“Yeah,” I say, skimming through my sketches and finding a copy of the tattoo that’s halfway done on Viper’s chest. I hold it up for Crew, certain I haven’t shown him this. “You like it?”

  Crew glances at the sketch before doing a second take, and I grin to myself. Only something worthy deserves a second glance when it comes to Crew Ledger. “Fuck me,” he mutters, crossing into my station and taking the sketch out of my hand. “This is great, but it’s a shame it’s wasted on that asshole.”

  I roll my eyes and snatch it back. “Don’t you have a tramp stamp or a BFF tattoo to prepare for?”

  Crew mutters under his breath, striding back to his station. He’s a ladies’ man, too fucking pretty for his own good kind of ladies’ man, and to add the cherry on top, he’s the biggest flirt I’ve ever met, even when he doesn’t mean to be. The women absolutely love it. They come flocking in here just to have a moment of his time, which generally means his schedule is jam-packed with infinity symbols and tiny little hearts placed on the inner wrist.

  He’s more than bored of it, but when it pays the bills, how could he say no?

  With everything ready for Viper, I glance across the shop and catch his eye before indicating the chair he’s become all too familiar with.

  Viper moves across the shop, not stopping until he’s standing right in front of me, those jet-black eyes gazing right into mine. “Kyah,” he murmurs, his deep tone making me shiver.

  I tilt my chin, holding his gaze and knowing how it gets him off. He’s mentioned more than once that there are not a lot of women who can bear holding his stare. It’s intense, but when you’re not terrified of him, it’s not so hard to handle. “Viper.”

  His big hand falls to my waist, his fingers nearly wrapping halfway around me. “I’m growing impatient,” he says. “When are you going to give up this hard-to-get act and become my old lady?”

  “I’m twenty-three, Viper,” I remind him. “I’m not looking at being anyone’s old lady anytime soon. Besides, you and I both know that if I were to agree to this, I’d be property to you, not an equal.”

  Viper grins and fingers the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head, putting that magnificent chest on display, not denying it one bit. “You’ll cave soon enough,” he tells me, leaning in until his lips are barely a breath from mine. “I see it in your eyes, Ky. Every time you’re working on me, you’re thinking about just how good it would be, and you know it will. You clench those pretty thighs every time you touch me, and you know that I can make those tight little walls shatter.”

  My pussy starts to throb, and I mentally remind myself just how much of a bad idea Viper would be. “Are you done trying to turn me into a slip-N-slide?”

  Viper’s lips twist into a wicked grin, and it only makes me want him more. “Not even close.”

  “Get your ass in my chair,” I tell him. “Otherwise, we’re going to be here all night, and while I know that sounds like a dream to you, I have shit to do.”

  He scoffs, lowering his big body into my chair and lying back, propping his hand behind his head, his muscles rolling with the movement. “You’re such a liar,” he mutters, those dark eyes eating me up. “You ain’t got nowhere to be. I’ve got you as long as I need you.”

  Damn it. I hate it when he’s right, and despite how he knows it, I’m not about to go and show my hand by admitting that. Instead, I pull on a pair of gloves and reach for the alcohol wipes. “In that case, I better make this quick then.”

  Quickly getting lost in my work, I chat away to Viper, and as I focus on the design, I let out a small breath. Viper’s always been intense when we’re standing toe to toe and he’s making his intentions clear, but when he’s in the chair, he mellows out and allows me to concentrate, keeping the conversation light and easy. Not that there’s really anything light and easy about either of us.

  Crew’s client wanders through the door, and during their consultation, he turns the music down just a bit, because even though he’s only doing a boring set of four doggy paw prints up her ankle, he still takes it very seriously. Then the second she’s in the chair and he whips his tattoo gun out, he cranks the heavy metal music right back up.

  The afternoon flies by, and I feel content. I’m in my zone, my happy place, and as Viper’s hand rests on my thigh, I don’t even try to tell him to fuck off. As long as it’s not creeping any higher, I’m good.

