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  Inked

  Sailor’s Grave #2

  Drew Elyse

  Copyright © 2018 by Drew Elyse

  Cover Design by By Hang Le

  www.byhangle.com

  Editing by Love N. Books

  www.lovenbooks.com

  Proofread by Deaton Author Services

  www.facebook.com/jdproofs/

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduces or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  To engagement twins.

  To happily ever afters.

  To doing it all, even this, together.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  Books by Drew Elyse

  Prologue

  Jess

  The dull thud of my shoes on the hallway carpet should not have been so loud. I wore the red Mary Janes enough to know they should be near silent as I made the trek from the elevator to my apartment door.

  Today, they weren’t.

  Because today I was frustrated as hell and apparently trying to take that out on the ground beneath me with every step.

  I swore, if I broke those heels in my ire, he’d be replacing them.

  With that thought, my eyes shot to the door across and down slightly from my own, as if thinking about him was going to magically conjure him there so I could ram one of my heels up his ass instead.

  Not that I would, even provoked.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’d pull that kind of move on the right person if they pushed me to it. It was just that he was drumming up a different sort of frustration. The kind of frustration that reminded me that it had been more than six months since I’d gotten some, and longer than that since I got it from someone with any sort of talent in that field.

  My vibrator, though, had been busy. Especially in the six months since he moved in.

  All signs were pointing to B.O.B. being up to bat again that night.

  I kept myself stomping down the hall, determined to get inside my apartment before something terrible could happen, like the door to 4E opening. I knew he was home. I knew his car—which made me sound like a stalker, but it was what it was—and it was parked in the lot a few spots down from where I’d just pulled in. By my guess, he’d probably been home a little over an hour if he hadn’t stopped anywhere on the way.

  Now that definitely sounded like something only someone with an unhealthy obsession would know, but that wasn’t the case here.

  I knew because that, plus the fifteen-minute drive was how long ago I’d last seen him, right before he walked out of Sailor’s Grave Tattoo Parlor, where I worked. It was also about that long that I’d been stewing on this consuming frustration, made even more annoying by that fact that I was the receptionist and had to be fucking pleasant as part of the job description. For the half hour between when he left and when the last client of the day squared up their bill with me, I couldn’t say I’d done the best job of that.

  And it was his fault.

  Jackson.

  In other words, the man that had me instantly in all kinds of lust the first time he walked into Sailor’s Grave. I’d never experienced anything like it.

  Sure, I’ve been around what probably amounts to more than my fair share of hot guys in my life. Guys that I wanted to—and in some cases, did—drag back to my bed based on looks alone. But what I experienced that first time Jackson walked in the door was something else entirely. One look, one glance that took it all in from his boot-clad feet, up his well-worn jeans to narrow hips, across sculpted, tattooed arms under rolled sleeves of a black Henley that fit just well enough to show that the rest of what it covered would be just as well-formed. Up to the strong, slightly stubbled jaw, dark eyes, and the dark hair he had slicked back that was just a bit too short to really be a full pompadour, that was all it took. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d walked those few steps up to my desk and acted like a total prick, he’d still be the star of my fantasies for a good, long while.

  How could he not? Even the completely fictional men I thought up to fill that role weren’t as spot on for what I wanted as he was.

  He didn’t pull out the asshole that could have easily gone with those looks, though. No, he sunk me deeper by being charming, polite, and flirting openly enough that for the first time in my life, it was touch and go there if I was going to dissolve into a puddle of goo right there. When my boss, Sketch, came out to get him for his appointment, I had to bite back the urge to snap that it was still my turn. He could get to adding even more ink—a particular turn-on of mine, unsurprising given my job choice—to the Adonis when I was good and ready for it.

  With the definite flirting, capped off with a wink as he followed Sketch back, it’d only be a touch dramatic to say that I was devastated when he only gave me more of the same treatment after he was done. It might sound arrogant, but I had been certain he was going to ask me out. I was absolutely sure he was feeling it between us, too.

  And then, nothing.

  I’d still been attempting to ignore the sting of that three days later—days that included him having the leading role in any fantasy I cooked up, exactly as I anticipated—when I ran into him again.

  Right outside my apartment door.

