Now Leaving Sugartown Page 21

  As I walk down the busy street beside her, with her tiny hand tucked in mine on the way to visit the tattoo parlour that she used to work at, the woman beside me has a smile on her face, a glimmer in her eyes and a spring in her step, though if you’d told her that last part she’d likely kick you in the nuts and spout off some bitchy comment about how she wasn’t a deer, or a bunny, or some other animal that leaps about when they’re excited.

  She pulls me to a stop in front of a tattoo shop. Through the wide plate-glass windows, the stations and an ornate black desk at the very front of the shop are visible. There’s a very Goth vibe going on inside: blood-red walls, black countertops, painted black concrete floor.

  “Shit. Mace is working the front desk,” Pepper says, chewing her bottom lip.

  “Mace, Mace? As in, the guy who gave you that pretty little piercing on your perfect cunt?” My jaw ticks. “That Mace?”

  “Yes, Sam. That Mace.”

  I take a deep breath in through my nose and turn back to the window, searching him out. There’s a lean, heavily-inked dude sitting at the desk flicking through a titty magazine, his scuffed black Cons propped up on the counter. He does a double-take when he casually glances up and sees Pepper, and then he breaks out in the kind of grin that makes me wanna beat down the way I did when Luke Roberts had found us in a compromising position in his pantry and called Pepper a whore. The guy throws the magazine, gets up and crosses the room in a few strides, yanking open the door.

  “Well, I’ll fucking be. Look who finally decided to show up to work, three months fucking late?” he yells, scooping a protesting, squirming Pepper up in his arms. “Where you been, baby?”

  “Baby?” I ask, raising my brows and glaring at this chump.

  “I skipped town, Mace. Went home.”

  “Well, shit,” he says, and the weight of his stare suggests he knows what that meant to her, to go home. Just how fucking close were these two? And how much did she tell him about her life in Sugartown? Mace tips his head in my direction and stage whispers, “Who’s the pretty-boy civilian, babe?”

  “Mace, this is Sam,” Pepper says.

  I fold my arms across my chest and say, “The boyfriend.”

  Mace’s eyebrows quirk up and he gets this confused expression on his dopey-as-fuck face, and then the douche bag laughs. “Good one, mate.” He turns to Pepper and asks, “This your brother or somethin’?”

  “Nope. He really is my boyfriend.”

  “You go to the country and come back with a bare-backed cowboy permanently attached to your hip? Baby, you’re breaking my heart. You told me if you ever left that dickhead Stieg, it’d be my bed you’d be rolling around in.”

  “Trust me, the only bed she’s going to be rolling around in from now on is mine,” I say, stepping closer to him.

  “Alright, Country, message received loud and clear, don’t bust a fucking nut.”

  “Listen, is Dane in? I kinda maybe need my old job back.”

  “He’s pretty fucking pissed, babe. Mine wasn’t the only heart you broke when you up and left us.”

  “Is he in or not?” Pepper snaps, folding her arms.

  “He’s in back. Just got done with a six-hour client so he’s sipping a little juice and smoking a little weed.”

  “Thanks, Mace.”

  He chuckles. “Let’s see if you’re still thanking me when he’s done reaming you a new one.”

  Pepper shakes her head and walks through the shop door. I follow, but once we’re in the foyer she turns and places a hand on my chest. “It might be best if I go in by myself. He’s kind of a cranky sullen bastard, and it may take some grovelling to get this job back.”

  “Then he’s a jackarse and you don’t really need this job.” I reach out and tuck a wayward lock behind her ear. “You don’t need to work, babe. I know you don’t want to stay in Coop’s house forever, and neither do I, but you don’t need a job. I have more than enough to keep us afloat for a long time.”

  From behind me a whistling infiltrates my ears. The more time I spend with this arsehole, the more I wanna rearrange his stupid face. “Country’s rolling in the dough, Pep. Better accept. Or you might hurt his old-fashioned sensibilities.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I say, as the douche bag walks behind the counter and sits down, porno in his hands and feet propped up on the counter again.

