Shift (The Disciples' Daughters #2) (15 page)

“Where we goin’?” Emmy asked once I had her buckled into her seat.

“I thought I’d show you where I work,” I told her.

“Like the diner? That’s where Mommy works.”

“Kind of. It’s where I go all day and make money, but it’s different than the diner. I think you’ll have more fun where I work.”

“Do you got French fries there?” She was skeptical. “Rocco gave me French fries at the diner.”

“We don’t have French fries at the shop, but if you ask nicely, my friend Jess might get you some.”

I looked in the rearview to see her nodding. She turned toward the window, so I focused on the road. The silence lasted all of a minute before she asked, “Is Jess your girlfriend?”

Where was she going with that?

“No. She works with me. She’s a friend.”

“Like Rocco.”

I still had no idea who Rocco was, but I was assuming he worked at the diner with Ash.

“Yeah, like Rocco.”

Emmy thought for a second before going on. “Is she pretty?”

“Jess?” I asked, glancing back to see Emmy nod. “Sure. She’s pretty.” Some people didn’t think chicks with a full sleeve of tattoos and half-shaved head were pretty, but they were morons. Jess was gorgeous, and nearly always dressed like a pin-up model.

“Prettier than Mommy?”

Oh, shit. Is that what she was after? Was she trying to play matchmaker?

“No, princess. No one is prettier than your mom. The only girl as pretty as her is you, because you look just like her.”

Whatever the devious little one had in mind, she dropped it there. Within minutes, I was hearing all about some kids on a TV show and how her favorite episode was on the day before. After that, it was some movie I wasn’t even sure she told me the name of. Then, she recapped our entire trip to the zoo for me. Damn, the girl could talk, but she was cute as hell.

I parked behind the back of Sailor’s Grave, but walked around so we could go in the front door. I was carrying Emmy. I wondered if Ash would want me to make her walk so she didn’t think she’d always be able to get carried, but it didn’t stop me. I’d barely gotten a shot to be around her yet, I wanted her as close as possible.

Jess was busy with a customer when we walked in, but her eyes landed on Emmy and lit up. She knew I was bringing Emmy in. She’d been excited for days.

“What is dis place?” Emmy asked.

“This is a tattoo parlor.”

“Ta-dude par-or.”

Well, she was close.

“These are tattoos,” I explained, lifting the arm I wasn’t holding her with up.

“All the drawings?”

“Yep. That’s what I do at work. I draw on people.”

“Momma says I’m not allowed to draw on myself,” she said in a grumpy way.

“Well, not anyone can. These drawings never go away. They’re on your skin forever. People have to be taught how to do them and they have to be really good at drawing to do it.”

She nodded like she was having deep thoughts as she went from looking at my arm to around the room.

“Roadrunner and Untle Daz got tat-toos,” she said, pronouncing “tattoos” with complete focus.

“They do. I drew a couple of them.”

“Wow.”

“Oh. My. God.” I looked up, and sure enough, Jess was free and headed our way.

Jess tried to pull herself together, but she was still excited when she said, “You must be Emmy. I’m so excited to meet you. I’m Jess.”

“Hi,” Emmy answered, smiling big.

“You are such a cutie.”

“I like your flowers,” Emmy said.

Jess was only a few times in the chair shy of having as many tattoos as I did. One side of her head was shaved down to show the dark purple dahlias she had inked onto her scalp. The hair she did have was curled that day with little fake flowers pinned through it. To Emmy, I’m sure it looked like princess hair. What she did next, though, won her even more favor. Jess reached up, took one of the flowers from her hair, not even caring if she disturbed some of the curls, pulled some of Emmy’s hair back on one side, and clipped the flower in.

Emmy turned to me, her eyes big and looking like she was ready to burst.

“I got a flower,” she whispered.

“What do you say to Jess?”

Her head swung back around, and she said, “Thank you, Jess.”

“Of course, pretty girl,” Jess replied, smiling huge. “You going to take her back now?” she asked me.

“Is Carson in his office?”

“Yep.”

“I’m going to take her to meet the old man first.”

I took Emmy through, hoping to avoid her seeing blood on the way. I didn’t need to freak her out on the first day I got with her. Ash would probably hesitate over giving me another chance if that happened. Carson’s door was open, so I went right in.

“Give me a minute,” Carson grumbled, staring at the computer. “Damn machine is…” he trailed off when he glanced over and saw Emmy in my arms.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he whispered before abandoning his fight with the computer to stand.

“Probably,” I answered. To Emmy, I said, “This is Carson. He’s the boss around here.”

“You got a lot of tat-toos,” she said to him, then thumped a hand on my chest, “like Sketch.”

“That I do, little beauty. Gave that boy a few of his,” Carson said.

Emmy looked me over like she could magically know which tats were Carson’s handiwork before looking back his way. “You draw on people, too?

“He’s the one who taught me how,” I told her.

“Wow,” she muttered.

Carson laughed. “Well, she’s good for the confidence, isn’t she? Nothin’ better than a pretty lady being impressed with you.”

