Get off on the Pain
Page 2

I grab the cleaning bottle, spray it on my chair, and then toss the empty bottle aside as a reminder to fill it back up later. “Dammit, Bailey, for the twentieth time . . . no. Don’t make me say it one more time.”
Landen flexes his jaw in annoyance and pulls out a cigarette, placing it behind his ear. “Yeah, don’t offer to pay for that shit, Bailey.” Lifting an eyebrow, he pulls her up against his body and bites her neck before pulling away and groping her ass. “Let’s get out of here and let Lyric deal with that shit. She offered, so it’s not on you.”
Sometimes I feel like shoving my foot down his big throat. He’s lucky Bailey loves him so much or I would do it. No joke. “I should make your ass pay just for being a jerk, Landen, and for snatching up my leftover pizza last night after I told you both to save it for me for after work.” I say this next part to have a little fun with him and to maybe piss him off. Just a little. “Oh and by the way . . . no blowjobs for at least six weeks. It could cause an infection and no one wants that shit, right? So enjoy.” I smile big, enjoying my own humor.
“Oh hell no. Take that lip ring out, Bailey. You can do without it.” He reaches for Bailey’s lip as she slaps him away and shakes her head from side to side. “Take it out.”
I point to the exit door. “Buh bye.” I turn to Bailey and wink at her, causing her to laugh and follow him out into the parlor, yelling at him, and telling him the piercing stays. Let him choke on that for a bit. It’ll give her something to have fun with. He deserves to get knocked down a few notches once in a while.
A few seconds after I hear the door close Styles pops his head into my room, crosses his arms, and shakes his head in amusement.
“What?” I ask with a smirk.
He follows me out into the parlor. “That’s some fucked up shit. Do you know what that does to a man? Six weeks. That hurts.”
Styles is the owner here at Ravage Tattoos and hired me on the spot when I walked through that door four years ago looking for a job. That instantly put him on my good side when moving here to Crooked Creek.
I shrug my shoulders and grab for my thin, leather jacket, slipping it on. “He did it to himself.” I turn to face him and smile when he does. “Most men do, Styles. Trust me. When you guys stop acting like assholes, then I’ll stop making your lives hell.”
Styles bites his bottom lip and walks behind the display, looking for something. “Hot and sassy. I swear the more your sexy mouth runs, the more I want you. I like my women feisty.” He looks back up at me while slamming a folder onto the counter. “And for the record—I’ll never stop being an asshole. I’m a guy, plain and simple, and women love assholes.”
I point at him and start backing away to the door. “I’ll remember that for when I lose all standards.” I push the door open and wave a dismissive hand at him. “Later, Styles.”
He leans over the display and runs a hand through his dark curls. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride? I’m about done here.”
“Nope. I walked because I wanted fresh air and a little alone time. If you give me a ride that will defeat the whole purpose. Plus, I don’t want to listen to your horny panting as you secretly check out my tits. I’m good.”
“Alright, but you’re missing out.” His eyes scan me up and down before he looks back down at whatever it is he’s doing and shrugs. “Just double checking.”
“You mean triple checking, Styles?” I quip. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
Before he has a chance to speak I rush out the door to escape any more failed attempts from Styles at trying to pick me up. A smile crosses my face as the cool air hits me, reminding me that I’m free for the night. It feels nice and refreshing, making me glad that I chose tonight of all nights to walk. Mine and Bailey’s house is only about a thirty minute walk, so it doesn’t hurt to get a little exercise once in a while when I don’t have time to hit the gym, which I haven’t in about a month.
I’ve been walking for a good twenty minutes, lost in thought, when I realize that I’ve turned down a dead end street. I thought it would be a short cut, but yeah, no.
I stop and get ready to turn around, but decide against it when I hear what sounds like a bunch of people cheering on a fight.
It sounds as if it’s coming from the alley at the end of the block, and of course, instead of going the opposite way I get drawn to the rush and decide to check it out.
Walking in the direction of the sound, I make my way toward the screaming quickly, kicking up dust as I hit the dirt road. My adrenaline is pumping with curiosity now, giving me no choice but to at least get a glimpse.
Once I get to the hidden spot I see a crowd of at least fifty or more people and I was right—they’re cheering on a fight that is taking place. The scene makes me think about something I’ve been working hard to forget, but for some reason I still find myself curious and keep moving closer. I have to be stupid for wandering into an unknown crowd of people late at night, but I can’t seem to care.
Soon I find myself getting lost in the crowd, my eyes glued to the two men at the center, mauling each other like fucking animals. They’re both bloody and out of breath, but still going at it as if their lives depend on it. It’s nothing I’ve never seen before, but I can’t seem to pull my eyes away. I’m intrigued, or maybe I’m just out of it tonight. That could be it too.
Sweaty bodies bump into me, screaming in my ear and throwing elbows and fists, egging the fighters on as I just stand here in a trance. After some piss drunk guy that weighs a ton steps on my foot and falls into me, I decide that it’s time to go. I’ve dealt with enough sweaty men for the day and after my ten-hour shift all this screaming has my head about to burst.
Pulling my eyes away, I push my way through the crowd and am just about to break free when someone grabs my arm and pulls me back in. I can’t make out what is going on or even who has me; all I know is that I’m about to throat punch someone if they don’t let go of me.
“Do you mind, asshole?” I pull my arm free as I scream, but get pulled back in as if they’re trying to get me lost in the crowd with them. This only pisses me off more. I hate being handled as if I’m a weak fucking girl that can’t take care of herself, because I’m not.
The guy holding me pumps his fist above my head and screams, “Go, Mark! I have your prize right here if you win,” he says with a slight slur while pulling me against his body.