  What kind of a fucking stupid name is Mace, anyway?

  “I have to work, Sam. I’ll go crazier if I don’t. Take a seat and I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Yeah, okay. Go get your job back, but then I’m taking you home and fucking you senseless.” I grin and smack her on the arse.

  Pepper reaches up on tiptoes to kiss me. “Have I ever mentioned how hot your jealous streak makes me?”

  “Nope, don’t think you have.”

  “Liar.”

  “How hot, exactly?” I ask.

  She leans in and I bend a little so she can whisper in my ear, “If I were wearing panties right now, they’d be soaked.”

  I suck in a sharp breath and slide my hand over her arse. “When we get back to the McMansion I’m going to make good on that promise, Little.”

  “Why wait until then, when you have a perfectly good truck parked around the corner?” She spins away from me with a smile on her face and then she points to Mace as she walks past. “Behave. I wanna keep this one.”

  “I thought you liked it better when I didn’t behave?”

  I growl low in my throat, unaware I’m even making the noise until Mace’s face splits into a devilish smile. He knows he has me right where he wants me. Mace follows Pepper’s journey through the shop until she disappears through a padded, black leather-upholstered door. His smile is smug when he turns around. I fold my arms and glare at him. Cock-fuck.

  “Relax, dude, Pep and I go way back. I gave her that piercing she’s sporting in that gorgeous pussy of hers.”

  “Then maybe I should thank you,” I reply without hesitation. “If the sex was good before, it’s fucking explosive with that little piece of jewellery involved.”

  Mace smiles. It’s half haughty, but half snide too. As if he’s pissed his words didn’t have the desired effect. Taking a seat, I flip through the heavy leather books filled with drawings of skulls and other things more abstract to keep my mind from going fucking nuts. There’s an iron Frankenstein, a million different types of swallows, skulls and tigers, and even a psychedelic angry pink cupcake that I feel as if I’ve seen somewhere before.

  “Wait,” Mace says. “You’re the dude, aren’t you?”

  I smile triumphantly. “Yeah, I’m the dude.”

  “The one who popped her cherry in a fucking pantry when she was sixteen?”

  That has the smile slipping from my face and I clear my throat.

  “Man, you could have at least sprung for a cheap hotel.”

  “That was an accident.”

  “An accident? How do you fuck someone by accident? ‘Sorry bitch, I slipped’.” He covers his mouth with a heavily tattooed hand in mock surprise.

  “That’s not exactly how it happened.” I say through gritted teeth. “And it was an accident because I hadn’t intended to fuck her then, or ever.”

  “Wow, see now that just makes it so much worse.”

  “Shut the fuck up. I’ve made it up to her every time since, and there have been many, many times since.”

  “Whatever you say, man.”

  I stand up and Mace’s eyes narrow. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take the tiniest bit of delight in seeing him flinch when I came up to my full height, several inches taller than him. He’s not weedy, and the dude’s probably a scrappy fighter, but I was taught by the best. Men who have gone into battle with bikers and world-famous rock stars, and yes men who’ve even taken on Dave the publican, and they’ve come out virtually unscathed. So this little punk-arse prick? If push came to shove, he’d be out like a light on the ground by my feet. Something tells me he knows that too.<
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  “Tell Pepper I’m waiting outside.”

  “You got it, Country.”

  I step outside onto the footpath and watch the cars and people go by. A short time later the little bell above the door rings as Pepper opens it, and I catch the end of her conversation with Mace.

  “Well it just so happens Master Inkstain loves me. I’ll be back tomorrow, but you will be on your best behaviour, Mace. Or it won’t just be Sammy kicking your arse,” she says, and I suppose neither one of us hear his response because the door swings shut and the sounds of the busy street engulf me once more.

  “Hey,” I say. As she bounds into my arms. I kiss her lips and taste pot. She reeks of it and her body is all lax and pliant, not full of nervous energy like before. I pull away and stare down at her, searching her sweet, butter-wouldn’t-melt face.

  “Are you high?” I ask, looking at the little red lines snaking out across the whites of her eyes.

