Текст книги "Masquerade"

Автор книги: Nyrae Dawn

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Masquerade

Book 3 in The Games Series

Nyrae Dawn

New York Boston

To my sister, Jessica, one of the most talented and caring people I know. I am blessed to have a sibling with such a big, loving heart.

Acknowledgments

As always, I have to start with my family. My two beautiful little girls who amaze me daily and who get it when Mommy is in the writing zone. To my husband, who has taken over doing so many things around the house, and doing them well in order to give me writing time. We got so lucky to find each other. I’m thankful for you every day. Huge thanks to my incredible agent Jane Dystel, and everyone at Dystel and Goderich Literary Management. There is no one else I would rather have in my corner. You guys are truly amazing. To my editor, Latoya Smith. I am so lucky to be able to work with you. You not only make my books stronger but also your enthusiasm never fails to make my day. Also, I would like to thank everyone at Grand Central Publishing. I still get smiley when I tell people I write for you. I wouldn’t have been able to write this book without the help of my tattoo artist, Eliza, from County Line Tattoo. Not only are you amazing at your job but you also answered my million questions about tattooing without hesitation. Any mistakes are my own and I can’t wait to schedule another appointment with you! Finally, I would like to thank my readers for everything. Your support and excitement means more to me than I could ever put into words. I couldn’t do this without you!

Chapter One ~Bee~

It’s almost perfect. The only thing missing as I stand in the middle of Masquerade is the constant buzz of a tattoo gun. After the past few years, it’s my form of comfort. Like a lullaby that sings me to sleep, massaging the tension out of my muscles. But at the same time, it shoots endorphins into my veins, bringing me happiness—something that’s mine and will always belong to me.

Yes, I need to hurry up and open the doors to my tattoo parlor before I go crazy for that lullaby. Tomorrow is the day. I can’t wait.

I play the words again in my head: my tattoo parlor. They’re scary as hell and exhilarating at the same time. I’m not sure many twenty-one-year-olds can say they’ve already worked in five shops, but none of those places belonged to me. This one will stick. I’ll stick. I have to, for a lot of reasons. One of them being, despite the fact that it’s my name on all the paperwork for Masquerade, my parents footed the bill.

It doesn’t matter that I’m paying them back, only that they did it. After everything I’ve put them through—after the way that I struggled so much to love them the way they do me—they did it. Hell, I fight to even understand the word. People throw love around all the time, but I’ve seen it make people do crazy things. It’s not something I’m sure I want. But still, they’re always there.

Walking over, I straighten one of the frames filled with tattoos I’ve done. To the right of it is the one and only workstation here. It’s exactly what I need, small without too many places to make a mess. Growing up, my parents—shit… I shake my head—Melody and Rex—had both been artists. They would get lost in their zone and the house would be a mess with supplies, but it didn’t matter because they were happy.

Then I went back home and everything was different. They were happy like Melody and Rex, only not in the same way. They didn’t get so deep in their art that they’d forget dinner and then order a pizza, which we would all laugh over later.

No, my real parents were perfect—are perfect—and even after eight years, it’s still hard for me to be the person they need me to be instead of the one I am.

But I try. For them, I try.

“Christ,” I mumble, not sure why I’m feeling so introspective today. I’m a single girl in a new town. What I need to do is get out and have some fun.

After locking up Masquerade, I climb into my Honda Insight and drive to my apartment. It doesn’t take me long to get ready. I keep my blond hair down. It’s so long it hangs past the middle of my back. I put on a black spaghetti-strap tank top with silver studs on it. It shows some of the tattoos I have, one on my right arm, the back of my neck, and the star on the front of each shoulder. Slipping on a pair of black heels, I walk to the bathroom and change out the small diamond stud in my nose and then I’m out the door.

It’s not like Brenton is very big, so it doesn’t take me long to find a club called Lunar that looks like it could be a good time. It’s about 10:00 p.m., so a little early, but all I want to do is have a drink and relax anyway. More than that and I’d have to take a cab.

