Under His Ink Page 3

  “Do what?” I had only just made up my mind. And I still wasn’t sure if it was what I needed to do. What I should do.

  He shifted in his seat and stared at me like he was piecing together my plan before I even knew what it was.

  “I know.” I squeezed the back of my neck. I’d brought down the ire of the Volokov family on her once. What would happen if I did it again? I was different than when she’d seen me last. I wasn’t a stupid boy who thought he ruled the world. I knew the game much better. Learned the rules over the years, created a few of my own and knew what was at stake.

  “When was the last time you checked up on her?” Alexei asked, staring again. He was in mind-reading mode, and it was unnerving.

  “It’s been a long time.” I let out a deep breath.

  “You should check out some of her work. It’s beautiful.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Obviously I’ve seen it. He never said anything about me staying away from her.” His self-satisfied smugness made me want to throttle him.

  “What else do you know about her?” I shot him a sidelong glance.

  Alexei had always been much better at hiding what he thought. He’d had to be. His interests leaned much closer to the legitimate than our uncle would like. He’d even taken over some of the fronts our uncle abandoned, and turned them into actual businesses with turnover unassociated with the bratva. Not that our uncle knew anything about them. He’d be the first to shut that down.

  “She’s worked at this place for nearly eight years. Has some pretty well-known clients. Is booked pretty far in advance. Lives not too far from the shop with a roommate.”

  I glanced over at him, my eyebrow raised. I had no right, but the thought of her living with a guy, seeing a guy made me want to rain down fiery destruction on everything around me. I didn’t know what I would do if I found out she was with someone. Found out she’d gotten married or had some kids by some other guy. Even now my hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  “A woman,” he said, shaking his head. “Ease up off the fucking wheel, man. You’re going to get us killed.”

  He rattled off a few more details about her. She’d worked in the same shop since she got out of juvie. Renamed it Hendrix Ink when she bought it off the owner.

  As for her current relationship status…

  “I only know what I can find on the Internet. I’m not stalking her and standing outside her apartment window or anything,” Alexei said unhelpfully. I gritted my teeth. “What are you going to do about her?”

  “I need to see her.” I threw the car into park in the parking garage under our building. “Sergei had the paper with her picture in it.”

  “So?”

  “So what if he decides he should pay her a visit?”

  “Why would he do that? Why would he care? He exacted his revenge a long time ago.”

  “Is it ever enough for him?” My hands tightened on the wheel. Our sister was a testament to that.

  “No. Not really. And then what?” He climbed out of the car and rested his hands on the roof.

  “I don’t know,” I said, rubbing my hands over my face. “I don’t know. She’s not going to let me within a mile of her.”

  Our footsteps echoed in the expansive garage filled with luxury cars. To everyone here, we were two business executives. Our uncle hadn’t wanted to allow us to live outside of the compound, but Alexei made him see reason. An extra set of ears out in the city had been the angle to win him over. But really, we didn’t want to be under his thumb a minute longer than needed.

  “What if you make her an offer she can’t refuse?” He jabbed the button for his floor and pushed the button for mine. We were close, but we didn’t need to live on the same floor. The same building was bad enough.

  “Funny.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Like what?”

  “What’s the one thing you thought about giving up for her?” he asked, stepping out of the elevator. “Think you could do it now?” He stood outside the elevator doors as they closed right in my stunned face.

  I sat in the office in my apartment, staring at my phone for longer than any sane man would, but I doubted anyone would call me sane nowadays. Not for the ideas that ran through my head on a daily basis, the ideas I knew would get me killed, and not for my singular obsession with one woman I hadn’t been able to forget after all these years.

  The ice cubes clinked in my glass as I swirled the amber liquid around before gulping it down. Not vodka. Sergei would be pissed. The ice clinked as I poured another glass of it as my silent fuck off to him. I slid open the bottom desk drawer and stared at the picture that had sat there, mocking me for years. Taking a deep breath, I turned the thickly coated paper with tattered edges. The grainy picture in the paper wasn’t enough anymore.

  Dahlia Hendrix, mid-laugh. Her bright blue eyes twinkled, and her hair sat piled up high on top of her head. She was looking over her shoulder in the picture. Showing off inches of skin that may as well have been miles for how much she could get me hard with just a look. Even in a picture, she made me want to sink my fingers into her hair and kiss her until we both needed to come up for air.

  I traced my finger along her face, the cool glass nowhere near as satisfying as her warm, soft skin. It had been so long since I’d touched her. Felt her smooth skin under my fingertips. There had been other women over the years. None of those women compared to her in the slightest. Dahlia had told me exactly where I could go the last time I saw her, and that was after her father made sure I knew there would be trouble for more than just me if I ever came near his little girl again. And after he died, going against the wishes of a man who’d only wanted the best for his daughter soured my gut. Keeping my distance was the only way to keep her safe back then.

  No one ever called me on my shit and stood toe-to-toe with me like she had. Every minute together had been like being connected to a live wire. It was all I could do to keep my hands off her. Would she even let me near her now?