  “What? No,” she insists. “I may be a little buzzed from passive smoking, though. Dane kinda likes to ‘bong on’.”

  “Should you really be around that kind of thing when you’re taking meds?”

  “Relax, Sammy, it’s just weed. It’s not like you and I never raided Holly and Jack’s stash before.”

  “It’s not the weed I’m worried about, Pepper.” I shake my head and glance at the shop window. Mace is still sitting at the desk, only now he’s leaning forward in his seat and watching the two of us. I glare at him and turn my attention back to Pepper.

  “There are other tattoo shops, you know? You could find somewhere else. You’re a gifted artist, Pepper; you could pick up that kind of work anywhere.”

  “Velvet Gun is the best there is. I don’t want to work anywhere else.”

  “But is that the best environment for you?” People bustle impatiently around us as we stand in the middle of the footpath. Pepper begins to fidget, she never was very good at standing in the one spot for too long. I grab her hand and we start walking down Chapel Street.

  “Sam, I’m fine. I’m not going to lose my shit and skitz out. I haven’t had an episode for years. These people are my friends, and it’s the best damn shop in all of Melbourne. I’m not going to take a chair somewhere else because you’re not a big fan of my co-workers.”

  I sigh, knowing I’m being unreasonable here. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about her working with a dude who’s seen her and had his hands on her sweet pussy, and another who apparently likes to “bong on” all day.

  “You hungry?” I ask, smelling the rich scents of sausage and grease from the hotdog place a few stores down. I pull her inside. The smell of chips and caramelised onions attacks my senses as we walk through the door, and my mouth waters.

  “I could go for sausage,” she teases with that wicked smile on her face that’s so familiar it’s like looking at my own reflection.”

  “Good, ’cause you’re about to get a Massive Weiner rammed down your throat.” The cashier blinks up at me in surprise. Pepper blinks up at me too and bursts out laughing. It’s that kind of stoned hysterical laughter, but I can’t help grinning at her because it’s not something I get to hear her do very often. I order for both of us, and smooth a strand of pink hair out of her eyes and say, “You gonna tell me why that dickhead Mace thinks he can paw at my girlfriend and call her baby?”

  “You have a girlfriend? Where is she? I’ll cut the bitch,” she says, as if that’s the funniest shit ever.

  “I’m serious.”

  She frowns, and opens her mouth, and then closes it again, waiting until we’re seated in a booth with our food. “He’s always been that way with me. He’s harmless, though; he’s a flirt. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Oh, he meant by it, trust me.”

  Pepper snatches a chip from my basket and squirrels away at it with her teeth. I don’t know if she’s thinking about Mace, or the bong bonding session with her boss is really starting to kick in, but she’s not here with me right now.

  “Hey.” I place my hand over the top of hers. Her gaze rolls over to mine. “So are you gonna tell me what this dope-smoking Master Inkstain said?”

  “I got my job back, obviously. He hadn’t given away my station, so that’s something at least.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t know … I’m always just going to be running up against the same problems in this business. The boys know I’m a better artist than all of them combined; it’s why Dane hadn’t given away my chair. But I think they like having me around because of the tits and arse on show, not because they respect me as a colleague, you know?”

  “What exactly do you mean by tits and arse on show?” I ask. I’m not being fucking cute. I actually want to know exactly how much of that body she’s putting out there for every arsehole to see. Especially that cock-head Mace.

  “Ninety-five per cent of my clients are male, Sammy. Males have cocks. Some males have cocks and money to blow on kickarse tattoos. I have a couple of regulars, but I’m more likely to get walk-ins if I look a certain way. It sucks, but if a dude staring at my boobs gets me an arse in my chair, I’m gonna take that two- or three- or four-hundred dollar session, because it means my rent is getting paid that week.”

  “Wow, this job is sounding better and better by the minute,” I say, and you could choke a fucking horse with the sarcasm dripping from my mouth.

  I make a mental note not to visit the parlour when she’s working. Then I think about Cheech and fucking Chong being the only bastards to have her back and decide that I should just camp out there during her shifts.

