So Steady: Silver Daughters Ink, Book Two (Silver Daughters Ink Book Two) Page 7

  “Cooking is relaxing. Do you and Sam want rice or noodles?”

  “Neither. Sam’s gone over to Scott’s and I’m gonna go see Radiant Spunk play the Evelyn.”

  Nicole felt a pang of disappointment. “Did Sam leave my phone?”

  “Nope. She says you need a solid twelve-hour screen fast.”

  “That’s not fair, she doesn’t have a phone! She doesn’t know how much I need one!”

  “Preaching to the choir, my dude.” Tabby jumped up and sat on the kitchen counter. “Hey, you know what you are?”

  “What?”

  “A food poker.”

  Nicole frowned, wooden spoon in hand. “I’m cooking!”

  “You’re poking. The chicken’s fine, but you just keep poking it. Poke, poke, poke.”

  Nicole withdrew the spoon from the wok and instantly itched to return it. What if the chicken burned? What if it stuck to the metal? What if—

  “Why don’t you stop poking food and come out with me?” Tabby demanded. “It’s only five thirty, come experience Radiant Spunk.”

  “I’m fine here. And Radiant Spunk is a hideous band name.”

  “They were almost ‘Intergalactic Jizz.’” Tabby hopped off the counter. “If you’re not keen for the spunk, I’ll head out now.”

  Nicole frowned. “Please don’t sleep with any of the guys from Radiant Spunk?”

  “Cannae promise that, lass.”

  “I thought you were taking a break from sex? Realigning your chakras?”

  “Fuck my chakras, they’re too needy.” Tabby’s expression grew serious. “Nix, are you sure—“

  “If you ask me if I’m okay again, I will give you a backhander.”

  Tabby raised her palms. “Fair enough. Check you later, food poker.”

  Nicole waited until the moment she was gone and plunged the spoon back into the chicken. Food poker. How dare she? At least she cooked actual food. The last thing Tabby made was hard candy and she was pretty sure she’d put THC in it.

  She set the meat on a paper-towel lined plate and stir-fried kale, carrot and baby corn into the wok. She was adding ginger marinade when the landline rang. Frowning, she headed for the hall. She’d half-forgotten they had a landline, let alone that people might call it. Yet there it was, on the little table, still covered in Tabby’s Barbie stickers. She’d get some eucalyptus oil and clean them off later. She picked up the receiver. “Hello, DaSilva residence?”

  Nothing. Nicole could hear music playing in the background.

  “Hello?”

  “Yeah, uh, it’s Noah.”

  Nicole had the bizarre urge to giggle. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Yeah. I’m still downstairs.”

  “Okay…?”

  “I need help with the new system. I can’t get my client’s card to swipe.”

  A girl laughed in the background. The sound like nails down Nicole’s internal chalkboard. Danielle Bright, no doubt. She had a brief, insane urge to hang up then took a deep breath. “You need to open up the PayWave program—”

  “I’ve tried all that,” Noah interrupted. “Look, I’m confused as fuck. Can you come give me a hand? Please?”

  She looked at her pink t-shirt and cotton shorts. “I’m not dressed properly.”

  “Please?”

  “Um, sure. I’ll be there in a sec.”

  She turned off the burner and headed for the door, pulling her hair out of her sloppy ponytail. This was a good test of her mettle. Even without makeup and clothes, she could still be professional in front of Noah. She would be professional in front of him.

  She found him behind the counter fiddling with the card machine, and next to him was a girl with shiny ash-brown hair and amazing eyebrows.

  “Oh hiiii!” she said. “Thanks so much for helping us!”

  If Nicole had a wish, just one wish, she’d have granted herself a pencil skirt and a face full of makeup. This was so not a good test of her mettle. “N-no problem. I live upstairs. I’m Nicole DaSilva.”

  The girl beamed. “I’m Daniella. Noah and I stayed back so he could finish my kitten tatt!”

  Nicole felt legitimately sick. “Great, so uh, what’s the problem?” She looked at Noah, but he was staring at the computer, refusing to meet her gaze.