Music pulses through the speakers when I walk in, and I suddenly feel a tinge of guilt for being here. I guess my real dad got lost in the bottle for a while after I was kidnapped. I hate using that word—kidnapped—because it makes it sound like they were horrible to me when they weren’t. Anyway, he’s okay now. They’re those kinds of people. They make it through everything together, but I wonder if they’d be disappointed I’m here.

No, I tell myself. There’s nothing wrong with having a beer once in a while.

It takes a couple minutes to make my way through the crowd and up to the bar. It smells like alcohol and too many bodies, but I try to ignore it. A seat opens up and I take it. Men sit on either side of me, but none of them seem to be paying any attention, which is good. I’m not in the mood to be hit on tonight.

The bartender comes over a few minutes later. He’s about my age, hot, but a little pretty for my type. He has blond hair and green eyes that run the length of me, telling me it’s going to be him that tries to flirt.

“Hmm, let me guess. Cosmo?” he asks. I shake my head. “Lemon Drop? Mojito?” He keeps tossing drinks at me, and I continue shaking my head.

“You’re going to have to give me a clue here. I’m drowning and I’m usually pretty damn good at knowing what a girl wants.” He winks at me and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“The only thing you have that I want right now is a Corona with lime.”

“Ah, a beer girl. I was way off.”

He grabs a bottle, twists the top off, and then hands it to me.

“You’re new. I would have noticed you before,” he says.

I nod. Again, he’s good-looking. Maybe on another night I would have been interested or if I were a different kind of girl—the good kind. But I’m not and I swear he looks like he belongs in a college frat, so I lean back and take a drink of my beer.

“I’m Trevor,” the bartender says.

“Bee,” I reply. It’s amazing how the name automatically rolls off my tongue. It’s almost like it gave me my new identity at eighteen years old. It was my third one, but this one I actually picked. It’s the only one that feels like me. I don’t remember what it was like to be the girl I’d been before I was taken, and once I went back home, I couldn’t be the person I thought I was.

“Bee? As in buzz, buzz?” His question jerks me out of my thoughts. “Did I tell you how much I like honey?”

Yeah, because I haven’t heard that one before. “No, as in the letter B. It’s short for ‘bitch.’ Want me to demonstrate how accurate the name is?” I finish my tirade with the tiniest of wicked grins.

At that, Trevor smiles and holds up his hands. “I was kidding. Kind of. But seriously, that was hot. I think I’m in love with you.”

Before I have the chance to reply, someone yells, “Trev! Stop flirting and get your ass down here. There’s work to do.”

That’s my cue to leave. I toss a ten down and he grabs it before I walk away. I want a nice, empty corner to hang out in and finish my drink. Or, if I’m being honest, I’m not opposed to meeting someone; only that someone isn’t him.

When I spot a small table in the back, I head right for it. I’m surprised no one’s grabbed it yet. I sit down and lift the bottle to my lips and drink the whole thing.

I set the bottle down, and for some reason seeing the lime inside transports me back in time. Rex used to make all kinds of bottle art. He’d tell me sometimes the simplest things could be the most beautiful. We’d fill different colored bottles with different shades of objects until we found one that we thought was the most unique, and then he would let me keep it. I put it on the shelf above my bed with all my other favorite things. The things I couldn’t take with me when they found me.

My hand squeezes around the bottle and I take a couple deep breaths. What’s wrong with me? Why am I thinking about them so much tonight? I’m doing better. I have Masquerade. I need to remember things happened the way they were supposed to and go on with my life.

“Decided not to flirt with Trevor anymore?” a male voice says. I look over to see a guy leaning against the wall in the dark, his arms crossed. There are stairs that go up right next to him, and it’s almost like he’s hiding.

“Is there a problem if I was flirting with him?” I reply.

He has a tribal tattoo around his forearm. It’s pretty nice work but I could have done it better.

“Not my business. I don’t know why I even said anything.” He turns his head and scans the crowd. My first thought is, Now this is the kind of guy I’d be into. He has a trail of dark stubble on his face, a tick in his tight jaw, and black hair. It has a few curls in it. Just enough to make you want to run your fingers through it to see how it feels.

