Whatever It Takes Read online

  I could feel the tension in my fists and my arms. So help me, God, I would not punch this fucking bitch. She had me by the damn balls.

  I put my hands on the counter and leaned over to her, defying her offer. “I’m not fucking scared of you, Sticks. You’d have to be a fucking idiot to get a tattoo done by someone who you’ve pissed off and who could think of nothing better than fucking your skin up for good.”

  There. I had her. If push came to shove, I could really fuck her up. Give her some god-awful tattoo she’d be embarrassed of and regret. It was completely against all morals and professional judgment, but fuck it, this bitch wasn’t fighting fair to begin with.

  She licked her lips, raising her eyebrows. I knew that look. Game on.

  “You’d have to be a fucking idiot to ruin your name and reputation by giving someone a shitty tattoo,” she pointed out, still smug as fuck, “Everyone knows what a Hunter Helms tattoo looks like. One mistake… and you’re done.”

  Fucking. Bitch.

  I couldn’t pull back and give her the satisfaction that I was retreating. Fucking Hell. She had me. She was going to fucking blow my reputation up. Cocky bitch.

  Sticks stood up first. She didn’t have to save face; she had me exactly where she wanted me. Fuck.

  “My information is there,” she said, tapping on a piece of paper on my counter, “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  I wanted to fucking break the counter with my fists. I waited till she turned to walk out the door to look at what she wrote down. All she had was her information. Design was left blank and so was location.

  “What exactly did you even want, Sticks?” I asked, stopping her. Probably something fucking stupid. She would try to impress me with a cool idea but she’d fall flat. Or she’d copy an idea from a tattoo I’d done before. She didn’t even look like she had any tattoos. Christ, if she’s trying to get me to do her first tattoo, she’s in for a world of pain.

  She turned, leaning on the door. “I haven’t given you much a choice on any of this… So… Dealer’s choice. Whatever you want. Just make it good.”

  I huffed. “Sweetheart, I’m always good.”

  I knew that made her smile. “So I’ve heard.”

  When I looked up, she was gone.

  Elaina

  It’d been hours since I left. No call from Hunter Helms. He probably knew I was bluffing. Getting those girls there was really the last thing I had going. I could do what I said and get them there every weekend and destroy his business… but for what? A few weeks of that and he’d end up having me arrested for trespassing and harassment. It wouldn’t be a lie. I was harassing him pretty bad. I couldn’t be that vindictive though… I couldn’t ruin someone’s living for what I want.

  I’d go tomorrow, show my face, give him one last push, and then I’d have to give up. I’d already done a lot more than I thought I would.

  I fell asleep somewhere around midnight. When my phone buzzed at 1am, I was still trapped in sleep, barely able to keep my eyes open.

  A text from a number I didn’t know.

  (404) 569- 4322: Fine. Let’s do this.

  I frowned. It was 1 in the morning. Probably wrong number. I ignored it and put my head back down.

  (404) 569- 4322: You coming or what?

  Oh fuck! It was Hunter Helms! No way… This is a fucking joke… No way I finally got to him.

  I texted back.

  Elaina: It’s 1am.

  (404) 569- 4322: And you’re awake. What exactly is the problem?

  I looked at the clock, gauging my time. It would take me a few minutes to put some clothes on and look decent, another 25 to get to his shop… Fuck it.

  Elaina: Give me 30 min.

  (404) 569- 4322: Make it 20.

  I scrambled up out of bed, flipping some life into my hair, grabbing my jeans and pulling them on. Wait, no. Jeans won’t be comfortable. Fuck. I grabbed some black leggings, threw on a bra, and a flannel shirt. I grabbed a clip to pull my hair out of my face.

  I ripped my phone off the charger and grabbed my keys. No time for make up. I almost walked out the door without shoes. Fuck. I could hardly breathe. This was finally happening.

  Chapter 3

  Hunter

  “I drew this,” I said flatly, offering her my sketch. I wasn’t happy about this, but I’d do what I had to to save my business. I was less mad, too, because this design fucking rocked. Maybe one of my best drawings yet.

  Sticks looked it over, tucking hair behind her ear. She smiled. She didn’t have a fucking choice but it was good. I drew a badass fucking phoenix but instead of cliché and typical fire and brimstone, it was coming from an post-apocalyptic oak tree. I designed the feathers to melt into leaves, branches, and roots. It would look good on Sticks and her skin tone. It was going to be so textured and saturated as hell.

  “I like it,” she offered, a glint in her eye competing with exhaustion. She looked tired already. She had no idea what was in store for her. “Where?”

  I set the drawing down, leaning back on the counter, crossing my arms. “Up to you, Sticks.” I offered, “I can make it work anywhere.”