  “I need to pay by card,” Daniella said. “I didn’t bring any cash even though I know Noah likes it better that way.”

  God, the way she said his name made Nicole want to dive into a vat of battery acid. She bit the insides of her cheeks. “It’s okay, either I’ll get the machine working or we can arrange a money transfer.”

  “Great!”

  She moved to the counter and Noah stepped aside. The tension emanating from his big body was palpable. Was he embarrassed he’d called her to help? Or was he awkward because Daniella was making googly eyes at him and saying his name weird? Feeling slightly better, she restarted the payment program and reconnected the studio account to the payWave device.

  “Is it okay if we run through your client details?” she asked Daniella.

  The younger woman beamed. “Oh, Noah has all that stuff already.”

  “Here.” Noah shoved a post-it note at her. It read; Daniella Bright, 3”x4” tortoiseshell kitten. Five-hour session. $700.

  Below that, scribbled in different handwriting, was a mobile number followed by a loveheart. Nicole stared at it. It stared at her. Her vision greyed at the edges.

  “So, I’m thinking we should go to Garden State,” Daniella said. “They do amazing espresso martinis.”

  Noah grunted.

  “Okay, grumpy! You can pick the place, then.”

  The silence that followed was as thick as bad custard. Nicole typed in Daniella’s details as loudly as she could, trying to break it. She could feel Noah watching her. Was he noting the lack of makeup? The hollows under her eyes, the scar on her chin? And why did she care? He sucked. First, he’d asked her out and now he was going for a drink with this…alleged person who was nice and also the worst person Nicole had ever met. She held her hand out to Daniella Bright. “Can I have your card, please?”

  “Oh sure!”

  Daniella’s fingernails were a velvet purple. The colour would have looked horrible on Nicole, brought out the blue in her veins, her spider fingers. But maybe that was what Noah liked, purple nails and kitten tattoos. As she swiped her card and told Daniella to punch in her pin, she made her decision. She was moving away from Melbourne and getting rid of her tattoo. Screw Sam and Tabby, they’d left her in this mess. Screw her dad, he’d started this mess. And most of all, screw Noah, the flaky, van-driving, probably bikie-being jerk. They could all go do one.

  The machine pinged its authorization. “It looks like it’s worked,” she said. “Do you need a receipt?”

  Daniella looked across at Noah. “Um, no?”

  “Okay, well…” Nicole raised her eyebrows at Noah, You deal with this.

  He jerked to life, like a robotic giant. “You want to book another session while you’re here?”

  Daniella tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Um yeah. But I’ll call when I know my work hours.”

  “Right,” Noah said.

  “Right.” Daniella’s gaze flicked to the door. “So…you have my number?”

  Nicole looked at the post-it note. What would happen if she just…put it in her mouth and ate it?

  “Yeah, I’ve got it,” Noah said. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Great!” A relieved-looking Daniella waved at her. “Thanks, Nicole!”

  Nicole nodded. It was that or say the supremely unfair ‘please stop coming here.’

  Noah hustled his client out of the door and Nicole stood behind the counter, waiting so she could leave without seeing them talking or kissing or whatever awful thing was happening out the front of her dad’s studio. She closed her eyes and thought of her perfect future. Now she’d decided she was leaving Melbourne, she could transfer to Sydney? No, that was where The Rangers lived. Tasma
nia? Too small. Paris? Her heart jumped; she’d always wanted to live in Paris. A tattoo removal and then Paris? Was that where her perfect future lay? The door opened and Noah strode by without a sideways glance. “Sorry about that. You can head back upstairs.”

  Nicole gaped at him. Oh, she could head back upstairs, could she? He was sorry, was he? Anger, hot and lovely, ignited her jealousy like a match through kerosene. She marched after him, catching him as he reached his tattoo room. His music was still playing, a rap song with ugly words and a pretty music-box beat. “What are you doing?”

  Noah’s expression was flat. “Cleaning my machine.”

  “Not that. You and your client. You asked for her number.”

  “And?”

  “Do you have any idea how unprofessional this is?”

  Noah’s jaw flexed. “You need to go home.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” Nicole was aware her voice was rising, knew she sounded mildly insane, but she didn’t care. “You can’t act like this place is your live-action Tinder. It makes us look like perverts!”