  Thus, began six long—very long—months of this idiotic dance we’d been doing. Flirting in the hallway, the parking lot, my fucking work where he’d suddenly become a regular customer on Sketch’s schedule every two weeks. Whatever he may or may not have felt that first day, I knew he was just as hot for it as I was. There was no faking the way his brown eyes darkened when he saw me, no hiding how his grins went from easy to something I could only describe as hungry, no ignoring that he insisted on getting in my personal space as much as he could manage. The tactile nature of his flirting was the worst part of it all. I might have been able to withstand the smirk and the teasing and the heated looks. What I could not handle was the way his large, rough hands felt on me, the heat that seemed to radiate from his body, or the hint of spice in his scent. He’d been giving me way too much of all three, and I was losing it.

  So, that day, I’d done it.

  I’d psyched myself up the entire time he was back with Sketch, even getting my friend and coworker, Liam, to tell me to stop acting like a chicken shit—thoug
h he didn’t know what his pep talk was even about, but he was a good enough friend to give it to me anyway. Then, when Jackson came to the front after his appointment to pay, I’d bit the bullet and asked him out.

  His response?

  After his eyes got even darker and more starved looking than I’d seen yet, his expression had shifted to one of regret before it seemed to lock down entirely.

  Then, in that smooth voice of his that did it for me just as much as everything else about him, he’d responded, “Shits me to say it, but I can’t, gorgeous.”

  Just that. No explanation of what the hell that cryptic response meant. For months we’d been at this game and he ended it with a weird brush off, then walked out.

  I couldn’t say that I’d have handled any rejection with a shrug and cool head. With how sunk I was on Jackson, him turning me down would have stung however it came. But the particular way it had come had me pissed right off rather than making me upset.

  Months of him leading this on just as much—if not more than I had—and then that?

  Frankly, it was fucking rude.

  I let myself into my apartment on a deep breath, even managing not to slam the door behind me before I leaned back against it.

  I was starting to sound like some asshole in the friend zone, I chided myself. Time to let it go.

  If he didn’t want to go there, then it’d be his loss. I knew what I had to offer, and in his case, that included a whole lot of moves that would blow his mind. I’d find someone else who wanted all of what he’d just turned down.

  I’d just straightened off the door when the pounding against it made me jump and start to stumble. There was no need to guess who it was, even if I had no clue why he was there. Taking just a second to compose myself—and maybe a bit longer to make it less obvious that I’d been having a moment right in the doorway—I opened it.

  There he was in all his glory. He was in dark wash jeans and a burgundy plaid shirt buttoned over a white tee. There was an uncharacteristic mess to his hair, like he’d been running his hands through it and just smoothed it back without taking the time to fix it properly. I’d never seen that before, even earlier when he’d left the shop.

  Deciding cavalier was the way to go, I cocked a hip against the door frame and asked, “What’s up?”

  Jackson didn’t respond, just stared at me for a long moment. I might not have behaved like it, but I saw the feral gleam in his eyes. I sensed the tension in him like a wild animal stalking his prey. Even as I kept it cool, my heart raced in response. I tried to come up with some sassy line I could deliver. For what might have been the first time in my life, I came up empty. I opened my mouth anyway, like the words I was searching for would spill out by sheer will.

  His eyes dropped to my lips.

  Then, he pounced.

  BRADEN

  “The prosecuting attorney doesn’t think we have enough.”

  This had to be some sick fucking joke. I adjusted my grip on the phone only used to make this contact with my handler, Jack, before I crushed the damn thing.

  “What the fuck else does he want?” I demanded. “I’ve gotten him everything short of a signed goddamn confession. I’ve put my ass on the line in ways that were fucking stupid to get everything we need to put these motherfuckers away. How can it possibly not be enough?”

  As I let loose, I heard Jack moving through the line, the noise of the station fading as he found himself somewhere secluded to talk.

  “You know I agree with you, man,” he said once the background noise had faded away. “I’d send a team in tomorrow to round them all up and get you out of there. But we can’t do shit without the warrants, and he isn’t budging. Even the captain is getting pissed at this and had a word, but the prick cares more about his success rate at winning trials than he does about actually putting criminals away.”

  “Meanwhile, my ass gets to swing out here, waiting.”

  When I’d agreed to take this undercover job, I’d been told three months. Yeah, it’d been made clear that there were no guarantees. There never were in law enforcement and that lesson started getting drilled into our heads on day one at the academy. But now, I’d been running with this crew for six fucking months. I’d done everything asked of me both by the assholes I was trying to take down and the officers running this investigation, and I’d done it all quicker than expected. How that translated to me being stuck here twice as long, I had not one fucking clue.

