Page 48 of Retribution
Dakota wished she could hang out with Cobra for the rest of the day, then spend the night buried under the sheets with him. The night before, she had an aggressive SOB who had wanted a swastika on his forearm and then an idiot who’d wanted a tat on his dick. She hoped her shift that night would bring in a saner group of clients.
After some really good ribs and potato salad, Dakota waved goodbye to Cobra then entered the tattoo parlor. She was still worried that her slip up in telling Cobra about the rape would color his entire opinion of her, regardless of his repeated assurances to the contrary. Men didn’t get over the whole tainted, sullied-goods thing so easily.
Dakota sighed and wiggled the mouse to activate the shop’s computer screen. She had at least another five appointments to navigate through, mostly consultations, just talking and walking them through the process. After that, as long as she didn’t get any surprise walk-ins, she could be home in a little over three hours.
A whole three damn hours to imagine all the ways Cobra could bend, lick, suck, and thrust his way into her sex hall of fame. Not that the list was that long or anything: quite the opposite.
She grimaced and made a couple of notes in the computer next to a client who was showing up to consult about a cover-up tattoo. Those were tricky and, most often, some of her least favorite work. While some artists loved the puzzle of it all, Dakota found that covering up a person’s ink so no one saw the original as a frustrating labyrinth of possible things that could go wrong. Much like her rusty sex life, it was a lot easier to jump into the act when she had a clean slate—unfortunately, that wasn’t their reality. It never would be, either.
“You look like you’re thinking awfully hard there, honey. You might want to lighten up before you get wrinkles.”
Dakota glanced up as a shock of surprise whipped up her spine. An older woman was standing in front of the counter, adult braces gleaming in the shop lights, her blonde bob cut severally to her chin.
“Oh, hello. I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you there. How can I help you?” Dakota blinked a few times and tried to get her heart rate back in line. Her thoughts slowly started to re-register to what was happening in the real world versus what had been going down in her head.
“I’m here for my appointment, if you can manage that with everything else you have going on up there?” The woman reached across the counter and tapped a bright-red fake nail on the side of Dakota’s temple. “Please, tell me it’s a man. If it’s not a man, you shouldn’t be paying it any mind.”
Unable to wrap her mind around what was happening while she scrambled for another answer—any other answer than the truth—Dakota found herself babbling helplessly about what was actually going on in her life. It was as if she were living outside her body, watching herself stumble over her words to this older woman.
“Ah, so it’d been awhile since your flower had been plucked, and now that it has, you want it all the time, right?” The woman grinned again and leaned one elbow on the counter, giving Dakota a knowing glance. “Jump him, don’t think about it, and don’t take no for an answer. He’ll appreciate you telling him what you want.”
She winked and Dakota’s eyes widened. This was … utterly insane. There was no other word for it.
“Sure,” she replied, mindlessly tapping into the keyboard a bunch of useless symbols so it looked as if she were busy doing her job. “What exactly can I help you with, Mrs.—?”
“Tawny Delanie.”
Before she could absorb that gem of a name, the woman launched into a detailed depiction of her ideal tattoo, which included the baby Jesus holding a box of Cheez-its, surrounded by a field of wildflowers with two banners on the top and bottom with important dates. After that consultation, the rest of the night flew by with nothing quite so colorful, but anything else seemed easy after Tawny.
Dakota racked up a list of drawings she would have to complete and kept a running tally of how much time she estimated they would take outside of the shop. By the time her replacement, Jackson, stumbled in to close up and handle all the machines, she was itching to fling herself out the door and onto the back of Cobra’s Harley.
“Dude’s out there,” Jackson snorted and pointed with his thumb to the purple bike she saw waiting across the street, painted by the shop signs down the block.
“Thanks.”
Dakota cleaned up her work station with trembling fingers and threw everything in her bag; she typed in her “logged-out” time and was out the door before she could process what had made her quicker than normal. What sheshould dowas stay back and pick Jackson’s brain. Figure out the shop’s inner workings, ask about their clients’ intricacies so she could play off them later as she developed her own clientele.
Instead, she was moving straight into Cobra’s arms as if nothing in the world could stop her single-minded trajectory.
“You look … intense,” he remarked lightly, looking her up and down before handing her a helmet.
“Long shift,” Dakota muttered and swung herself over the back of the bike.
Her attention zeroed in on the nape of his neck. It took everything inside her not to place a kiss on his flesh before licking up his neck and letting the lightly chilled night breeze tickle his skin. Instead, she bit her lip and told herself to cool her damn jets and wait a little bit, read the situation rather than pounce on him like a cat in heat.
“Work rough tonight?”
Dakota nodded as he opened the motel door for them both and lifted his T-shirt over his head then flung it across the nearest chair.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really—just some pain in the ass clients and some strange ones too. I guess an ordinary day in an ink shop. How was work for you?”
“Hot as hell and it felt longer than usual. I’ve gotta take a quick shower.” Cobra walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. A few minutes later, she heard the sound of running water. She sat at the edge of the bed and reached for the room’s telephone on the nightstand and, cradling the receiver in the crook of her neck, she dialed Pizza Madness. On the fourth ring, the employee picked up and she ordered their usual two medium deep-dish pies, one with pepperoni, one with extra cheese. Dakota hung up the phone, stood up, walked over to the wall nearest to the window, and parted the curtains a little and looked out.Have things changed between me and Cobra?
“You clearly got something on your mind, sweetheart.” Cobra’s voice startled her out of her musings, and she spun around.
Dakota dipped her gaze to the short white towel snug around his waist then slowly drew her eyes up over his chiseled abs and chest.