  “It’s just a drink.”

  “It’s not! It’s my sister’s reputation!”

  “Sammy doesn’t give a fuck. You know she’s ‘dated’ a few clients herself.”

  He tried to shake off her hold, but Nicole clung on, ignoring the heat pulsating through her palms. “Not lately. Not now she owns the business. You know it’s not just her reputation you’re ruining, it’s my dad’s, as well.”

  “Don’t talk to me about your old man.”

  She felt a thrill of genuine fear. He was angry, but that was good. She was finally getting to him after all these weeks of being gotten to. “He’s my dad, I can talk about him if I want to. What’s your problem anyway? First Kelly, now Daniella. Is it that hard for you to find women to sleep with outside the studio?”

  He leaned down, eyes bright with something she couldn’t define. Not anger. Not irritation. “You jealous, Nikki?”

  “No!”

  There was a beat. Noah’s lips curled into a smile and Nicole yanked on his hand like it was a church bell. “I’m not! You’re just selfish and confusing!”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes! You say we can’t sleep together, then you make me touch your cock. You ignore me all morning, then you ask me to lunch. You act like you’re so dangerous to be with then you hit on some barely legal—”

  Noah’s hands clasped her waist, lifting her into the air like she was nothing. She screamed, more out of shock than anything. “What are you—”

  He clapped a warm hand to her mouth. “You’ll see.”

  Noah had crossed the floor in one massive stride and laid her on his leather tattooing chair. Leather that was still warm from Daniella’s body. Offended, she tried to get up, and he pressed a big arm across her chest and shoulders.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” She gripped his arm and pulled but he was like graffiti-covered concrete. “Let me go!”

  “I don’t think I will. You’ve got a problem, Nikki.”

  “Yeah, you!” She struggled against his hold, but even as she moved, she knew she’d be disappointed if he let go. He didn’t. His forearm bore down, pinning her to the chair. “You’re all shook up. Vibrating. You’re stressed and it’s making you act like a bitch.”

  “How dare you—”

  “Sammy called you a bitch. Right after she took your phone and laptop. You’re driving her and Tabby spare. You’re manic. You can’t sleep or sit still. No one knows what to do with you.”

  Her heart was pounding, a dry, sweet prickle in her mouth. “Do you?”

  It came out softer than she wanted, more of a plea than a challenge.

  Noah’s eyes were bright with that sharp, unknowable energy that split her open when they first met. “Yeah.”

  “No you don’t. You’re lying.”

  His expression turned hard and ugly as a stone gargoyle. “We’ll fucking see.”

  He ran his hand along her stomach and into the hem of her shorts. She whimpered. She knew she should be fighting, but her body was soft as wet sugar.

  He shoved his hand down her shorts and into her cotton underwear, not toying, not playing. His fingers cupped her…there, sliding through the disgusting slipperiness she hadn’t known she had.

  “Nice,” he muttered. “Now hold still.”

  And a finger, an impossibly thick finger slid deep, pushing her sensitive walls apart. Sensation blasted through her like the music in a horror film. Nicole screamed and jolted upright. “Noah! Please?”

  “Fuckin’ relax.” He pushed her back onto the chair. “You’ll get it. This won’t take long. You’re so fuckin’ on edge.”

  He pulsed inside her and his fingers made the most embarrassing slippery noises. Nicole screamed, this time because it felt so humiliatingly good. She didn’t want to be seen like this, to be touched like this by a man who just thought she needed relief and was going on a date with a pretty twenty-two-year-old.

  “I told you to relax.” Noah’s fingers slipped out of her and he tugged, circled around and tugged on her clit. “Relax and pay attention.”

  She shrieked as pleasure sizzled through her. “Noah!”

  “Yeah, that’s it.” His fingers slipped down again, pumping into her cunt. Nicole screamed a third time, this time because she was scared she’d wake up alone in her bed with her pillow between her knees.

  “Concentrate,” Noah snarled. “Feel me fucking your tight little pussy. You like that, don’t you? You like getting fucked?”

