Just Between Us (The Kings)

Damn it.I knew I had pushed too far.

Typical.

There was something about MsBlackCat that made me reckless—well, bolder than normal, I guess. It was stupid to think someone like her would be into a man who liked to talk dirty and wanted to stroke his cock for a stranger on the internet.

But she didn’t know that, as a content creator, I could see the data from my videos and that she watched them all . . . a lot.

It was bold of me to assume that our witty banter was something she’d want to continue on a live call. Still, I knew there was something more to her than the frosty black cat persona she tried to put on.

There was a sliver of sadness and vulnerability in her messages that intrigued me.

Hell, we’d been chatting damn near daily for months and she hadn’t bolted yet. She was a mystery I enjoyed unraveling. If she came back, I promised myself I’d rein it in next time and not push her past her comfort level despite the strange, clawing need to get to know her.

After a restless night of beating myself up over trying to video chat her, I allowed myself to sleep in before heading to the shop. I didn’t want to get too late of a start because sometime in the night a new design hit me—a line drawing of a sassy black cat.

I had the perfect opening on my upper left thigh, and something as quirky as that would fit right in with the eclectic mix of designs already taking up the space.

Jazzed at the idea, I was in a great mood when I made it to town. The warm sun was beating down, warming the air so tourists could make the most of their summer vacation. Appointments were booked solid, and my shot in the dark to a young up-and-coming artist from Detroit looked like it might actually pan out. He’d be making the trip to interview in the next few weeks. All I needed was a hot cup of coffee and a few thousand calories in the form of butter and sugar.

The bell to the Sugar Bowl clanged against the glass as I entered. Warm scents of cinnamon and sugar wafted from the back kitchen as patrons lined up to order. Chatter filled the bright, open space as I took my spot at the end of the line.

Behind me as I waited, I heard a small, insistent throat clearing, and I turned. I gazed down at the soft, crinkled face of Ms. Tiny. Her tissue-paper hands were folded in front of her as she waited with one brow lifted.

“Oh.” I stepped aside. “Would you like to go in front of me, Ms. Tiny?”

She preened, knowing I didn’t really have a choice. That tiny terror was hell on wheels and mean as a snake. “How sweet of you, Royal. Thank you.”

She slipped in front of me, and I chuckled to myself at the ornery old lady. Through the saloon-style doors that led to the back kitchen, I spotted my sister Sylvie carrying a tray of freshly baked pastries.

She slid the tray on the back counter, directing the staff where to place them in the display case. When her eyes looked up and caught mine, I gave her a cheesy grin and she smiled, softly laughing and shaking her head. Her hand patted the back of the barista as she slid past him and headed my way.

Sylvie didn’t need to work at the bakery. Her husband was Duke Sullivan, and together they ran Sullivan Farms, a local and wildly successful blueberry farm. Still, she enjoyed the atmosphere and independence of a few hours every day at the bakery.

As she walked toward me, I was struck, as I often was, at how pretty she was. She looked like Mom—at least what I could recall—and my chest pinched. I swallowed down the lump in my throat as Sylvie slid her arm into mine and pulled me from the line.

“Hey,” I grumbled. “I’ve already been waiting for, like, four minutes.”

She playfully rolled her eyes and lifted a fresh chocolate chip cookie from her apron pocket. “Better?” she asked with a smile as she handed it to me.

I took the cookie and shoved the entire thing into my mouth. “It’s a start,” I said around the crumbling treat.

Fuck, it was good.

“I was coming in for caffeine too,” I pressed.

Her soft smile flashed as her honey-brown eyes danced. “I’m sure I can find you something.” She tugged my arm again, leading me to a quiet corner of the busy bakery. “I need to talk with you.”

I bent my head lower as knowing eyes and ears turned in our direction.

“JP found someone,” she whispered, and the hairs on my neck stood on end. Sylvie looked around suspiciously, and her lip tucked between her teeth, a habit I was sure she’d picked up from our mother.

Strange shifts had been happening in the King family, and I didn’t like it. Lately there’d been talk about private investigators and business consultants.

Secrets.

When I was nine, my mother abandoned us, and that was that.

Until it wasn’t.

In the basement of the King estate, my aunt Bug accidentally uncovered a box containing strange, forgotten items from our mother—her favorite denim jacket, old pictures, her driver’s license.

It was that last item that set us all in a tailspin.

My oldest brother, Abel, had used his contacts from the prison system and hired a private investigator who also uncovered that our father was not the man we knew him to be.

Sure, in town Russell King wore the facade of a successful business owner and family man. We knew him to be the overbearing, unrelenting tyrant of our family, but he never, ever let that mask slip in public.

Behind the pretense was a man who’d lied about his marriage to our mother and hidden an entire family without our knowledge. The man who ruled our family with an iron fist was an utter stranger.

I’d worked long and hard to bury any memories of my mother—the woman who’d endured years with my father only to walk away and leave her children with the devil himself.