I would put money on him riding a bike. He’s gorgeous and trouble, and from the scowl on his face, he’s probably angry at the world just like I’m confused by it.

Too bad he’s an asshole.

“You’re right. It’s not your business. Since that didn’t stop you from bringing it up, I’ll keep it going for you. Let me guess, I’d probably be a slut or a tease if I was flirting with him? Let’s for a minute forget that he not only came on to me, but also that men do that kind of thing all the time. It’s okay for them to hook up with someone in a bar, but not for a girl to, right?”

I’d dealt with stuff like this all the time when I was in school and I hated it. I wasn’t like all the other people who joined activities and smiled in everyone’s face, pretending to be perfect but then going wild behind their parents’ and teachers’ backs. I was who I was then and I am who I am now. At home I didn’t fit in, which bothered me, so I made sure I didn’t care if I fit in anywhere else.

The guy doesn’t reply to me but continues to look out into the sea of people.

What’s his deal?

I pick up my bottle before remembering it’s empty and setting it down again. I keep glancing at the guy, but he’s not paying any attention to me. It frustrates me, and the fact that I’m letting it bother me annoys me even more.

Finally, he says, “I don’t care who you fuck, or who anyone else does for that matter. Being a man or woman doesn’t make a difference.”

There’s something in the raspy seriousness of his voice that makes me believe him. It makes me wonder what he does care about, if anything, because by looking at him, I’d say it isn’t much.

That makes two of us.

I’m not really sure what makes me do it, but I push to my feet, walk over, and lean against the wall next to him. “Your piece is pretty nice. Could be cleaned up a bit.” I point to his tat.

He huffs. “And you’re an expert, right?” He makes it sound like it’s a ridiculous thought.

I smirk because, of course, that’s the first thing people think. I don’t know why. It’s not like it’s so rare to be a female tattoo artist.

We keep standing there. People are dancing all around, drinking and talking. He’s wearing an earpiece, so it’s pretty obvious to me now that he’s security.

After a few minutes, he tosses a glance my way. “You’ve got some nice work too.” It seems to physically pain him to say the words.

“Thanks.”

All of my work was done by the Professor. He’s the old guy who taught me how to tat. I don’t really talk about the Professor because he’s important to me and I like to keep important things to myself. Most people wouldn’t get it anyway.

“What’s your name?” he asks without looking at me.

“Bee. Yours?”

“Maddox.” I recognize what he’s doing. It’s so much easier to talk to people when you don’t have to look at them. Looking brings you closer, and sometimes it’s too hard to get close. I was like that when I first came home. I’m still like that sometimes.

Standing here, I realize I kind of get this guy. I think he might get me, too, and I don’t remember the last time I thought something like that. It’s not that I need him or anyone else to understand me. Still, in this moment, it feels kind of good.

“Maddox!” a guy yells from a few feet away. “You’re off early tonight. Go ahead and clock out.”

Maddox turns to look at me. My skin sizzles under his stare. His eyes are gray and hot on me. Man, this guy is sexy, and for a second, I consider what it would be like to lose myself in him for a night.

“You here with anyone?” His voice is low.

A good girl would probably tell him she wasn’t interested. The kind of girl I maybe should be. The kind my sister is or my mom is. I don’t think it’s such a bad thing to let myself have a little fun. If I’m smart… safe, what’s the problem?

“No.”

I push off the wall so I’m standing right in front of him when he speaks again.

“Do you want to leave with me?”

“We go to a hotel, not a house. And it’s only one night.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” He smirks. It’s the first time I’ve seen him do anything except scowl.

“I’m all about equal opportunity, remember?”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, just had the one beer.”

Maddox gives me a simple nod, then tells me the name of a hotel and says he’ll meet me there.

To be sure, I walk over to a different bouncer than the one who talked to him and confirm Maddox works here. You never know what kind of scams people will come up with and I need to confirm he’s legit.