  “Yes!” she screamed, arching her lower back so hard it ached. “Yes! I don’t want it to stop.”

  “It won’t.” Noah adjusted his arm so that her fingers were trapped under it. She felt more pinned than ever, yet still sure it was going to end. Even as her cunt swelled and the rough thrust of Noah’s fingers felt a hundred times bigger. Even as her nipples hardened and her toes curled, she knew it wasn’t going to happen no matter how much pleasure he force-fed her. “Let me go! I can’t do it!”

  Noah pressed his face against hers. “Too fuckin’ bad. You’re gonna get it.”

  Her cunt throbbed hard, a circle gripping tighter, tighter, tighter. “No!”

  “Yes. You love it too much. You’re gonna come like the dirty little girl you are.”

  She recalled her fantasy, being naked and spread open on a dirty mattress. Noah the biker between her legs, taking what he wanted from her. She was so wet and filthy and bad, of course she’d come. What other purpose did she have?

  “That’s it,” Noah said. “That’s a good girl. Give in.”

  “More names,” she gasped. “Meaner!”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Come, you filthy little slut. Come, then you can suck my fingers while I fuck your little pussy raw.”

  Nicole felt the swell of something flawless between her legs, like a diamond being born. She could hear herself crying out, but it was a stranger’s voice. The real her was inside vibrating with joy.

  She could smell herself in the air, the sweet musk of lost control. She laughed, enjoying the freedom to not care about it or anything.

  Noah straightened, slipping his hand from her underwear. Nicole’s shorts snapped back into place, as though nothing had ever happened. She looked up and saw him wipe his hand on his jeans. “That what you needed?”

  “I…”

  He stared down at her like an expectant dentist—clearly not caring he’d just made her orgasm harder than any man she’d been with before. “Yeah?”

  “I need to go.”

  She stood on her rubbery legs, needing to be somewhere away from the salt smell and pounding rock music and him. She rushed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  “Yeah, that seems about right,” he said right before it shut.

  Chapter 7

  Noah’s earliest memory was of the clubroom. He was playing with a screwdriver, trying to push a nail back into the dusty floor. He pushed too hard and
the screwdriver cut his hand open. A thick slug of burgundy blood had oozed out and he’d opened his mouth to scream and then he bit his cheeks instead.

  Bikers didn’t like kids. They might love their own, but as a concept they didn’t rank high. They couldn’t follow orders or ride a bike; they couldn’t do anything but cry, shit and sleep.

  Noah didn’t know how old he was when he cut his hand on the screwdriver. Four? Five? Not at kinder, because he could draw by then and the nail came before the pencils. The clubhouse was his daycare, tools were his toys, the naked women on the walls were his babysitters. His dad was in the other room laughing in a way that was almost as scary as yelling. No one wanted him there. He’d tried to stay quiet, stay out of the way.

  Then the pencils.

  He didn’t know who gave them to him. A little red box just appeared one day. He’d picked them up, pressed them hard against his fingers and he’d been born. He didn’t know any other way to put it. Paper became his life’s mission, shopping receipts, electricity bills, phonebooks and magazines—finding blank spaces and filling them with the pictures in his head.

  He had another memory, almost as clear as finding the pencils. He was lying on the floor, drawing on a phonebook when his dad sat beside him. He smelled like sweat and what Noah would later realise was whiskey.

  “Like drawing, don’t you, mate?”

  He must have said yes because his dad’s next words came in clear as a bell. “Good. Stick with it and you’ll be tattooing the boys in no time.”

  Baby Noah was sick with excitement. He didn’t know what tattoos were, but he understood being useful for The Rangers. He understood not being a pain in the ass.

  He stopped sketching dragons and forests and kings and drew The Rangers patch. He drew it until he could draw it in his sleep. His dad stuck the pictures on the club walls.

  “When are you getting him a machine, Harry?” other bikies asked.

  “Soon as he’s old enough not to fuck it up.”

  It was the summer of 1999 when his old man showed him the black and silver machine.

  “Take it home, figure out how to use it. Nobby’ll show you the ropes next week, but I want you to have a handle on it by then.”