Laura Kaye - Hard As It Gets

To Jenn, who started it all.

To my peeps in the vault, who are the best friends a girl could ever have.

To Brian, whose incredible devotion made it possible.

To Christi, who went way, way above and beyond.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Becca Merritt stepped through the heavy industrial door and into another world. A buzzer screeched above her head, sending her heart into quick palpitations somewhere in the neighborhood of her throat. Compared to the late April warmth, the indoor air was like a meat locker, thick and intensely coldor maybe that was just the draining weight of her anxiety these past days. She hugged herself and rubbed her arms.

Be with you in a minute, a gruff voice called from the back. The driving bass beat of a hard-edged rock song echoed from the same direction.

Gripping her purse more tightly under her arm, Beccas gaze scanned the colorful images covering every inch of wall space. Tribal birds, winged hearts, dagger-eyed skulls, full-faced roses, crosses, and cartoon characters were some of the designs she noticed at first glance. Playful, gory, beautiful, haunting, many of the images were objectively artistic and oddly compelling.

Becca found tattoos intriguing, and she saw a lot of them on patients that came through the emergency department. Shed never really considered getting one for herself, though. Her father wouldve flipped out, and shed always valued his opinion too much to rock the boat. With her dad gone now, she supposed there was nothing stopping her besides not knowing what image shed want permanently drawn on her skin.

Like nails on a chalkboard, the buzzer sounded again and the door banged shut behind her. Becca whirled, expecting . . . she didnt even know what. Strange as the past few days had been, anything seemed possible right now. But it was just a woman. A totally fascinating woman. Despite wearing all black, she was a riot of color, from the dark red highlights in her shoulder-length black hair, held back in sloppy-but-cute pigtails, to the dramatic eye makeup, to the colorful ink running the length of both arms. She was the Goth yin to Beccas Plain Jane yang.

The woman juggled a stack of huge pizza boxes and a plastic grocery bag of canned sodas. Sorry if youve been waiting a while.

Oh, no. Becca rushed to her. Can I help you with that?

Aw, youre a doll. Yes, please, before my wrist breaks off. The woman twisted her hand out. Becca unlooped the plastic handle from her arm, revealing angry red grooves in her skin from bearing the weight of it. Its a good thing I like these guys so much. A quick grin as she dropped the two pizza boxes on the counter, which nearly reached to her chest she was so short. She heaved a deep breath and braced her hands on her hips. Now, how can I help you?

Beccas stomach flip-flopped. Would she finally start getting some answers today? Im looking for a Mr. Rixey.

The woman arched a pierced brow. Mr. Rixey? Dont hear him called that often. She chuckled and winked. Between her vibrancy and the mischievous sparkle in her dark eyes, she gave off such self-assurance that her presence dominated the room, making her seem much bigger than her petite stature. And may I tell him whos asking?

My name is Becca Merritt. I dont have an appointment or anything. The rich, spicy smell of the pizza made her stomach clench. When had she last eaten, anyway?

I think hes finishing up with someone, but Ill make sure he knows youre waiting. Have a seat, if you like. The woman gestured to the Naugahyde couch behind Becca, the one that had probably been new when bell bottoms were fashionable, if the pea green color was any guide.

Thanks, Becca said. The cushion creaked as she sat.

The woman scooped the pies off the counter and disappeared behind a dividing wall. Oh, Mr. Rixey, your presence is requested, she said in a singsong voice. The response was muffled by an outburst of exclamations over the arrival of their dinner.

The strangers behind the wall hurled playful insults and sarcastic retorts at one another. Becca smiled, reminded of Charlie, her younger brother. The one shed always felt motherly toward, despite only being a year older. The quiet one, whod been withdrawing into himself more and more with each loss her family had experienced over the years. The one she hadnt seen or been able to contact for almost a weekever since their fightnot even through the private channels hed set up just for the two of them.

And the one communication shed received from him had ratcheted up her worry so much that she found herself sitting here. A ball of guilt and fear took up residence in her stomach and steamrolled right over those hunger pangs.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Becca mindlessly fingered the silver charms on her bracelet, a quirky collection of bars and circles, then spotted an album of photographs featuring satisfied customers with their finished tattoos. She flipped through the pages of colored ink, silently debating which ones she wouldve actually considered getting. Sighing, she returned the book to the table.

Damn, if coming to a tattoo shop with hopes of finding someone who could figure out what kind of trouble they were in wasnt a sign of desperation, she didnt know what was.

Footsteps approached from the back. Becca rose just as a man rounded the corner and stepped into the space behind the counter. The beat-up gray T-shirt he wore had an interstate sign that read ROUTE 69. Becca stared at it a minute and felt her eyes go wide when she realized what it said. Tattoos peeked out above his collar and down the lengths of both arms to his wrists. He was young and had emo hair, long and dark and disheveled in a totally sexy way. Two little rings of silver hung at the corner of his right eyebrow. She gaped for a moment, unsure what or who shed been expecting. A flock of butterflies whipped through her abdomen.

He braced his hands on the counter. Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting. You need to see me?

Pull yourself together, Bec. Unable to sleep the previous night, Becca was already five cups of coffee into a possible nervous breakdown. She forced a deep breath. Uh, yes. Youre Mr. Rixey?

He smirked and flicked his tongue against the piercing on the side of his bottom lip. Yeah. What can I do for you?

Becca approached the counter, suddenly uncertain where to start. So she went with the basics. I need your help. The man frowned, but Becca pushed on. Look, Im sorry to just barge in here, but I might be in trouble, and Im pretty sure my brother already is. He sent me this. She rifled through her purse, removed the folded printout, and offered it to him.

His frown deepened as he unfolded the rumpled paper. She knew the words by heart

Youve got the wrong man.

Panic tripped her heart into a sprint. No, my brother sent me here. He wouldnt have done that unless he thought you could help.

He shook his head, his odd yellow-green eyes filled with relief and sympathy. Its not that. You gotta be looking for my brother, Nick. Im Jeremy.

A headache bloomed behind Beccas eyes. She pressed her fingers into her temple and rubbed a small circle. Oh.

He spun the sheet around on the counter and tapped his finger against the paper. See, Ive never heard of your brother, and I dont know any colonels. But Im guessing thats some sort of a reference to the Army. Which was my brothers thing. Me? Not so much. He smiled, an expression that managed to be aw-shucks cute and flirtatiously sexy at the same time.

Becca accepted the printout of her last private message from Charlie, the one that had directed her to Find Rixey, the Colonels team, Hard Ink Tattoo, and sagged against the counter. Do you know where Nick is? Its really important I find him.