  I winked; I was in control here.

  She smirked, biting her lip. “My whole left side is taken… But my right side free… Hip and ribs.”

  I licked my lips. So Sticks did have tattoos after all.

  I swallowed. “Show me.”

  She started unbuttoning her shirt, looking up at me as she finished, sliding it off her shoulders. Sexy as hell. I fucking hated this bitch… But damn she looked good.

  She tossed her shirt on the chair and watched me, waiting. Fucking hell.

  Elaina

  I knew I’d probably end up half naked in front of Hunter Helms if I wanted a tattoo from him, but I didn’t expect to feel like this. I expected taking off my shirt would feel awkward and exposing… But I was getting exactly what I wanted, and fuck it felt good. I felt his eyes on me and I wanted more than that.

  He was looking, up and down the front of my body. I was thankful I even took the time to put on a bra.

  “Turn around,” he said gruffly, eyes never leaving my skin. I felt like an object and fuck feminism, but it felt good.

  I turned. I felt his fingers against my neck, sliding my hair over my shoulder so he could see the tattoos along the left side of my shoulder and back. It gave me goose bumps.

  He stepped closer, fingers under my bra strap, moving it so he could see the rest of the tattoo it hid, hand running across the one in the middle of my back, to my favorite one on the left side of my ribs, then to down my hip.

  I tried to control my breathing. His hands were coarse but warm. It was now after 2am and Hunter Helms had his hands on me. I was fucking wet at the thought of it. I was glad I was facing away from him.

  I let out a slow breath as he touched the details on each tattoo. I felt my nipples harden.

  “Whoever you’ve had working on you is good,” he said, breath on my shoulder, “Not as good as I am… but good.”

  I smirked. I don’t know if Alex would accept that kind of compliment if he knew that Hunter Helms had his hands on me while he said it.

  He sat back on his chair, putting his on my hips and turning my right side towards him, lifting my arm out of the way. He was ready.

  “Can you move this down?” he asked hoarsely, feeling the top of my leggings on my hips. I obliged, folding the top down more past my hip.

  He grabbed his sketch and placed it against my skin, moving it and sliding it to the perfect spot. The bottom of the design at my hip and the top came to the backside of my ribs. It was fucking huge. Exactly what I’d wanted and waited for.

  “Good,” he uttered, “It fits. You’ll have to take this off, though.”

  He snapped the bottom of my bra, eyes on the red line it left.

  I didn’t say anything. Well, couldn’t. There was a lump in my throat. I was about to get exactly what I wanted for so long. From Hunter Helms.

 
“How many sessions?” I asked, for a tattoo this gigantic and for as much detail as he always put into his work, it’d be a while. I already couldn’t wait until the next time he put his hands on me again.

  He sat back, putting the design on his lap. “8… maybe 10 hours. I hope you don’t have any plans for the rest of the day... I’ll make your stencil.”

  He got up, taking his sketch with him. I frowned. “8 hours… Tonight?”

  He turned, smirking. Smug bastard. “Yeah, Sticks. All tonight. You pushed me. I don’t want to do this but you’ve made it very clear that you’ll make it hell for me if I don’t. We’re getting this done and over with as quickly as possible.”

  I felt my eyes widen. I’m sure the color drained from my face. Hunter Helms was one smug bastard. I misjudged him. I should’ve known he wouldn’t make this easy for me. My longest tattoo session was five hours and I was pretty uncomfortable at that point, but I made it. It wasn’t eight or ten hours though. Fuck. I didn’t know if I could take that much… But I couldn’t break in front of Hunter Helms. I knew he already got satisfaction from my face when he said ten hours. He’d be expecting me to fall apart at some point. No way in hell I’d let that happen.

  He returned with my stencil and got what he needed to shave and prep the area. His hands were on me again. Fuck. He put one hand on the small of my back as he shaved the fine hairs on my ribs. My skin erupted with goose bumps. Every time his hands were on me, I was ready to let him do whatever he wanted to me. Ten hours? Make it twelve. Just keep your hands on me.

  He slid his finger under the band of my bra again. “Off.”

  I swallowed. Half naked and barely able to control myself. Keep it together.

  He handed me my shirt to cover myself. I turned so my tits weren’t in his face and took off my bra. I tossed it on the chair and held the flannel over my breasts. It sounded like Hunter Helms gulped behind me. Yes.

  He finished shaving and prepping the rest of the area, hands lingering more than they had a second ago. Please put your hands back on me again.

  He got the stencil and carefully laid it, pressing it against my skin. My heart pounded in my chest. It was the middle of the night, I was half naked with Hunter Helm’s hands all over me… About to get the best tattoo of my life. My adrenaline was pumping.

