Betrayed (Dark Desires 2)

sat at a bar. I had no idea what a bad biker bitch like me would drink.

“Shots and beer,” he said, nodding over his shoulder at the bottles lined against the wall.

“Tequila shot,” I said, trying to sound tougher than I felt. I had tried to psyche myself up, but my insides were churning. I could feel my heart beating in my neck. I was a nervous wreck, but I knew I couldn’t show it. A little voice in my head kept telling me to just breath… show fear, and they’ll tear you apart...

The only tequila I’d ever drank was mixed in the margaritas at El Mexicana, the restaurant where Brent and I went when we had a craving for Mexican. I had never finished one of the icy drinks, served in a glass the size of a fishbowl. I put my elbows on the bar and tried to look tough as I watched the bartender bring over the shot glass of dark liquid.

“Run you a tab?” he asked, wiping his hands on the rag.

“Um, sure,” I said, picking up the shot and bringing it to my lips. The harsh stink of tequila filled my nostrils and made my eyes water. The old man chuckled and shuffled away. I set the shot on the bar without bringing it to my lips.

Movement on the other side of the bar caught my eye. There was a room in the back of the bar. Several large men were standing in the doorway, gawking at me. One of them, the biggest one, stared directly into my eyes. The blood froze in my veins. I had just made eye contact with Richard Wright.

I knew it was Richard Wright because I’d spent hours studying every line of his face. I had memorized every detail of his life that Mr. Beamon had sent me. I probably knew as much about Richard “Rick” Wright as the police did. I also knew everything there was to know about his brother, Eddie, and the rest of his band of thugs.

I was shocked that Rick had never been convicted of any crime. He was the careful one, I supposed. Then there was Eddie; the dangerous, younger brother who had spent more time in jail than out. His criminal record included arrests for assault with a deadly weapon, assault and battery, breaking and entering, car theft, and burglary. He had been arrested twice for rape and once for sexual battery, but had not been convicted of those crimes. I suspected that Eddie was the one who killed Brent. I would know for sure the moment he smiled at me.

I knew all this because Mr. Beamon had emailed me complete police dossiers of The Wright Brothers, sent to him by his pal on the force. I’d spent hours studying it, memorizing it, deciding how I could use it to my advantage.

The day after getting my hair done, I drove to a tattoo shop near the Cost Clippers where I used to work. I’d seen the place hundreds of times over the years but had never given a moment’s thought to stopping in for a tattoo. I parked near the front door, sat in my car for a few minutes working up my courage, then went inside.

The girl behind the counter had hair as black as my new dye job. She was wearing a skin-tight black tank top and skinny black jeans. She wore clunky combat boots on her feet. Her arms and shoulders were covered by tattoos; a mixture of colorful flowers, birds, butterflies, and smiling skulls. She had a small diamond stud on the right side of her nose.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, swallowing my fear of needles. “I want a tattoo.”

“Okay. What kind of tattoo?”

I nodded at her arms and shoulders. “I want that.”

She frowned as if she didn’t understand. She asked, “You mean you want some flowers and butterflies? Where do you want them?”

“No, you don’t understand,” I said. I gestured at her with both hands. “I want that. All of that. On me.”

She gave me a smirk that let me know how amused she was by tattoo virgins who thought they wanted their bodies covered in ink.

“This,” she said, gesturing to herself, “is about twenty hours and a couple grand. And it hurts like a motherfucker, so we typically space something out this big over the course of a month or two.”

“I have two weeks,” I said, reaching into my purse. I counted out twenty-one-hundred-dollar bills into a net stack on the counter. Her eyes grew wider with each bill. “I’d like to have it done within a week so it has time to heal.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, reaching for the stack of cash. “We can do as much as you can stand today, then tomorrow, then the next day.”

“That would be great,” I said.

She folded the bills in half and shoved them into her back pocket. “Anything else I can do for you?”

I looked down at her clothes.

“Yes. You can tell me where you buy your clothes.”

RICK

I watched her as I sauntered behind the bar and pulled a fresh beer from the cooler. I twisted off the cap and tossed it in the trash on my way to her end of the bar. She glanced up, saw me coming, then looked down. The closer I got, the more beautiful she was.

“Hi, there,” I said, holding up the beer. “Can I get you one of these to chase that with?”

She blinked at me for a moment, like I was speaking fucking French. She picked up the shot and said, “No, that’s okay. This is fine.”