Burn (Brothers of Ink and Steel #2) (24 page)

“I don’t care if they can.” Liam kisses me gently then carries me to the kitchen sink and sets me on the counter.

“Now what?” I wonder out loud.

He laughs. “Even I need a few minutes to recover.”

Opening the drawer, he reveals nicely folded kitchen towels. He soaks one in warm water.

He lathers the cloth with a bar of soap. “Now, spread your legs for me.”

“Again?” I flirt. “Oh yes,” I say and open them very slowly and seductively.

“I can see we’ll be shut in here all weekend.”

Lovingly and full of tenderness, he wipes me clean then rinses me. While he cleans himself, he lays sweet kisses all over my face.

He drops the cloth in the sink. “I’ll deal with that later.” Picking me back up, he brings us back to the table, sits—with me on his lap—and opens the food cartons.

“The food is still warm.” I’m surprised.

“Insulated food bag.”

Liam opens the first carton, spears a piece of chicken with the fork and holds it to my lips. Who am I to argue? The gorgeous man wants to hand feed me. I can handle that!

I take a bite. “Oh my God, it’s so good,” I mumble.

“Best Moroccan chicken in the city.”

“I tend to remember your affection for Pop-Tarts and Hot Pockets.”

“Yeah, but a boy has to grow up.”

“And that you have.” I look over him with admiration.

*****

2015

Liam

Quinn’s gentle fingers glide over the tattoo on my left shoulder and bicep. A serious expression paints her face. She presses her eyes closed tightly, pained, and then leans in and kisses across my shoulder and down my arm.

“It’s been so long, I forgot about it,” I say, remembering the first tattoo I ever gave myself.
Damned
had been scrawled over my bicep in messy script. She hated it.

“I’m happy you did.” She smiles up at me and wipes away an errant tear. “And it’s perfect that you covered it with an image that represents your name and true character—the knight on his steed. It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks. Talon inked it from a drawing I made.” I look at the horse rearing up over my arm, its rider covered in plate and chain mail armor. “And what about you?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to know.

She pivots to show me the back of her right shoulder. I draw along the outlines with my fingertips. Two small birds flying free from a gilded cage still adorn her body. It was her first tattoo, the first tat I ever did on someone’s body other than my own, and it meant so much to the two of us.

I’m stunned it’s still there. “I … honestly …”

“Thought I’d covered it?” Her tone is incredulous. “Never.”

Jesus Christ, I’m going to cry.

*****

June, 2005

Liam

“Come on.” I shake her awake.

“What time is it?”

“Two, and we only have a couple of hours before Cade wakes up.”

We sneak down into the basement.

“I’ve already got it all set up. And …” I show her the mini liquor bottles I lifted from the convenience store. “Enough to take the edge off, but not enough to give you a hangover.”

She looks them over. “No Baileys?”

“No, I figured you’d need something more fast-acting. Now swig.”

Quinn opens the first little bottle and downs it.

“Are we still doing what we talked about?” I ask to make sure.

“Of course. Why would you think I’d change it?”

“I don’t know. What if you fall out of love with me?”

“Don’t be stupid, Liam.”

“It’s going to hurt—like fuck,” I warn.

“Stop coddling me and get on with it!”

I switch my homemade tat gun on. It’s noisier than I’d like, which is why we had to hide down here.

I kiss the virgin porcelain of her shoulder. “You’re sure?”

“Do it!”

“Okay.” I set the needle to her skin.

“OH MY GOD!” she cries.

“SHH!!” I say. “I told you it was going to hurt.”

“Yeah, but … oh my God!” She cringes.

“Sit still, we just started.”

“What happened to, ‘
You don’t have to do it, Quinn, if you change your mind’
?”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“No! But it stings like a son-of-a-bitch!”

“You got this,” I say sincerely. “Take another drink.”

“Remember to make them into an outline, so that when you get colored ink you can make them blue.”

She loves mountain bluebirds.

“I remember.”

After a few minutes, she gets used to the feeling and calms down.

“Why is life always such a fight? Will we always be fighting?”

I hear the sorrow in her tone, and I’d do anything to wash it away, but I don’t have a good answer. “I don’t know, Quinn.”

She sighs. “You shouldn’t have to fight. People should just leave us alone.”

“Maybe someday,” I say, but I don’t even sound convincing to myself. “Oh. And don’t even think for a second that I don’t know how you sprained your wrist, Quinn Kelley.”

“What’s … that … supposed to mean?” She stumbles over her words.

“Josh North is an asshole, and if he ever touches you again—drunk or not—he’ll be a dead asshole.”

“What?”

“I know you slugged him over something. He’s been looking like a whipped puppy since you hurt yourself. It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist.”

She laughs softly. “Guess I’m thinking more like you, more like a fighter.”

“That’s a good thing. What Cade is teaching us—how to be strong and to defend ourselves—it’s all good fucking stuff.”

She’s quiet a minute before she asks, “Are you happy here?”

I think about that. “I guess. You’re safe. We’re together.”

“That’s not exactly what I mean. Do you like Cade and Debra?”

“Yeah, I think I do. So far they’ve been the most honest people I’ve ever met.”

“Me too.”

“That is, unless they fuck it up and go two-faced.” I know that can happen from experience.