We hung out in Carson’s office for a while, letting Emmy have her chance to charm him. That girl could get a man to hand over his last dollar just to please her. I could only imagine the hell she was going to raise when she got older. I was going to need a couple more guns before she got to dating age—dating age being when she was thirty, or older, and married.

Eventually, I took Emmy into one of the back rooms for the real reason I’d brought her. Carson had turned one of the rooms into a place for us to create. Nothing but studio space for painting, drawing, whatever. It was always stocked with supplies he counted as a shop expense, though we each tended to replenish supplies if we used a lot on our own dime.

Drying paintings covered the room, the floor splattered with the debris of creations. One end was a makeshift photography set-up. Jess dabbled in photography—usually that shit where chicks take sexy pictures in their panties for their husbands—and used that area to photograph tattoos we did for our personal portfolios and promoting the shop as a whole.

“What’s this?” Emmy asked as I brought her in and set her down. One of the easels was dropped down low and I’d stocked up on washable paints.

I knelt down in front of her. “Have you ever used paints?”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Once with Jasmine. Momma said it was too messy and could get on the carpet.”

“Well, here you can make whatever mess you want.” I pulled the white t-shirt I’d bought for her to use as a smock from where it was tucked into my back pocket. “We’ll put this on you so you don’t get your clothes messy, and the floors are all clean so you can take your shoes off. You and me are gonna paint.”

Emmy and I hung in the back room at the shop for hours. She painted up a storm, getting as much of it on herself, the floor, and my jeans as she did on any of the paper I gave her. While she swiped bright colors all over in big sweeps, I painted her. I hadn’t done as much painting once tattooing came into my life. I spent so much time sketching out designs, I rarely picked up a brush.

I painted my Emmy with the big grin she wore while she created. I even painted the streak of pink she got on her cheek and the mess of colors on her hands.

We’d taken a break to eat lunch, which included French fries Jess ran out to get us. I showed Emmy what a tattoo machine looked like. She was fascinated and it was adorable.

After cleaning the paint off her and taking her out to dinner, we headed home. The drive wasn’t long, but Emmy conked out in the back. She hadn’t had a nap, or a real break, all day. She’d been going, going, going—painting, entertaining everyone at the shop, talking until I was sure she had to be close to running out of things to say. I wasn’t surprised when she slept right through me getting her out of the truck.

She didn’t even stir when we got inside. Ash came up to me right away. She knew we were on our way back. I’d messaged her a few times to keep her posted throughout the day.

“She’s out,” I said.

“That’s alright, it’s about bedtime anyway,” Ash answered. “I can take her and get her to bed.”

“I’ll carry her in.”

Once I had Emmy on her bed, I stepped out and let Ash get her changed alone. I wanted to stay. I wanted to start learning everything involved in taking care of her, but I’d had Emmy to myself all day. I could let Ash have that time. For now.

I was still in the hall when Ash came out and shut the door quietly behind her.

“She’s settled in?”

Ash nodded. “She woke while I was getting her ready. She wouldn’t let me take that flower out of her hair until I told her exactly where I was putting it. She said someone named Jess gave it to her.”

“Jess is the receptionist at the shop,” I explained.

“Right,” Ash replied. She wanted to say something else, I could tell by the way her lips crunched over to the side. “And is she…”

Oh, so my Ash wanted to be sure I wasn’t sleeping with someone else, huh?

“Never slept with her. Never would.”

“Oh, I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did,” I cut her off. “You wanted to know if I was fucking her. I’m not having anyone but you.”

“We aren’t sleeping together again, Sketch. You can do whatever you want.”

She said it, but she didn’t mean it. She couldn’t even look me in the eyes.

I walked toward her, backing her into her room, then shut us in.

“How long do you plan on playing this game?”

“I’m not playing a game,” she snapped.

“You are, babe. We both know it. You want me almost as much as I want you.”

She didn’t argue that. A lot of things Ash was—shy, stubborn as hell—but she wasn’t a liar.

“All you have to do is say the word and we can both have what we want,” I told her.

Ash’s eyes stayed far away from me, her lips sealed. There wasn’t a thing she could say without lying and she couldn’t even look at me without wanting to give in. She was losing, and she knew it.

Without a word, I lifted my shirt off. Moving into her, I brought my hands to her shoulders so I could push the open sweater she had on down her arms.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I decided I don’t need you to say it. If you don’t want this, you tell me now. You say nothing, babe, then I’m giving you what we both need.”

“Sketch…”

Her sweater gone, I went for the hem of her tee.

“That’s not a no, baby. Last chance.”

Her eyes looked scared, and I tensed. She was going to stop this. She was going to push me away.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Holy fuck.

Yes.

I ripped off the rest of her clothes and mine, our lips locked together. She was running hot as hell, a straight-up wildcat. I got her on the bed. It wasn’t gentle, but I couldn’t fucking contain myself. After years, I’d finally gotten another taste of her, and I’d been dying for it in the days since. As soon as she was on her back, I settled between her thighs and thrust home.

“Heaven, baby,” I whispered into her vanilla skin.

“Gabe,” she pleaded. She needed more, and I was more than fucking happy to deliver.