  And yeah, I know all this makes me a possessive douche, but I can’t help it. I waited nine years to be the only guy who gets to touch her. That’s a fucking long time to think of something as yours and not be able to actually have it, so I think I’m entitled to a little domineering douchery. Especially when that thing is as fucking breathtaking as Pepper.

  One month later

  I RUN the razor up my leg. Shaving in a hurry wasn’t the best plan, but at the last minute I’d switched jeans for a skirt, and no way in hell was I going to leave the house looking like big foot had raided the warehouse at Iron Fist.

  “Babe, we’re gonna be late,” Sam says from the other side of the door.

  “Keep your panties on, Belle. I’m coming.”

  “Hey, I’d just as soon stay home, order a pizza, and eat you out.”

  I chuckle and glance over at the door. “We’re going, Sam. Mace’s brother got us tickets. Apparently they sold out within an hour. Everyone is expecting us.”

  “No, everyone’s expecting you. They don’t give a shit either way if I’m there or not.”

  “You don’t have to come, you know. I did this kind of shit without Stieg all the time. He hated my friends, and he was always too busy with gigs or band practise.”

  “Then he’s a fucking idiot. I’m going,” he says, and his footsteps echo through the bedroom and down the corridor of Coop’s enormous house. A few seconds later, the sounds of a footy match and Sammy yelling at the umpire on the TV downstairs filter underneath the door.

  I shake my head and hurry through shaving, only when I’m gliding Sammy’s stainless steel double edged safety razor over my thigh, I push a little too hard and cut myself. My skin smarts and blood beads at either end of the cut before pooling in the middle. I stare at it. My heart beats faster, my belly explodes with butterflies, and then I close my eyes, and I float.

  When I open them again, my hands are trembling, blood is running down my leg in thick red rivulets through the shaving cream and I have six more incisions surrounding the first that I didn’t even know I was making.

  “Shit.” I stare dumbly at the mess I’m making on my father’s pristine white marble floors and panic seizes me. I snatch up a fluffy white towel—of course it’s white, because Coop’s whole fucking house is white, and looks nothing like my father’s beatnik, hipster style. I know for a fact that he’s only set foot in this hou
se once since he bought it. I ate dinner here with him and the wicked stepmother before he flew out to LA, and he looked about as comfortable walking the halls as I feel living here, which is not at all.

  I mop up the blood from my leg and then start in on the floor as Sammy’s footsteps trudge up the stairs and through the bedroom to find me. “Babe, you ready?”

  “Almost,” I call out to him.

  “Jesus woman, did you drown in there?” he says turning the knob on the door. I freeze before I remember it’s locked, and I thank the universe for small mercies. Grabbing a tissue from the sink, I fold it and press in against my weeping flesh as I slide my skirt over my legs, wincing when the fabric clings to the cuts. “Open the door, I gotta take a piss.”

  “Can’t you use another bathroom?”

  “That would mean I’d have to walk down the hall.” Sam raps on the door. “Open up.”

  I glance around the sink, wildly looking for any spots of blood that I may have missed, and then I stalk over, unlocking the door and yanking it back.

  Sam smiles down at me, but that grin quickly vanishes when he notices my expression.

  “You okay?” he asks, and god damn it, just once I wish he wasn’t able to read me so well.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “You sure? You look a little flustered.”

  “Well that’s because someone keeps hurrying me. You guys have it so damn easy. You shower, throw on some clothes, and you’re done. It doesn’t work that way for us.”

  Sam laughs as I head back to the mirror and attempt to apply red lipstick with shaking hands. He stands behind me and snakes his arms around my waist, pushing my hair to the side and kissing the nape of my neck. I close my eyes and chills break out over my body as his open-mouthed kisses trail across my shoulder and then make their way back to my ear, where he tugs my lobe into his mouth and bites down. My whole body goes from freaked-the-fuck-out to fuck-me-now in zero to sixty seconds. My pretty pink fortress of fuckery opens the drawbridge and rolls out the red carpet as Sam’s teeth skim my neck.