My siblings wanted to know what happened, where she went. I knew deep down they hoped to find Maryann King on a beach in Cabo or in some mountain town with amnesia.

But I already knew the truth.

Our mother had left us behind, and she was never coming back.

“Hey.” Sylvie poked my arm. “Are you listening to me?” she hissed.

“Of course.” I wasn’t.

“Well, when she comes by, be nice. I already lied to her about the eggs and milk to cover for your stupid ass.” Sylvie pinned me with her stern glare.

My eyes widened. “That was her?” A small bubble of laughter slipped past my lips. “Shit.”

She shook her head. “I really hoped you idiots were done with the pranking. I overheard Beckett already plotting to get his revenge.”

I reared back, my hands spreading. “For what? His car was fine.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Apparently it was the principle of the matter. You intended to mess with him, so now they’re plotting their revenge. Watch your back.”

I winked at my sister. “Glad to see you’re still on the Kings’ side, after all.”

She laughed, tossing her hands in the air. “You are all hopeless. I’m going back to work.” Sylvie took two steps before turning and whipping me with the dish towel draped on her shoulder. “Don’t forget, when you meet Veda, be respectful.”

I scoffed and swirled a finger over my head in an imaginary halo.

She shook her head, and I smiled at my sister’s back. I abandoned my need for coffee and headed next door to the tattoo parlor. The day was wasting, and I wanted to get a few sketches in, plus satisfy my itch for a new tattoo, before we officially opened for business.

Luna had beaten me to the shop and was sweeping the floor when I walked in. I pulled my wallet from the back pocket of my slacks and dropped it on the counter. “Hey, can you run next door and grab us coffee?”

Her forearm rested on the top of the broom. “Your legs broken?”

I smirked. “Ms. Tiny stole my spot in line, and I was too chickenshit to say anything.”

Luna’s face tipped to the ceiling as she cackled. “Ha! That woman is a menace.” She dropped the broom with a clatter and scooped up my wallet as she sailed toward the door.

With my wallet held above her head like a trophy, she called, “I’m also buying us a pie!”

She didn’t wait for me to argue before walking out the door.

After picking up the abandoned broom, I set it aside and walked to my booth. I flicked on the lights and appreciated my space. As the owner, I had the most prominent tattoo booth in the shop. It was large with bright lighting and a comfortable black chair in the middle. My rolling stool was neatly tucked into the corner.

My personal artwork decorated the walls, and the tattoo equipment was meticulously organized. Cleanliness and safety were top priority at King Tattoo, and I held myself to the highest standards. I closed the door behind me, securing myself inside the privacy of my booth, before arranging my tattoo gun and ink on the countertop.

I scrubbed my hands and pulled on a fresh pair of black latex gloves before dropping my slacks to the floor. I sat on my stool and hiked up the hem of my black boxer briefs, examining the skin on my thigh. There wasn’t a whole lot of available real estate left, but the small patch of tan skin would be perfect for the design I’d had stuck in my head since last night.

After firing up my gun, I settled into the easy rhythm of tattooing.

I didn’t bother sketching the design first; rather, I got lost in the thrill of free-handing something permanent. Drawing had always come easy to me, a skill I’d honed while doodling in the margins of my schoolwork instead of paying attention in class.

Gap-toothed and glasses-wearing, I wasn’t exactly running with the popular kids in elementary school. Instead of trying out for soccer or chasing girls, I was designing my own comic books and hiding from the school bully.

When Mom left, I all but disappeared, curling inward and doing everything in my power to be quietly perfect. A part of me thought that if I was good enough, maybe she’d come back.

She didn’t.

It was then I realized that my mother was truly gone, and no one was coming to save us. Aunt Bug did what she could, but I slowly grew to understand that, in the end, I would need to take care of myself.

If our father’s love was conditional, I was determined to find a way to get noticed.

At fourteen I got my first tattoo—a back-alley hack job that I did myself after googling prison tattoos. It was a single word unevenly inked on my upper thigh—Free.

Free from an unrelenting father who only demanded more. Free from guilt. Free from expectations. Free from everyone and everything.

Thankfully I’d been too chickenshit to ink anywhere other than my leg, so the wobbly, faded letters went unchecked for a long time. My eyes flicked to the blue-gray ink still emblazoned on my leg. It was a disaster but something I would never cover.

In time I got smart, using my artistic talents as a way to gain notoriety. After years of being an apprentice, I finally earned a booth of my own.

The next natural step was opening my own place. With no direction and no tethers, I decided that my hometown was as good a place as any. Tourists were always looking for vacation ink, so in the end it made sense and turned out to be a smart business move. I found that owning a successful tattoo shop was the perfect way to earn my father’s approval while also giving him the ultimate fuck you.

Dad hated the look of my tattoos, but the success of my business meant more to him than love or acceptance. It always came down to the bottom dollar for Russell King.

