SIX (6 page)

“Not just anyone though—mighty Thor. That’s a compliment.”

Jude raises a questioning brow at Lucky.

“Sounds like you fantasize about him, too.”

“I fantasize I am him.” Lucky chuckles.

“You?” Jude asks, nodding to Six.

Pushing off the bar, Six pats them both on the shoulder.

“I don’t need to fantasize about being a God,” he reaches down and grabs his junk, “I am one.”

My eyes roll on their own accord.

“Misty, are you going to stand there all night or what?” I startle at my name being called and my cheeks flush.

My feet take a step in every direction before I suddenly turn on my heel and exit down the corridor.

Laughs echo in my wake and I have to take a deep breath when I push open the door and walk into the parking lot.

Swallowing the fear growing in my stomach at the thought of walking alone in the dark all the way back to the motel, I take one more look at the bar door, then out into the empty lot before inhaling a deep breath.

Putting one foot in front of the other, I brave the walk.

Bitter rain bites at my arms and my mind plays tricks on me, causing every shadow to look sinister while my hyper alert hearing imagines footsteps crashing to the ground behind me.

My heart pounds in my chest, my pulse erratic as my fear spikes.

I’m about to start running when a hand lands on my shoulder and spins my body around.

A high-pitched sound leaves my mouth, shattering the night’s silence, and my arms flail around in chopping motions.

In my head, I look like Bruce Lee.

In reality, I look like I’m swatting a bee.

“Calm down, calm down,” a familiar voice hushes me.

My eyes adjust and open wide to see Six peering down at me with pursed lips and a raised brow.

“What the hell was that, Kung Fu?” he inquires, humor tinting his voice and curling his lip.

“You do know you didn’t actually make contact, right? I could have easily been a murderer and killed you.”

My heart hammers in my chest. “What are you doing?” I screech, causing him to step back.

“It’s pitch fucking black and you’re a woman.”

“And?”

“And I could have been a fucking murderer! What the hell? You think I’m some sort of asshole who would let my employee just walk around in the pitch black of night.”

“Actually…” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

“I’m an asshole, but not that kind of asshole. If anything happened to you, I’d have to kill people, and I don’t have time for that shit.”

Not knowing how to respond and ignoring the heat growing in my stomach at the fact that he said he would kill if someone hurt me, I just stand there staring at the tall drink of tequila.

I bet he would burn your body up going down and then send your head into bliss. Damn, why was he so beautiful?

“You’re looking at me funny, Mist.”

My eyes spark, growing bigger as my cheeks heat.

“I’m just tired, I guess,” I try to defend, though he probably thinks I’m some sort of weirdo.

“Yeah, that’s not a tired look
. Fuck
. Go get in my truck.” He turns around and appears to be adjusting his jeans.

“Why do you want me in your truck?” I ask over his shoulder.

“So I can drive you home,” he groans.

Was he mad at me?

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, my words fumbling as they leave my lips.

The last thing I want is for him to find out I don’t actually have a home.

I’m still building up the courage to ask him about the apartment.

“Have you not been listening to anything I’ve said?” He turns, frustration written in his furrowed brow.

I really hadn’t been listening to half the things he said.

I’d been looking at his lips while he was talking and imagining them gliding over my skin.

The only conversation I want to have with him is my fingers reading the braille of his flesh.

“You’re looking at me funny again,” he growls.

I rush past him toward his truck, needing space before I make more of an ass out of myself.

It bleeps and the lights come on.

Opening the door, I place my foot on the step and the next thing I know, huge palms push against my ass, hoisting me inside.

He takes a few seconds before joining me, his scent mixing with the leather of the seats and intoxicating my already perverse mind.

Was it normal for a woman to be this horny over a man? I didn’t really have much experience when it came to men in general.

Growing up, I was always preoccupied with helping run things at home and my dad’s bar.

I did have a boyfriend who I gave my virginity to in the back of his dad’s car, but it was awful and made me more frustrated and left wanting than anything else.

I played my part, telling him how amazing he was, but we only lasted a month before I just couldn’t pretend anymore.

I didn’t lack attention from men.

I wasn’t an ugly duckling, just preoccupied with taking care of everything.

It would be nice to be taken care of for a change.

Looking at Six all the time gives away my desire for him, but I can’t not look at him. It’s a magnetic pull impossible to ignore.

Being drawn to someone with such intensity that every part of you feels like it’s being extracted through your pores and settling on the skin of the other.

“So…”

“The motel,” I answer, averting my eyes from his.

“Give me your car keys.”

“Why?”

“Can you just do something without asking me why all the time?”

I want to ask why, but I hold my tongue and rummage through my purse to give him the keys.

We drive in silence, but the cab is like a steam room.

I pull my shirt away from my chest a little to let in a small breeze as he cracks the window.

My body and mind feel like a hurricane of emotion and sensation—everything is pandemonium with him so close to me.

“You smell good,” he grinds out, sounding like he’s in pain.

“I’m sweating.” I wrinkle my nose.

“Well, it’s good sweat.”