  Glancing up at the clock, I realize it’s almost seven, and I’ve flown straight past closing time, but so have Big Jim and Crew. It’s not exactly anything out of the ordinary, but usually at five, my stomach starts to bug me for a snack. “How are you doing?” I ask Viper.

  “I’m good, baby,” he says, scrolling through his phone as though he were relaxing on the couch at home.

  “You don’t need a break or anything?” I ask. “Your call. We can call it a day now and make another appointment for a few weeks, or we can power through. I have maybe another two hours and this’ll be done, but if you need to be somewhere . . .”

  “I’ve got all night,” he mutters. “Finish it.”

  I nod. “Okay, but I’m ordering in,” I say, sitting up straighter and stretching my back. I glance up at Viper. “Want anything?” I usually make it a rule not to eat in here, and I certainly don’t allow my clients to eat while being inked, but sometimes basic human needs have to be put first. Hell, I’ve made the mistake of inking someone who’d just eaten and ended up wearing his regurgitated noodles. Since then, I’ve made it a habit to ask every single person who sits in my chair if they have a weak stomach. That’s not a mistake I’ll make again, but I’ve been working with Viper long enough to know he can handle it.

  “I could eat,” Viper mutters, holding his phone above his head, keeping his body still. “You keep working, I’ll order. What do you want?”

  “You pick, I’m easy,” I say.

  Viper scoffs. “If you were easy, I would have had you chained to my bed years ago.”

  The deepness of his tone sends a shiver sailing right down my spine, and a thrill shoots through me. I’m not exactly someone who’s vanilla when it comes to the bedroom. I need a man who’s not afraid to throw me around, to brace his hand around my throat and squeeze, and something tells me that Viper would more than satisfy me when it came to sex, but on an emotional level, we couldn’t be less suited.

  The thought of Viper chaining me up should have me running for the hills, but instead, a twisted smirk settles across my lips. I don’t respond, but I don’t need to. He sees it all over my face. “I fucking knew it, baby,” he growls, his tone low. “One of these days, I’m going to stop taking no for an answer.”

  “And one of these days, I might just let you.”

  It’s a little before nine when I stand at the front door of High Voltage Ink, locking up with Viper standing behind me. Crew and Big Jim took off an hour ago, though Crew needed a little convincing that I wasn’t about to be screwed within an inch of my life right there in the middle of the shop. I couldn’t tell if it was his ridiculous need to always protect me or out of pure jealousy.

  “Let me take you home,” Viper says, inching toward his matte black Harley Davidson.

  I scoff as I finish locking up before turning to face him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He gives me a blank stare. “I didn’t mean let me take you home to my place so I can fuck you all night. I meant, let me give you a ride back to your apartment so you’re not walking home through these fucking streets after dark.”

  I arch a brow. “You don’t think I can handle myself?”

  “Considering the excitement that flashed in your eyes when I said I wanted to have you chained to my bed, I know you can handle yourself, but you’re young, Kyah, and I don’t think you have a damn clue what you want,” he tells me. “I know the people who run these streets, and they’re not anyone I want you bumping into.”

  I glance away, peering down the empty street, wondering if I should take my chances. Viper isn’t exactly a saint, and given the chance, he’ll try his luck. “I don’t know,” I murmur. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to know where I live.”

  Viper scoffs, a wicked grin playing on his lips. “Baby, I’ve known where you’ve lived since the day you moved in,” he says. “Who the fuck do you think convinced your landlord to turn a blind eye to the fact you were a teenager?”

  My eyes widen, and I gape at Viper. “You’re lying.”

  “Do I strike you as the type to lie?”

  I swallow hard and shake my head.

  “Good. Now get on.”

  He doesn’t wait for an argument, simply hands me a helmet before straddling his bike and turning it on. The powerful engine rumbles through the street, and after figuring out the buckle for the helmet, I climb on the back, wrapping my inked arms low around his waist, careful not to touch his chest. He’s not exactly the type to complain about a little pain, but after the amount of work I did on him today, I know his skin has got to be more than a little tender.