Old memories haunted me, and I had to take a breath and pause my work. Pressing too hard because I was distracted would ruin the design and cause the ink to blow out over time. I rolled my neck and steadied my breath before finishing the delicate outline of the cat and moving on to the shading.

With as many tattoos as I had, it was natural for people to expect me to be a nonconformist. It was a role I’d always been happy to play, but if they knew about Pulse, everything would change. No one in my life knew about my alter ego, and if word got out, it would make things only harder on my family.

Especially now that things with our father were on dangerous footing.

My back ached just thinking about the disappointed looks on their faces if they ever found out their brother wasn’t just a fuckup, but also a sexual exhibitionist.

I surveyed my thigh and the random designs that decorated it.

Not every design held special meaning, but there was something about the quirky cat that tugged on my chest.

Maybe it was the real pissy look on its face or the way the feline’s eyes dared you to try to touch her.

I chuckled down at the quirky cat before applying a thin layer of antibiotic ointment and covering it with Saniderm cling film.

I slipped on my slacks as the front-door bells chimed.

I glanced at the clock, noting it was too early for an appointment.

Intrigued, I exited my booth and was met with the most intense, striking pair of eyes. The woman who entered had a piercing jade-green stare that stabbed me right in the chest and made it difficult to breathe.

I immediately made a mental note that my new sassy cat tattoo would be getting the same shade for its eyes.

I leaned against the doorjamb and observed as Luna greeted the woman. “Hi, I’m Luna. We met the other day. Welcome to King Tattoo.”

The woman commanded the room as she walked in. I was immediately struck by her beauty and grace.

Her stride was swift and confident. “Nice to officially meet you. Thanks for the assist—that T-shirt came in handy. I’m Veda Bauer.” Veda’s head tipped as the women shook hands.

I realized she was the woman working with JP and the very person who’d become the victim of my childish prank, and a pit formed in my stomach. Seeing her from across the roadway was nothing compared to the stunner that was commanding the room. Pressure slammed into my chest, and my breath caught as I watched her.

Her smile was cool and calculated. “Luna. Real or fake name?”

Luna grinned and pressed her hand to her chest—today’s nails were sharp points in a glossy red. “Goddess given.”

Veda nodded and looked around my shop as if she were mentally noting every detail and cataloging it in that pretty head of hers.

When her eyes locked on mine, I kicked off the door and strode toward her to hold out my hand. “Royal King.”

Those sharp, assessing eyes narrowed on me. “Royal? Real name?”

A smirk lifted at the corner of my mouth as my hand enveloped hers. “I see you’ve already picked up a few things.”

Her chin lifted as we shook. “I’ve learned that tourism here is strong, locals seem to have an aversion to their birth-given names, and some even like to wear Moon Boots as a fashion statement.”

I grinned and gestured toward her. “Oh, so you’ve met Bootsy.”

Her eyes widened as if I was only proving her point. She gently cleared her throat. “I also learned the hard way that the town has a bit of a delinquency problem. In fact, your sister Sylvie confirmed that the children of this town are a bit of a problem.”

She glanced at Luna, and my traitorous employee bit back a smile.

A throat clearing accompanied by a nod was all I could muster. I still felt horrible for the prank, but since Veda seemed to be unharmed and taking it in stride, I could actually see the humor in it.

I stifled my own giggle and clamped my molars together. “Nice to meet you. In town long?”

Veda straightened, and I watched as a veil of indifference slipped over her sharp features. “I’ll be assisting your brother JP for the time being.”

Something pinged in the back of my skull, and my eyes narrowed. There was no way in hell this woman was anyone’s assistant, but if that was how JP wanted to play it, then so be it.

I crossed my arms, intrigued by the new girl in town. “I think you’ll find Outtatowner to be a place unlike any other.”

Veda smiled politely, her eyes flicking down to my crossed arms.

She stilled, her entire body locking up.

Her gaze fixed on the back of my hand. Sure, I was used to the gawking and often impolite curiosity about my tattoos, but the way her eyes pinned to the skull that peeked out from my shirtsleeve was intense.

I shifted, squirming under her sharp assessment.

Her eyes lifted to mine, and her frosty glare went ice cold. Intensity pulled at her mouth as it formed a hard line.

My brows pinched down. “Was there something I could help you with?”

“No.” Her eyes snapped up. “If I need anything from you, I’ll ask.”

Luna’s brows popped up in surprise, and I frowned.

Perhaps she had somehow connected me with ruining her morning the other day, but I couldn’t see how. My hand opened but dropped to my side. “Great. Come by anytime.”

Veda’s black hair whipped around as she turned toward the door. “That won’t be necessary.”

I looked at Luna with my hands raised, and she shrugged, popping her chewing gum.

Once Veda was through the door, we watched as she stomped down the sidewalk.

Luna whistled. “Man. She does not like you. Think she figured out the prank was you?”

“Hell if I know . . .” I continued to track Veda as she thundered down the sidewalk, the storm cloud still lingering over her head.

That woman was a puzzle.

Why did I like it so much?