  I needed to get to her and didn’t know how to do it. With her face in the paper, it was only a matter of time before she was back on my uncle’s radar. That was never a good thing. It’s why Alexei always kept so quiet. Better to be ignored than feel the full glare and heat of our uncle’s displeasure. A small fluff piece in the paper with one wrong mood and it could be like the ten years we’d been apart had never happened as far as my uncle was concerned. The deal we’d struck would slowly unravel, if he was paying attention and saw her in the paper. If the mood struck Sergei to be particularly vindictive, which was second nature to him.

  Stay away from her. Keep her—and more importantly, her father—from getting involved in our family business. Dahlia knew him as a regular cop, but he’d been intimately involved in the organized crime division. Sergei’s son had gone down in a fiery shoot-out, and Sergei blamed Dahlia’s dad, Charles, along with everyone else in his division. Most came to untimely deaths one way or another. And old grudges died very hard. Whether her dad was there or not, Sergei thought an eye for an eye was fitting.

  I needed to protect her. I wasn’t the teenager I’d been before. I had power of my own. I had resources Alexei and I had built over the years. How did I get the most stubborn woman I’d ever met to finally let me help?

  I looked up the number to her shop. Putting security on her would be so much easier than going the direct route, but the need to see her overwhelmed my common sense. I needed to see her. Hear her. Touch her.

  “Hendrix Ink,” the chipper voice said on the other end of the phone. I started, gripping the phone tighter. I hadn’t even realized I’d started the call.

  “Yes, I’d like to book a tattoo with Dahlia Hendrix.”

  “You and everyone else in the city. Her next opening is in five months,” the lady said, chuckling. I racked my brain, trying to think of a way to get an in. If I just showed up, she’d kick me out without a second glance. I ran my hand over my shoulder. I could p
ractically feel the massive black stars I’d earned years ago burning through my shirt.

  “It’s for a cover-up of an organization tattoo. Full back.” A snap decision. Just to get me in the door. That’s all.

  “Hold on,” he said. Off the phone, he called out. “Hey, Big D. I’ve got someone looking for a full back cover on a mob tatt. You’re booked through February.” There was some mumbling, and I held my breath.

  “Hello?” It was her. The voice that filled my dreams and nightmares was full and raspy, just like I remembered.

  “Hi,” I said cautiously.

  “Hi. I’m booked up solid for a long time, but if you’re serious about this tattoo and about what getting it covered means, I can try to squeeze you in.”

  “Okay.” I tried to keep my answers short, giving her less time to recognize my voice. I’d recognized hers immediately. Did she even remember me as anything other than a terrible mistake in her past? Was my voice seared into her mind like hers was for me?

  “I can try for next month. They’ll have to be shorter sessions.”

  That was too long. “I’d like to come as soon as I can.”

  “Okay. You really need this, huh?” I could hear the concern in her voice. She had no idea who I was, but if I was trying to get out, she’d do anything to help. The depths of her concern and compassion had never ceased to amaze me. My heart panged against my ribs.

  “Yeah.”

  “What about after-hours? I’d have to charge you extra, but—”

  “I’ll pay triple?” I practically shouted, jumping at the opening.

  “Does tomorrow night work? The shop closes at midnight. Can you be here then?”

  “I can. I’ll be there.”

  “Great, don’t be late. Did you want to send pictures ahead of time? I can sketch something out, and we can get started right away.”

  “No pictures.” That was the last thing I needed, to have pictures of my tats floating around.

  “Tomorrow will only be a consultation. You don’t have to give me a name. I’ll make sure I can work on them and we can figure out something to help you, okay?”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Dahlia.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll be there.” I ended the call and pushed the phone across my desk. The minute the words left my mouth, I’d wanted to claw them back. Just because I’d made this appointment didn’t mean her needle needed to touch my skin. Doing that would have repercussions for her and me. Her safety was compromised enough already. I didn’t need to get her involved in the plans Alexei and I had to take over and transform the bratva. But the temptation was strong. Stronger than I’d imagined.

  Keeping her safe was the reason I needed to visit her. Get her alone and let her know what wasps’ nest had been kicked over. Even then, I knew it was an excuse. I needed to see her. Putting her at risk wasn’t enough to keep me away. The pull to be near her overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t even think straight.

  Tomorrow night I’d be back in Dahlia’s life no matter what she said, because I wasn’t going to let anything else happen to her. I’d failed her once. I wouldn’t fail her again.

  Alexei was the only person I’d trusted with my desire to leave this life behind, but we both knew it wasn’t possible. Too much instability would put too many people at risk. We’d secured the loyalty of almost all bratva under thirty. Alexei was quite persuasive with his slick vision of where we could all go without the relics currently at the head of the table. But our reach didn’t extend to Russia, yet. We couldn’t risk making a move before we knew Elena was safe. My crimes paled in comparison to what I would have to do to secure our futures after Sergei’s fall.

  The monster Dahlia might have remembered was nothing compared to the one I’d become after all these years. The things I’d done to protect her without her ever knowing, I couldn’t forgive myself for them. Would she be able to?