  Keeping his word, Viper drops me off right in front of my apartment complex, and the second my feet hit the ground, he takes off, his bike roaring down the street. I have to admit, despite how adamant I’ve been about him keeping his dick away from me, I’m a little disappointed that he didn’t even try. Hell, I didn’t even get a goodnight.

  The thought confuses me, and before I allow myself to turn back and call after him for a wild night of being tossed around my small home, I enter my access code into the keypad at the main entrance of my apartment complex and get my ass inside. I hurry up three flights of stairs before finally coming to my door, hastily unlocking it, stepping inside, and locking the door behind me.

  I’m not going to be Viper’s little plaything.

  Good for the hole does not mean good for the soul.

  2

  REID

  Kyah. Kyah. Kyah.

  My beautiful Kyah Renee Bailey.

  Fuck, she’s going to be mine.

  She walks down the street, and I stick to the shadows, hidden under the cover of the surrounding buildings. My gaze sails over her body, taking in the art covering both of her arms and chest. There’s a raw beauty to her, something real that I haven’t seen in a woman for a long time, and I know, without a doubt, that this one is going to be a wild ride.

  I’m already infatuated. One look and I needed to have her.

  I can’t wait to hear her scream and feel her body under my hands as I take her life, but first, I’m going to make her mine. She’s going to want me just like I want her. She’s going to love me, depend on me, and crave me every moment of the day. And fuck, when I taste her? The thought alone makes my hands ball into fists at my sides. I’m ready to take her right here in the middle of the street, but I have to be careful and play my cards just right.

  This woman intrigues me.

  I need to wrap my hand around her blonde hair and pull her into me. I need to hear the soft exhale of breath when I push inside her. And damn it, I know she’s going to be tight, like the perfect fit, made just for me.

  There’s a feistiness in her. It’s as though she’s just waiting for me to come and give her exactly what she needs, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I see it in her. She’s never been satisfied, never felt the kind of rush I could give her.

  I’ve been doing this for a long time, carefully choosing the woman who will become my newest obsession, and Kyah is easy. She lives alone, and from what I can tell, doesn’t rely on her family or friends. She walks to and from work, apart from the times Big Jim offers to drive her, though on nights like tonight, she foolishly declined, preferring to walk instead.

  God, she’s going to make it easy for me. I’m almost disappointed that she won’t be a challenge.

  I know her likes, her dislikes, her favorite meals, and where she prefers to buy them. But it’s not enough; this is only the surface-level shit. I need to go deeper to work out what makes her tick.

  We’re in the middle of Brooklyn, and luckily for me, there’s plenty of people littering the street so I’m able to keep close without raising suspicion. She stops by the convenience store and grabs a chocolate bar and a soda, and I wait out front, hidden in the shadows, taking a long drag of a cigarette. Then when she steps out of the store, she passes right by me, and her sweet scent washes over me like the sweetest summer breeze. If I didn’t have the kind of control that comes from years of practice, I would have ended her life right here, but that would be a tragedy. I’m not nearly done with her yet. Hell, I haven’t even started.

  Kyah keeps walking, smashing the chocolate bar like there’s no tomorrow, and as I fall in behind her, inconspicuously following her home, I can’t help but wonder if she has any consideration for her own safety.

  She doesn’t exactly live in a safe area, and any other girl wouldn’t feel comfortable walking the streets alone at night. Hell, she doesn’t even flinch when a man passes her, and she doesn’t hold on to her bag a little tighter or cross to the other side of the street when someone leers a little too long. But it’s fine. She has me watching her back now. Nothing will happen to her as long as I’m with her . . . at least, not yet.