A few minutes later I’m in my car and driving to the hotel. Just one night. It’s been crazy and stressful getting everything ready for Masquerade, and I really want to let go and have a little fun, with someone who’s safe because I’ll never have to see him again.

Chapter Two ~Maddox~

The roar of my motorcycle helps block out my thoughts as I cruise to the shitty hotel where I told Bee I’d meet her. It’s not often I take a woman somewhere for the night. After dealing with Mom and taking care of my sister, Laney, for the past four years, I stay the hell away from woman drama.

Not that I really do shit for Mom.

But I owe Laney. She’s the only person in this world I give a shit about, but she doesn’t really need me anymore either. She’s living in our old apartment with her boyfriend, Adrian, who I still don’t know if I like. If he fucks with her, I’ll fuck with him and he knows it. They’ve been together a while and started college together this month. He’s good to her. Not that I admit that to her.

The tatted-up blonde was too hot to walk away from, though, and it’s not like I have anything else to do. I haven’t talked to Mom since her last suicide attempt in January, work can’t last forever, and I just lost the only other thing I gave a shit about besides my sister—tattooing.

I take a right turn before pulling into the parking lot. Three lights are out in the VACANCY sign.

The bike rumbles underneath me and my body is all jacked up, knowing it’ll soon be with a woman. It’s probably been eight months since the last time I met someone here. It wasn’t long after Laney and I moved to Brenton.

“Don’t let your dick get you into trouble,” Dad told me when I was thirteen before he tossed me a box of condoms. “It’s your own business, so I don’t want to know if you need them yet—just make sure you use them when you do.”

I wonder why he didn’t take his own advice about trouble. Was it his dick that betrayed him, making him need some chick on the side, or did the greed come first—the money and gambling that led to her? If he’d been stronger, he wouldn’t be in prison right now for getting drunk and running down Adrian’s son with his car. My sister wouldn’t feel guilt because her dad killed her boyfriend’s kid, and Mom never would have tried to kill herself.

And I wouldn’t be sitting here lying to myself because it’s really me who could have been stronger. I could have told my mother and sister about the affair before things went too far.

“You coming?” Bee’s silky voice says over the sound of my bike. I didn’t even hear her walk up.

Pulling the helmet off my head, I turn to her. “Eager?” Standing under the streetlight makes it so she can see my wink.

“I’m ready to go in or go home. Decide quickly before I do it for you.” She crosses her arms and there’s no doubt in my mind this girl will walk away. She’s tough. One look at her tells me that and I respect it. I don’t have room in my life for dealing with anyone else’s shit.

I turn off the engine, slide the kickstand into place, and climb off my silver and black bike. It’s old and needs some work, but it’s mine.

“Come on.” I nod toward the building and start walking.

“Why here?” she asks.

“You’re the one who said a hotel.”

“And you just happened to know the perfect place close by.”

I shrug, not willing to sugarcoat anything for her. “Anonymous works for me. If that’s not what you want, say so right now.”

“I wouldn’t have said a hotel in the first place if it wasn’t what I needed.”

I don’t call her on the use of the word need instead of want. Not my business.

Gripping the handle, I pull open the glass door and signal for her to go inside. She walks right up to the counter, with me behind her. Less than three minutes later, we’re using a key to open the door to room 57. As soon as we’re inside, I hit the lights.

“Condoms?” she asks.

“Obviously.”

“You don’t have to be a jerk. I just wanted to see if you had them or if I needed to grab mine.” Bee tosses her purse onto the chair.

For some reason, the side of my mouth almost tilts up into a half-smile. This girl doesn’t fuck around and I like that.

Pulling my wallet out, I grab a foil package from inside and toss it on the bed. Bee stands there, a little flicker of something I can’t read in her eyes. My mind stumbles on it, making me pause.

“We doing this or not?” she asks.

The words are what I need to keep me on track. “Oh yeah. We’re doing this.” These are the nights that are only about me—well, and whoever I’m with, but I don’t let any of the shit from my life bleed in.

Bee grins and a mixture of need and maybe a little bit of what almost looks like selfishness and then she’s on me.

