move to me. She glares. “What are you laughing at?”
“The fact you are such a drama queen and act like a petulant teenager. I love you, Violet, but, oh my, sometimes I feel sorry for your husband.”
“And I deserve your sympathy,” Harrison’s voice interrupts us. I look up, and he’s walking into the room, closely followed by Connor, with Russell limping behind. “She causes me nothing but fucking headaches.”
Russell laughs, jovial and lighthearted. I love to hear him happy. He can be so broody and melancholy, but when he’s joyous, it takes my breath away.
“I think Trouble is planning similar issues for my brother and me. What do you think, bro?”
He taps Connor on the shoulder, whose eyes haven’t left my body since they walked in.
They stand tall at the entrance, dominating the space and demanding everyone in the room’s attention.
Owners here to collect their possessions; we wouldn’t get out of here without them even if we made a run for it.
Which is unlikely, with Violet’s position and my recent treatment, which I never want to repeat.
The pain was unbearable as the artist pushed the needed through my most sensitive skin.
“On that, I have to agree with you. Samantha is nothing but fucking trouble,” Connor mutters. My heart skips as the same endearment his brother uses leaves his lips. A rebellious part of me loves the fact I don’t make their lives easy. It’s exciting that even with our challenges, they fight for me.
“Are you nearly finished?” Harrison asks the artist, who’s sitting with her needle still poised and her jaw hanging open. She gapes at the three gorgeous men in her doorway dressed as if ready for court.
“Ten minutes, maybe,” she stutters. “I need to finish this, then pad her up.”
“Take your time. I don’t want my wife with permanent errors.” His tone is hard, but I can sense a hint of sarcasm underneath.
“So,” Russell interrupts, “what did you get, Trouble?”
I glance at him, and my cheeks heat. I know what I had done barely three hours ago.
The nip between my legs is fierce, and I can’t wait to get home to take some painkillers.
It’s safe to say I do not want the sensation of a needle being slid through my private areas again.
“Oh, she had her clit hood pierced,” Violet announces to everyone in the room, and the whole place goes silent.
“It’s meant to make sexual experiences more intense. I wanted mine done, but it’s not long enough since Evie’s birth. So jealous.”
My friend mumbles under her breath as Harrison walks to the front of the table and crouches before her.
“Patience, Vi,” he says, laying a hand over hers that is lying flat on the bed. “We can always play with the original model before you’re ready for the upgrade.”
“I know, and I love it. But I wanted…” She trails off as he squeezes her fingers and drops a kiss on her forehead.
“And you can, just not now.” He stands again. “But Mrs. Waite, you’re in so much fucking trouble tonight. It’s almost five in the morning and you’re face down on someone else’s bed.”
“I was hoping you were going to say that,” she whispers. “How did you find me?”
“Do you really think I would let you run around London with no way to track you down?”
They stare at one another, so many unspoken words passing between them. Harrison and Violet have an understanding as a couple I yearn for, and in my heart believe I am developing with both the men in my life.
“You track me?” she hisses. It’s obvious from the smirk on her lips that her annoyance is completely faked. She probably already knew or at least suspected as much. Us “losing” her security detail was all a game in Violet’s mind.
“Vi, I would microchip you if I thought it would make you safer. But, alas, I merely air-tagged your phone.”
“You had your privates pierced?” Connor says, stunned, interrupting my viewing. I square my shoulders and look him straight in the eye.
“My vaginal clit hood, actually. The bead will sit on my clit and increase the sensation as I fuck.” We gaze at one another, and I’m unsure if his expression is excitement, disgust, or awe. “It should be beneficial for both parties.”
“That’s fucking awesome, Trouble,” Russell butts in. When I look at him, he is grinning from ear to ear. Connor glances at his brother and then back to me, increasing the tension in the room. I’m not sure which man looks more ready to pin me down and find out if what I am telling them is true.
“How soon can we test it out?” Connor asks.
I blink at him, surprised by his open question and him looking for more information in front of everyone in here.
“It is up to the client,” Raven begins, taking the opportunity to insert some professional experience.
“It’s important only to do as much as you feel ready for and to follow the instructions I gave you.”
She focuses on me. Her expression stern.
“No matter how impulsive you or your partner is, please don’t do anything that doesn’t feel right. But normally, within four to eight weeks, you’ll be fully healed.”
“Excellent,” Russell exclaims, clapping his hands together like a seal. “Just in time for this bastard thing to come off.” He gestures to his cast, and I shake my head at his idiocy.
“Yeah, but I’m fit and able right now,” his brother responds. “I’ll get to try out its effectiveness first.” Raven looks from me to both men and back to me, her lips quip into a small smile. Her eyes dance with amusement, and unable to stop herself, she grins.
“If I’m reading the room correctly,” she says. “You, girl, have won the lottery. Fucking enjoy it.”
After Violet’s artwork is completed, Raven covers the design with the pad and Harrison helps his wife from the bed. She takes hold of his hand, and he leads her from the room. Connor steps toward Raven, who is sliding the latex gloves from her fingers. He holds out a hand in her direction.
“Thank you for taking care of my sister and her friend,” he says as they shake. “Have you been paid for your services?”
“Not yet,” Raven tells him, and he pulls a wad of cash from his back pocket. “It’s seven hundred pounds.” Without counting he hands her a bundle of notes.
“That should cover it,” he says before moving to my side and sliding an arm around my waist.
“Let’s go.” He leads me from the tattoo shop and out onto the street.
Harrison is sitting in the driver’s seat of Connor’s jeep with Violet in the passenger side.
Connor opens the rear door, then takes my hand to help me step into the vehicle. He climbs in behind me.
A few minutes later, Russell climbs in the opposite side and lays his crutches on the floor. Both men take a hand each, interlocking their fingers with mine. I sit in the back of my boyfriend’s car, holding the hands of two men I am completely devoted to.