  4

  Dahlia

  I shoved the last bits of a raspberry ganache macaron into my mouth and dusted my hands off on my pants. Stashing of few of them in my bag and bringing them to work had been my best idea all week. Rachel’s mom was a saint for sending over all that stuff.

  Rach didn’t know how lucky she was to have parents who cared that much about her. But I wasn’t going to badger her about it. I sure as hell hadn’t done a good job appreciating my dad when he was alive. I drummed my fingers on the counter, nervous energy running through me as I waited for my cover-up client.

  He’d been gone almost ten years, and the ache was still there. Those memories always hit me hard and fast when I least expected them. The newspaper had brought up those thoughts. Talking about helping people leave their lives of crime behind. Taking appointments from people getting their mob tattoos covered up.

  When I thought about how my life had been shattered and what happened with my dad, there was always one interloper. Someone on the periphery I didn’t like to let myself think too hard about. Ivan.

  So many times over the years, I’d tried to banish him from my mind. Pretend that our time together hadn’t happened. That he hadn’t ripped my life apart, but it didn’t matter. He was always there in the background as a haunting reminder of the many things I’d done wrong in my past. But every so often one of the good memories leaked through, unsullied by the bad, and those were the ones that hurt the most. They threatened to crush me under the weight of the guilt and anger that came with them.

  As much as I wanted to hate him, I couldn’t. My dad wouldn’t have wanted me to hold that in my heart. He’d seen every day how it could poison people. I wouldn’t have found my passion if it weren’t for him. Taking my drawings from the page to skin was a leap I wouldn’t have had the balls to do if I weren’t dead set on making a new life for myself. And unable to get employment at most places. So in a way I owed him, even though I swore I’d never see him again.

  There was a thumping on the shop door. I hopped up and unlocked it, swinging the door open and coming face-to-face with the man I never thought I’d see again. Who I’d kept all the heavy, express-train feelings for buried deep. But they weren’t.

  My mouth opened and closed like a fish. He took a step forward, and I finally snapped out of it. Pressing my hands against the cold metal and frosted glass door, I shoved it closed. At least, I attempted to. Every nerve in my body was frayed, and my fingers went numb.

  The anger I’d bottled up for so long. For so many years I’d done the best I could to be the daughter my dad would have wanted me to be.

  “Dahlia,” he said, pressing his palm flat against the glass door. I pressed my full body weight against it.

  “Get out, Ivan.”

  “No.”

  “Leave,” I said through gritted teeth. But I didn’t have any traction in my heels, and he easily pushed the door open, taking me with it as I slid across the floor. I glared at him as he shut the door behind him and turned the lock. It clicked into place, and he spun around, his gaze sending a tremble through me.

  “We are going to have a conversation, Dahlia.”

  “We aren’t talking about anything, Ivan. You need to leave.” I backed up and hit my hip against the front counter. Suddenly the shop that had been my sanctuary was my prison. I needed to get out of here. Every fond thought I’d had about him fled the minute I was cornered by him, my anger threatening to boil over and turn me into someone I didn’t want to be. That emotional, outburst-prone eighteen-year-old who had one summer of bad decisions that ruined her life.

  “Dahlia, I came to talk to you and—”

  I pushed against him as hard as I could, and he took a step back. This was not the time to deal with ghosts from my past.

  He stared at me with his head tilted to one side.

  “Dahlia, I know it’s been a long time.”

  “I’d really like you to leave,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Trying and failing. Fear ratcheted up, my throat closing. I could feel my pulse in my palm
s as my mouth went dry.

  “Not until we talk. Listen, I’ll stand over here; why don’t you go sit over there?” He gestured to one of the chairs deeper into the shop. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of a cold-blooded killer. I’d seen the pictures. Had them slid across the table to me by a man so vile that bile rose in my throat when I thought about him. But for some reason Ivan was here. Why? Why now?

  Ivan backed away from me. I was no longer in the cage of his arms and my heart rate calmed slightly. He stood with his back to the door, blocking my escape.

  “I don’t want to talk to you. I have a client coming. Why are you here?” I took a step away so the urge to punch him or run didn’t overtake me. Fight-or-flight was a real bitch. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat on one of the chairs. The quicker he talked, the quicker he left.

  “I’m your client.” He shrugged off his suit jacket, and I opened my mouth before snapping it shut. He laid the jacket on the front desk. The client who wanted his tattoos covered.

  “Did your uncle die?” I asked, trying to figure out the only way this would be possible.

  He let out a mirthless chuckle before undoing his cuff links and dropping them beside his jacket. The sound of metal on glass rang through the whole shop. He shook his head.

  “No, he’s very much alive.” He slid the buttons running down his chest out of their holes and inched closer. My heel bounced up and down, and I took a deep breath.

  “Why are you here, Ivan? You need to leave.”

  “I’m not leaving. I’m here for us to start our work.” His shirt was completely open, the hard planes of his tanned muscles on full display. It seemed we’d both changed a lot in our time apart.

  “You want to show me every detail you tried to hide. Every lie you told to cover up this secret, and now you’re here with me, ready to bare all, and you want me to cover it up for you?”