Volatile Obsessions by Dee Garcia (8)

“That’s gonna look sick as fuck,” Stryker mused, a devious smirk flitting across his handsome face as he eyed my bare chest.

Well, almost bare chest. Aside from the black tape laid over my nipples in an X, everything else was on display. Not that there was much to see, really. I wasn’t a part of the big ol’ titty committee.

Swatting his arm with a playful hand, I rolled my eyes and sat up right in my seat. “Move out the way! Let me see, dammit!”

“Okay, okay, geez,” he laughed, rolling away on his stool to allow me a look in the mirror.

Even from my vantage point, I found myself gasping, scrambling onto my feet to get a closer look. The design we’d discussed several weeks back literally had nothing on the masterpiece Stryker ended up recreating.

The focal point was the raven laid out on my sternum, its beak parted as though it were croaking its call, wings splayed out amongst two roses on either side. Beneath it, a crown sat surrounded by rose leaves that swept up the sides to tie the entire design together.

It was perfect, and gorgeous, and just—

“It’s you,” Stryker mused, reading my mind. “Flows well with the rest of your ink.”

I might’ve been biased, but he was right. Everything just meshed well, and it wasn’t even permanent yet.

With one last look in the mirror, I melted into the cool leather, regarding my friend with nothing but excitement. You’d think after all the tattoos already adorning my body that I’d be used to this, but each and every piece was a new adventure. A new rush.

It never got old.

“Ready?” he asked, slowly reclining my chair as far possible.

“As always. Let’s do this.”

That familiar, comforting buzz met my ears not ten seconds later. I took a deep breath and shut my eyes, allowing Stryker to work without the stress of my stare. Feeling the needles puncture my skin was instantly therapeutic. The world around me, and all the problems within it gave away to the recesses of my mind, allowing me to fully relax under Stryker’s hand.

“Sooo… How’s Suki?” he quipped after a beat.

The grin in his voice was palpable, and for that, I smirked. He had absolutely no shame in his game, at least not when it came to Suki. The man had been pining after her probably as long as she’d been pining after him. Why they weren’t together yet, I had not a clue.

“She’s good—up to her neck in new students at the studio,” I replied, stifling down a laugh at the reaction I knew was coming.

Stryker groaned, louder than intended. “That girl has some serious moves. Doesn’t surprise me Vybe is thriving.”

Moves she wants to put on you.

“You should come one Friday night. It’s kind of like a weekly showcase for all the advanced routines. By midnight, though, it’s basically another club; drinks, black lights, good music. You get the picture, right?”

“Cover charge?”

“Newbs only,” I conceded. “If you come with me, though, you’re good. Plus, Suki would never charge you anyway, and I know she’d be happy to see you.”

Like a broken record, the buzz of Stryker’s machine stopped as he went completely rigid beside me, and once again, I had to reign myself in from bursting into a fit of laughter.

Intrigued blue eyes bore into me the moment I cracked open my eyelids. “Did she say that?” he questioned.

“No, but—”

Ping!

The abrupt chime of my phone halted the admission right on the tip of my tongue. Without prompting, Stryker reached over his station and passed it to me, studying me with a curious brow. I hoped it was Suki, just to see what his reaction would be, but it wasn’t. It was Vic, and the text message illuminating my screen shot up all types of red flags I couldn’t ignore.

Of course we do.

Everything with him was a damn problem these days.

I sighed in frustration and typed out a quick response.

“I’ve gotta take this,” I said to Stryker after sending my last reply. “Come with me outside.”

“You smokin?” he asked as he set his machine down and ripped off his gloves.

“I’ll pass this time. I just need someone to keep me from going nuclear on Vic.”

Stryker laughed despite my unappeased expression, shaking his head sardonically. He knew about Vic all too well. Didn’t care for him too much either. “C’mon, let’s go out the side. Quieter than out front,” he suggested, showing me out into the dimly lit narrow corridor.

We trailed it’s short length in silence, pushing out through the emergency exit to the humid alley way on the other side. Even tucked away back here, the vim and vigor from Ocean Drive carried over, a hint of Bad Bunny’s latest track, too, and the pungent scent of ocean water.

Stryker immediately pulled out a pack and sparked up a smoke as I tapped on Vic’s name in my recents and laid my back to coral stucco of the building. Not a full ring later, our call was connected.

“Boss lady...” he answered candidly.

I rolled my eyes. Now was not the time for his games. “Cut the shit, Kane. Who is this asshole?”

“Ramos doesn’t know all the details. He overheard his boys discussing it a few days ago. All they know is he’s from New York and he wants a cut of the territory.”

“Well, that’s obviously not happening. You sure that’s all Hector knows?” I pressed, tamping down the spike in my temper.

“Why don’t you listen for yourself? One sec, lemme put you on speaker.”

The softest shuffling scraped through the line, followed by what sounded like some electrical current and Hector’s pained growls.

“Go on, tell her what you told me,” Vic gritted out above the ruckus.

Hector’s cries only grew louder, as did the voltage, prickling almost every hair on my body at attention. I ground my teeth together. The static was like nails on a chalkboard, licking up my body in burning waves.

I said kill him, not play with him.

“Enough!” I barked, snapping Stryker’s head to where as I stood as he blew out a cloud of smoke.

Everything on the other side of the phone went silent, too.

“Tell her!” Vic demanded.

Thud.

Then a whimper.

That whimper said it all; he’d pistol whipped him, I could tell. Knew the sound. Would never forget that damn sound. I clenched my eyes together and tightened my grip on the phone as Vic bashed him a second time.

“No se nada!” Ramos screamed in distress. “I don’t know anything!”

He wasn’t lying. The agony in his voice was beyond genuine, an exhausted cry for help. Those who had something hide always put up a fight. Weakness shows your true colors.

“Take his word, Vic—he’s not fibbing. Do what you need to do and be done with it. Enough with the theatrics,” I hissed, my voice so deathly low, even Stryker shifted on his feet before me as he flicked his cigarette to the asphalt. “And when you’re done, start asking questions. Lots of questions. I want to know who this phantom tosser is by Monday.”

“I don’t know if that’s doable, Lux. I’m gonna need more than—”

“Make. It. Doable, Kane. Answers, Monday. Goodbye.”

Click.

Shoving the phone into my pocket, I all but growled in exasperation, pushing off the brickwork behind me. My hands snaked into my hair, tugging at the roots.

What the hell was happening to my city?

First Ramos, now this newbie from Yonkers. Didn’t anyone around here have fucking manners anymore?

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Stryker began, holding his hands up surrender. “Need me to have Deja book you in next week? I can move some shit around.”

“Fuck that,” I waved him off, “I came here to get tatted. I’m not walking out until it’s done. Vic can handle this shit show. It’s a joke anyway.”

Little did I know that, not only was the joke on me, it was only just getting started…