  “I know you want to get back to your life, your family. We’re keeping Elijah updated as much as we can,” Jack reassured. It might have helped if it was my family that was a concern. I loved them, but I wasn’t worried about being out of contact this long. Elijah, my brother, was a cop. Our dad was a retired cop. His dad had been a cop. They knew the score. Ma, in particular, might miss me, but none of them were going to begrudge the radio silence.

  No, my concern was all about the sexy test of my self-control that lived across the hall.

  The gorgeous fucking woman that had me sunk on sight.

  Jess.

  “You know I appreciate that,” I replied. “And I know you’re doing what you can.”

  “We’ll keep at him,” Jack promised. “Everyone on this wants it wrapped up. He’ll have to give in soon or he knows he’ll lose officer support. Hard to keep that position without the badges behind you.”

  I let it go, for now. Reaming Jack about this shit wasn’t going to help anything. His hands were tied. All of ours were by this bureaucratic bullshit that was an unfortunate reality of the job.

  The tie on mine was just chafing more than most.

  I hid the phone away, putting it under the trick baseboard, all the while trying to calm the fuck down. This was the job. I knew that going in. With the family history I had, I’d understood it for half my life. Police work is just as much about being beholden to the law as it is about enforcing it.

  Knowing that didn’t change shit, though.

  All I could think about was her. How fucking sexy she was—just like every damn time I saw her—dressed like she should be leaning over a classic car on a magazine cover. How her tattoos and black hair popped against her pale skin. How the cherry red lipstick she had on matched her fucking shoes and brought my eyes to those incredible lips, making it impossible to stop the images of how sexy it’d still be even smeared off on my cock. How she’d finally got tired of waiting for me to make a move and asked me out herself.

  I should have known she would, should have prepared for it. Jess wasn’t some meek thing that let shit play out. If she wanted something, she’d go out and get it. And it was no secret that we both wanted a fuck of a lot more of each other. Every time we got close, that heat just grew.

  Until today.

  Until I had to stumble out that line of bullshit in order to keep her at a distance because I was stuck on this fucking case that was starting to feel like it’d never end.

  Jess had not one thing to do with the case. The only association she had anywhere near this was that her boss was a part of the motorcycle club that was feeding us whatever intel they could gather on our target. That, and the fact that the apartment building the team had put me in happened to be where she was living.

  I was still torn on whether that was the best fucking thing they’d done for me since I’d taken this case, or the absolute worst.

  If it weren’t for the case, I’d have asked her out the first time I’d walked into Sailor’s Grave and seen her sitting there. She wasn’t the only one who grabbed life by the balls. I knew what I wanted when I saw it, and I’d never fucked around in going after it. There wasn’t one doubt in my mind from the start that I’d wanted her.

  But what could I do with my identity being a secret that stood between us?

  I’d thought this job was almost over. After the ledger I’d turned in just a few days ago, I thought this case was done and I’d be able to make my move.

  Instead, here I was.

  Stuck.

&nb
sp; Pissed.

  Horny as all fuck.

  And worried every day that she was going to get tired of this shit and move on to some other jackass that wouldn’t play games. I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions if that happened. Just thinking about it made me want to find her, make a move, and pray it didn’t blow up in my face.

  Just knowing it was a bad idea wasn’t enough anymore.

  The ding of the elevator arriving preceded the muffled sound of stomping footsteps. It was Jess. I knew it even before my pathetic ass jumped up to look through the peephole, waiting until she came into view. I watched her distorted image strut across my narrow field, her head turning to toss a glare at my door before she disappeared into her apartment.

  My forehead hit the wood in front of me and I took a breath. Then another.

  Just that quick look at her and my dick was already hard. Seeing her frustration, knowing she was as pissed about the distance I was putting between us as I was, hearing her smooth voice again and again in my head asking me to dinner, it finally happened.

  I broke.

  Before I had a conscious thought, I was already pounding on the door where she’d disappeared.

  When it swung open, I knew without a doubt that I was fucked.

  “What’s up?” she asked, cool, no sign of the spitfire I’d seen nearly throwing a tantrum in the hall.

  Looking at her, I didn’t care anymore. Not about the case. Not about the uphill battle I’d probably have to make up for pulling this shit with her. Not about anything but making this goddess mine.