“It scared me when Ryder and Connor ganged up on you.”

“I could’ve taken them both,” I assure her.

Connor has a medium build and doesn’t fight with venom—he’s like Reese and Chase, really just letting off steam and killing time.

But Ryder is a different animal. He wants to draw first blood. He’s got a lot of anger. He’s usually punching walls—I’ve lost count of how many times he’s been on detention because he put a hole in the plaster somewhere in the house after a group session.

“And a few days ago, when Ryder beat Josh to a pulp—it was like he just laid there and let him hit him. He didn’t even try to fight back.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t like Josh. He usually likes a good rumble.”

“Are we safe here?” she asks.

“Josh is a good match for Ryder—Josh is the one who laid down and played dead, though I don’t know why.”

“I don’t think Chase or Talon really want to fight.”

“No, they fight because they have to, or they think they have to prove themselves to everybody else.”

“Yeah, especially when new kids come in,” she says. “I hate that. You all turn into idiots.”

“Remember who’s holding the needle, Quinn,” I say. “It’s a guy thing.”

“It’s a street thing—you all have to prove to each other who’s the toughest.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Who the fuck cares, it’s just the way it is.”

“I do. I care. I just … want to stop trying so hard.” She shrugs her shoulders.

“Hold still,” I scold.

“I’m sick and tired of the fighting—seeing you black and blue or having to clean up your bloody nose … I’m tired of fighting for food, fighting for a warm, safe place to sleep, fighting for survival …”

“As soon as we turn eighteen, I’ll have earned enough money working for Cade to get us to Florida safely on a bus, not fucking hitchhiking. I know it feels like it’s still far away, but it’s better than running again—living on the streets. And I think Cade’ll give me references so I can get a job. Maybe I’ll even find a position to train as a real tattoo artist.” I think about it. “We’ll be free, Quinn.”

She sighs deeply.

I pull out two mirrors—which I unhinged from the upstairs and downstairs bathroom medicine cabinets. Putting one in her hand, I hold the other behind her shoulder.

The tat depicts two small bluebirds flying off together, having escaped from their cage. I love the symbolism.

“You and me,” she says. “I love it! I also like the drawing of the tree branch.”

“Yeah, I thought the cage looked more elegant hanging from the tree. I know it’s just an outline; I’ll fill it in, along with the leaves and the rest of the tat, when I get some color.”

“Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

*****

2015

Liam

“You know, I could fill it in for you now, if you’d like me to.”

“I don’t know. You’re a pretty hot, sought after artist. How much do you charge?”

I tickle up her ribs as she squirms and laughs and tries to break away. “How much do I charge?” I mock.

Once we settle down and go back to our dinner, I say, “I really like the other one you have on your rib.”

“Thanks. It’s the only other tattoo I have,” she says. “It’s very important to me.”

I lay her back a little to study it and read it out loud.

In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.

“It’s an Albert Camus quote. He was a philosopher who won the Nobel Peace Prize. He fought during World War II as a writer for a resistance newspaper in Paris,” she explains. “I got it a couple of years ago … after a lot of therapy. It reminds me that I’m a survivor. For a while there, I wasn’t so sure.”  Her eyes become stormy, but she covers it quickly. “Camus was cool; he also wrote that ‘no matter how inexplicable existence might be, human life remains sacred.’”

I look at her in fascination at how she puts into words what’s so deep in her soul.

Out of nowhere, Bailey comes over, sits down hard beside us and stares.

We both start laughing.

“I’m assuming he likes chicken?”

“Yeah, he likes everything.” I roll my eyes and throw him a chunk.

“And you don’t spoil him either, right?”

“Okay, maybe I do.”

“How did you become the surrogate father?”

“Ha! Perfect way to word it. Cade and Debra got him for the home—as a sort of therapy dog for the kids—but he was a handful, so he somehow ended up mine. He accompanies me everywhere just about, and the kids at North House love him.”

“He seems like a good friend.”

“He is.” I look up at her. “And yes … his name is Bailey after your favorite drink.”

She looks at me and her eyes are full of emotion.

“Don’t move,” I tell her as I set her on the seat next to us. “I’ve got to put him out.”

“I won’t move.”

I smile. “Okay.”

Bailey goes bounding down the back hallway, and I shout behind me, “And don’t get dressed.”

“I won’t,” she shouts back.

I let Bailey loose in the fenced in backyard so he can do his thing.

When I get back to the table and see Quinn sitting there, naked and waiting for me, I immediately scoop her up into my arms. “Let’s go back to bed.”

I start to carry her through the living room, but her warm hand reaches down and slides between us until she has ahold of my cock.

“Why wait so long?” she purrs.

We get as far as the couch.

I lay her down, and she rests her head on the dark red pillows propped against the armrest. I kneel over her so she can keep playing with me.

“You’re so thick and long, and I love how you’re becoming like rock in my hands.”

She puts her fingers in her mouth to wet them and then dances her fingertips over my most sensitive area, right below my head, around the neck and on the underside of my dick. I close my eyes and tilt my head back. A moment later, she tickles my balls at the same time. I feel myself quickly swelling towards combustion.

I let myself enjoy her touch as she explores my ridges, bends and veins. She traces each contour.

“You are so unbelievably perfect,” she whispers before I feel my cock slip between her lips and inside her moist mouth.