Her lips come down hard on mine, my hand cups her ass. I pull her against me, push down the back of her pants, and slightly lift her off the ground. The curve of her ass fits perfectly in my hand, but it’s not enough. I need more.

Jerking away, I grab the bottom of her shirt and pull it over her head, giving me a better view of the tats on her shoulders.

She’s breathing hard, her chest heaving. My hand moves toward her, my finger tracing the edge of her bra as I study her—the ring in her belly button, the edges of what I think are more stars going up her side, close to her back.

I’ve never been with a woman with so many tats. She’s not covered in them, but enough decorate her skin. I get the closest I ever come to any kind of pillow talk when I grit out, “Fuck, you’re hot.”

“You don’t have to sweet-talk me. I’m already here.”

“I don’t sweet-talk.”

“You next or what?” She quirks a brow at me and damned if I don’t almost smile again. Before I get the chance, her hands are on me, shoving my shirt up. They stop on my chest and I help her by pulling off the material covering me.

I don’t have as much ink as her. I can see her looking at the few pieces I have and it’s like she’s dissecting them.

This strange sort of fear spikes inside me because of the way her eyes are eating me up. Yeah it’s only sexual, but I need to make sure it stays that way.

“We have way too many clothes on.” I push the button on my pants through the hole, unzip, and kick out of them.

Bee’s crawling onto the bed and I’m right behind her. “These have to go.” I get rid of her pants just as quickly, getting a brief look at a sunflower on her calf as she lies beneath me in nothing but a purple pair of panties and a bra. She’s sexy as hell, all that creamy skin with bursts of colorful artwork.

Her nails are painted black, I notice, as she pushes my boxer-briefs down, my erection springing free.

Her hand wraps around me and I groan, trying to focus enough to get her panties down. When I do, she slips free of them.

She’s stroking as I push the cups of her bra down so her breasts spill over.

“This is going to be over before it starts if you don’t stop with that,” I tell her.

Bee lets go, for the first time letting out a real laugh that turns into a loud moan when I drop my mouth to one peak.

My moves are scripted, my body on autopilot as I get her ready—fingers and mouth teasing each mound. I grind against her, feel her wetness, wait for her little gasps and moans to increase before I’m rolling the condom down and pushing inside her—taking my quick, anonymous pleasure and hoping I’m giving her what she’s looking for too.

It’s not long before her nails are digging into my back and sounds fall from her lips quicker and louder. When she tenses under me, her body shaking in aftershocks, I give in. My release immediately follows, and then I’m rolling off her, our sweat-slicked bodies side by side.

“Wow…” she pants between breaths.

I take that as a compliment, not sure she gives many of them out. “No shit.” For now, all the tension is gone from my body.

“I should go,” she says, and I don’t argue. It’s exactly what I need it to be. We both got what we were looking for.

“Thanks,” tumbles out of my mouth as I watch her get dressed.

“You don’t have to thank me for sex. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t what I wanted too.”

For only a second, a thought climbs its way into my head, making me wonder why she’s okay with this. I mean, I’ve obviously done it before, but it was never this simple. The girl usually isn’t the one leaving. Before the questions get their claws in, I slam the door on them.

“See ya later,” she says before walking out.

I make a quick trip to the bathroom, get rid of the condom, and clean up. I consider getting dressed to head home. It’s not like I have anyone there who will wonder where I am, so I grab my cigarettes, turn off the lights, and spend the rest of the night alternating between sleeping and smoking.

* * *

I reach into the bag on my bike and pull my sketchbook out. Before going in, I flip through it, again making sure I marked my favorite pages.

A thrill of excitement strums through me like I haven’t felt since sitting in the tattoo parlor where I apprenticed for a few months. Before that, I hadn’t felt it since I played football in school. Before I quit. Before I realized what a bastard my old man is. Before I stopped giving a shit.

Shaking my head, I head toward the building, hoping like hell this is going to work out. I left a message this morning, telling the owner that I’m interested in apprenticing here, left my number, and said I’d be down later. Then I sat around like a pussy, hoping he’d call back before I came down.

