The screeching of the car tires still echoes inside my head.
He drags me into Ink and Shadows, past a desk with a frowning receptionist, and to the back of the shop. There is a small sitting area there but he doesn’t stop. He pulls me into a cubicle and sits me in a large leather chair.
“Wait here,” he says, and by the time I blink and glance around—a picture of three laughing children, a black dragon figurine, a pack of cigarettes—he’s back with a tall glass of water. “Here you go.”
I take it and sip. The water is cold, numbing my mouth. I like that. I like sitting in this chair, in this cubicle that smells of him. It smells of ink and leather, with a subtle dark musk underneath.
I like looking into his eyes. They are a beautiful gold, a warm honey color, and I imagine I see worry for me in them.
I imagine kissing his full mouth, feeling that silver hoop pressing into soft flesh.
“How are you feeling, Candy girl?” His voice is a low purr and he’s staring at my mouth, too, as if he wants to kiss me.
The same way he’d looked at me that night, so intense the thrill had shocked me, fascination bordering on fear. And I’m still fascinated. He reminds me of a wild animal, savage and beautiful. Untamed. You don’t know if it will lick or bite you.
A bite seems more likely and the thought makes me smile.
“Ah, there you are,” he says softly. “You’re looking better already. Had me scared for a minute.”
Well, good. Why should I be the only one scared? The only one fascinated, distracted, panicked and lost? Let’s all fall down this rabbit hole.
“You’re thinking all the dark thoughts,” he whispers, “aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
A slow grin spreads over his lips. He tugs the silver hoop between his teeth. “Mm… Is this an invitation to look inside your head?”
“My head is a mess right now,” I admit, handing the glass back to him.
He absently places it on his desk. “That suits me fine. Think mine is any better? I bet yours is a beautiful mess, though, Candy girl.”
“Don’t think that,” I whisper.
“Our messes are beautiful. They are a part of us.”
“Spoken like an artist.”
“Spoken like a fellow-sufferer.” He takes the pack of cigarettes, pulls one out. “Wanna share your mess with me?”
“Is that a come-on line?”
He laughs, shakes his head and pushes the cigarette back into the case. “Gimme some credit. I have better come-on lines than that.”
“Do you have more piercings?”
“Would you like to find out?” he throws my words back at me with a smirk.
I lick my lips. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Why now, of all times, my body is taking the reins. Most probably because my mind is off to la-la-land, trying to stop screaming and find a coherent thread to bind itself with.
“One kiss,” I hear myself saying. “Just one kiss.”
He studies my face from under his dark lashes. Then he nods. “One stolen kiss.”
“Why stolen?”
“So you will be back for more. Girls like thieves and thugs.”
“Do they?” I whisper.