  A thrill shoots through me at what’s to come. I always knew there was something a little wrong with me, something a little different, but it feels too good to give up now. I’m in too deep. There’s nothing quite like a little childhood trauma to fuck with a grown man and turn him into a walking red flag. But hell, every man’s a little fucked up these days, I’m just a little higher on the scale.

  Though, am I really that bad?

  Sure, murdering women in cold blood is a little frowned upon here and there, but it’s not like I’m going around breaking their hearts and making promises that I’m never going to keep. Who’s the real monster here? An observant guy who just happens to like following a woman home to make sure she’s safe, or a piece of shit boyfriend whose pull-out game is weak?

  When a woman comes toe-to-toe with me, she knows what she’s getting. I’m up-front about what I want, what I’m going to do to her, and hell, I might even give her a screaming orgasm before ending her life. But I draw the line at being a shitty boyfriend. There’s nothing worse than a man who leads a woman on, promises her the world, and then the next minute, he’s fucking her best friend in the bathroom at Whataburger while she’s busy slurping on a shake.

  Fuck. Men are real fucking bastards sometimes.

  As for Kyah, I almost feel bad that I’m going to end her life, but the question is, when? I intend to enjoy her first. I’m going to open her eyes to a whole new world, and by the time her life is slipping away, it’ll be because she wants it, she’ll beg me to push her to the breaking point and set her world on fire. And those sweet, desperate screams, they won’t be made out of fear. No, they’ll be made out of pure ecstasy and pleasure.

  It’s gonna be fucking amazing, the sweetest rush, just like when you’re ordering McDonalds and they accidentally give you an extra cheeseburger for free. Pure bliss.

  Besides, I’ve been watching Kyah for a while. I know the men who’ve been trying to get between those pretty thighs, and they’re no good for her. It’s best I take her off their hands before they do something stupid like touching what’s mine. I’m sure some won’t see it this way, but honestly, I’m doing her a favor by saving her the heartbreak and regret. All men should strive to be a little more like me. They could really learn a few lessons. But I draw the line at teaching them how to make their kills. That’s far too personal to be sharing. Besides, most men are fucking idiots, and soon enough, one of them will get caught and end up giving the feds my name, and then my whole game would be over, and who wants that?

  Unlike moronic, messy men, Kyah is still a mystery to me. I need to know more about her, need to get closer, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.

  She talks on her phone and stops outside her apartment complex, and I keep walking, taking advantage of her moment of distraction. As she hashes in the front door code for her building, my gaze shifts over the keypad.

  3821

  I’ve known this code for weeks, yet every time I watch her hash it in, I can’t help but watch. It’s like a thrill, a dark secret between me and Kyah, something she shares with me every time she touches the keypad. If only she knew.

  I keep walking, not wanting to draw her attention, and the second she disappears inside her building, I cross the road before doubling back and pausing in front of the building directly opposite of hers. I lean up against the wall, my foot propped up with my phone pressed against my ear, looking like every other asshole lingering out on the street.

  My gaze lifts to Kyah’s building, impatience brimming through my chest as I wait. Then finally, a light turns on in the bedroom window on the right-hand side of the third floor.

  Kyah walks in front of the window, her blinds left open, and I watch as she peels off her black tank and tosses it across the room. She kicks off her shoes and then her jeans, leaving her in nothing but a bra and panties.

  My mouth waters.

  I need to get inside that apartment and taste her.

  As she moves through her apartment, other lights turn on, but all of the other windows are concealed with blinds. It leaves me wondering if she likes putting on a show in her bedroom, or if this was nothing more than a moment of forgetfulness. Had she known there was a view right into her bedroom from the street below, would she have closed the blinds or does she assume she’s too far up for anyone to see her undressing?

  She’s careless, and when she belongs to me, that shit isn’t going to fly. But for now, I’ll sit back and watch as though she were one of those ping-pong girls putting on an exotic show in Bangkok. God, the good things in life really are free. Apart from the entry fee, of course. That shit doesn’t count, but for that kind of talent, those showgirls deserve to be paid.