He didn’t.

I pull open the door but don’t see anyone inside. There’s only one workstation, a desk with a computer, and then a small hallway leading to another room.

“Hello?” I call out.

“Yeah?” a female voice replies.

What the fuck? She could at least come out here. The urge to walk out hits me. I don’t have time for this shit. It’s probably a waste of time anyway. Still, I reply, “I called earlier. Lookin’ for a place to apprentice.”

“Sorry, just opened up. I don’t need to take on any scratches right now.” As soon as the last word clears her mouth, she steps around the corner.

Motherfucker.

Bee’s eyes widen in shock, but she recovers quickly, making me do the same.

“Don’t call me a scratch.” My fist tightens on the book in my hand; disappointment takes control of me. Jesus, what are the odds of sleeping with one of the only tattoo artists in town? The only one left who hasn’t already told me they’re not looking? Especially when neither of us wanted to see each other again.

“I’m not trying to be a bitch when I say it, but it’s what you are. When I first started, I was a scratch too. If you can’t handle getting shit, you really don’t belong here.” She sits in the chair behind the desk.

Anger fills me, banging against my pride.

“You don’t know me or what I can handle.” Shut up. Chill out, man. She’s your last opportunity.

I don’t want it anymore, if it has to be with her. I don’t see women again after I’ve had them. It’s too fucking close.

She sighs. “That doesn’t change the fact that this wouldn’t work out. Let’s focus on me not needing to take a scratch under my wing right now. I have too much going on.”

I almost hand her my sketchbook. Almost mention she wouldn’t be saying that if she saw my stuff, but fuck it. Putting myself out there isn’t something I’m about to do for anyone, especially not her.

Without a word, I turn and walk out, the door pushing open so hard it slams into the wall as I go.

* * *

“Jesus Christ, Laney. What are you doing in my house?” I’m tense, my insides going a million miles an hour as I throw the sketchbook onto the couch beside her. “I’m telling you right now, if your boyfriend is here, I’m probably going to lose my shit.”

She doesn’t answer that and says, “So it didn’t go well, huh?” My sister stands and walks over to where I’m leaning against the table, talking to me in the voice Mom used to use when we were kids. Before we realized she loved Dad more than us and that she could quickly turn love into anger. I hate it.

“Doesn’t matter.”

I’m not surprised when she moves closer to me and drops her head to my shoulder. She’s always been like this. Sweet and innocent, trying to see the best there is in the world. We couldn’t be more different, and even though she’s the only important person in my life, I heft her head off me and walk away.

“Did they look at your drawings?”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t take no for an answer, Maddy. Go back and keep trying. They’ll respect your dedication.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. “I’m not trying to get a job at a Walmart or something. It’s a tattoo parlor. If they tell me no, I’m pretty sure they mean it.”

“Want me to ask Adrian? Or Colt? They might know someone who—”

“Nope.”

Laney sighs, making guilt ease its way through my anger. I’m a shitty brother to her and I know it.

“Maddox, you want this. You haven’t wanted anything in a long time. You deserve it, but you might have to fight for it.” She’s quiet for a second before adding, “I want it for you.”

I know exactly what she’s trying to say. She wants to fix me. She doesn’t think I fight for anything and that part is true.

It’s about all I can handle today. Sometimes she believes in shit so much, she makes me want to do the same, but then I think about how I let them all down. How I knew Dad was gambling and knew about the money, but for selfish reasons kept my mouth shut. How Laney was alone when she found Mom the first time she tried to kill herself. I should have been with her. So she’s wrong. Maybe I don’t deserve something good.

“How do you know they’re not saying no because I suck?”

“You forget I saw your book. Not that you even told me you draw. I had to find it by accident!” she yells.

Definitely time for me to get out of here. “I gotta go. I forgot I have something to take care of. Lock up for me when you leave, yeah?” I tell her. I never should have given her a key in the first place. I don’t even know why I did.

“Maddy…”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” And then I close the door and leave, just like I walked away from Masquerade. Like I walk away from everything that matters.