“Erm…thanks. You smell really good, too.”

His eyes stare a warming glare into the side of my face and I’m embarrassed at the thought of leaving a wet spot on his seat.

My pussy is going to rupture into a full-blown orgasm if I don’t get away from him.

We pull up to the motel and he jumps out before I even unbuckle my belt.

“You don’t need to come with me, unless—” I stop myself, pressing my lips together and ducking my gaze.
Fuck
, that sounded like a total invitation, and a man like Six would never go for someone like me
—
mousy.

“That’s not going to happen. I want to make sure you go inside. You never know who lurks around these places.”

That’s never going to happen.

My chest burns with humiliation and my eyes prick with tears.

If they drop, I’m never going to be able to work for him, see him, or be in the same state as him again.

Turning quickly so he can’t see the hurt on my face, I find the key to the room with the number six etched into it.
Ha, figures.

“Bye,” I throw over my shoulder while unlocking my door in haste.

Entering, I slam the door closed and rest my head against the wood.

The tears drop to my cheeks and I berate myself for being so stupid and emotional.

Looking through the spy hole, I see him pacing and talking to himself.

He slams his hand down on the truck a few times, then jumps in and skids out of the parking lot, leaving a tire dust trail in his wake.

My balls are so tight, if I don’t release the build-up, I’m going to end up crying in a corner today.

Why did she have to smell so good? She shriveled her cute nose, appearing grossed out when I told her that last night, but there was nothing gross about her scent.

Her skin was coated in a sheen of sweat and her full hips moved around so much in the seat, she might as well have just shoved her hand in her panties and had at it.
Fuck
, now I’m imaging her doing that.

“What are you thinking about?” Lucky asks, pulling his brows together.

“Nothing.” I turn on my stool so he doesn’t see my hard-on.

“Both of our two o’clocks canceled,” he tuts, “you okay with me laying down some new artwork for the wall?”

“Go for it,” I call over my shoulder.

I’ve managed to avoid Misty for most of the day, but I couldn’t keep that shit up. She needed to find someone else to crush on.

And then I’ll kill them.

This shit is impossible.

Just as I’m about to declare I’m going up to the apartment
to yank the beast
, the door opens.

Two blondes saunter in—short skirts, long legs, fake tits, and big, bloated cock sucking lips.

“Do you have any appointments for right now?” the petite one of the two sings, swirling a strand of her blonde, Barbie-looking hair around her small finger.

My instincts tell me not to inform her my two o’clock had to reschedule, but she dips into her purse, pulls out a wad of cash, and grins while waving it around.

“I can pay extra if you can fit it in,” she teases, batting what I’m positive are false lashes. I hate those things.

I woke up once with a girl who looked like someone completely different from the one I went to bed with.

Her eyelashes were stuck all over our bodies, like we’d rolled around on a bed of spiders and ended up covered in their legs.

Her tanned skin from the night before looked like she was a melting orange wax model. My sheets resembled an Oompa Loompa massacre.

She unclipped her hair and tossed it on the nightstand at some point.

Her eyebrows were smudged across her forehead and her tits were these gel things still in her bra.

It was fucking scary.

The girl still waving money in my face draws my attention when her girlfriend standing next to her bursts out in laughter and then corrects the “mistake” her friend made.

“Fit US in for a tattoo, she means.” Leaning into her friend’s ear, she not so quietly whispers, “Slut.”

This doesn’t appear to faze the money handler, though.

She gives me a haughty look, seeming pleased with herself.

I’m already bored of them both and ready to claw my own ears off, but her dollars are as good as anyone’s.

I can never seem to turn down cash—or the fact that Misty is next door and this would be a good way to show her what type of man I am: one not worthy of her.

“I want something dark and broody. A quote or something poetic.”

I hate it when people come in here on a whim or because their friends think it’s cool and have no idea of what they want.

It makes zero sense for them to expect me to decide what to put on
their
skin—something that will be there for the rest of
their
life.

Don’t get me wrong, I love doing custom work, but usually the client has the basics of what they want and lets me run loose with it.

These giggling girls are clearly only here to flirt and have a story to tell their girlfriends.

“I can easily fit it in,” I state, getting up from the desk and gesturing them over to where Lucky is cleaning his station.

“This is Lucky. He can do something for you if you only want quotes.”

“Oh, lucky me,” the girl’s friend beams, slipping onto the table and tugging her skirt down her hips to where her bikini line begins.

“I want it right here.” She points, stroking her finger over her flesh.

My and Lucky’s eyes follow her finger as it draws a line from the bottom of her hip to the top of her pussy.

“I want you to do me,” the other girl utters, plopping her ass on my table and slowly opening her legs.

“I want mine here on my inner thigh, so it’s a secret only lucky people get to see.”

There is going to be a lot of lucky people in her life.

She isn’t prudish or subtle when it comes to what she really wants, and the smell of her juices is already potent in the air around me.

She’s gagging for the big bad tattoo artist to fuck her sore on the table.

“And what is it you want exactly?” I ask again, ignoring the fact that her pussy is staring at me.