  He pulled the paper away, sitting back to look at the design and how it fit on my skin. Fuck he was good.

  I looked in the mirror, gazing over the monstrosity of it, sheer perfection. I caught sight of his eyes behind me, roaming over my back, then to the mirror to my shoulders and collarbones. Lust shot up my spine. He was checking me out. As much as I knew he hated me… I wanted him.

  “Let’s get started,” he mumbled darkly, reaching to his tattoo machine and ink cups. My skin was aching for his hands again.

  I stepped towards the table, he’d set up for me. “Facing you or away?”

  He didn’t look up. “Away… for now.”

  Good… Staring at him for hours could get me into trouble.

  I laid down, bending my left arm under my head, getting comfortable, holding my shirt to my chest.

  I closed my eyes and breathed deep. It was going to be a long night.

  He snapped on gloves and rolled his chair close, one hand on my side. “Ready, Sticks?”

  I nodded. My adrenaline would last a few hours but hopefully it wouldn’t tap out before I did.

  He started lining and it took all I had not to moan. My skin was already aching for his touch, almost vibrating with adrenaline, and now the small bite of pain, that hot livewire, felt so fucking good.

  Chapter 4

  Hunter

  Sticks handled the first few hours well. She didn’t even make a peep when I lined over her ribs like I expected her to. I knew she had a rib tattoo on the other side, but still, ribs fucking hurt. She was good and she stayed still.

  I, on the other hand, had trouble focusing. I’d get about 45 minutes of razor sharp focus, and then when I loaded up with more ink, I found my eyes wandering… She had a nice ass. Smooth skin. And good tattoos. Nowhere near my quality, but they were good. And they fit her. Someone took a lot of time to design each one especially for her and paid careful attention to how it’d fit on her body. She looked all the better with them.

  “So tell me, Sticks… why the fuck are you so obsessed with me,” I wondered aloud, going over her ribs.

  I could hear her smile, hand coming away from the shirt at her chest, tucking hair behind her ears. I watched to see if the shirt would fall and I’d catch a glimpse of her tits.

  “You’re the best,” she stated, “That’s really all there is to it.”

  I glanced over at the rest of her tattoos. “Whoever you had working on you was good. That wasn’t enough?”

  She shrugged as I wiped excess ink off her skin. “He’s good… But he’s not you. He’s wanted to fill this space for years but I’ve been saving it in case I got you to work on me.”

  My cock hardened just a little bit. Fuck. This crazy bitch has been saving her skin for years. Just for me.

  “And what would’ve happened if I’d said no?” I asked, still in disbelief I was tattooing a damn woman.

  She smirked over her shoulder at me. “That wasn’t an option.”

  I chuckled. She was so fucking smug.

  “Mind if I stretch for a second?” she asked.

  I rolled my eyes. Here we go. Wanting to take breaks already. I knew it was too good to be true.

  She sat up, hair siding over her shoulders. She held the collar of her shirt in her teeth and raised her arms over her head, stretching. I could see the curve of her breasts, holding her shirt in her teeth barely covered anything. I shot my eyes away to keep from staring but found my eyes wandering down her waist, to her hip, her skin red and swollen from where I’d been working. I knew it was warm to the touch. I wanted to feel it with my bare hands. And I knew that she wanted me to.

  She put her arms down and lay back on her side. “Okay, I’m good now.”

  I was grateful she was still turned away and couldn’t see how hard my cock was getting in my jeans. Fuck. A half naked woman laying here letting me work on her. If I wasn’t a professional and she wasn’t fucking tormenting me, I’d fuck the shit out of her.

  I continued lining, realizing that I didn’t even remember her name.

  “What’d you say your name is, Sticks?” I asked, not really caring if I hurt her feelings that I didn’t remember.

  I could almost feel her roll her eyes. “Elaina.”

  I scoffed. “I like Sticks better.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at me, rolling her eyes. “I don’t even get what that’s about.”

  “Hmm,” I mused, “Maybe I’ll tell you when we’re finished.”

  She relaxed her neck, probably getting into the zone where she hardly felt my needle in her skin. It was getting near 5am. I was getting ready to start shading.

  It still pissed me off that this fucking bitch blackmailed me into tattooing her. I’m sure she was used to getting her way and doing whatever was necessary to get a man by the balls to do it. I knew this wasn’t her first rodeo.

  What pissed me off even more though? The fact that I wanted to fuck her. She thought she was such tough shit and could control whatever and whoever she wanted. As much as her little attitude pissed me off… it turned me on.

  Most women I dated were either tattoo groupies who just wanted to date and fuck my name and the others were feminists who insisted I had mommy issues and that’s why I wouldn’t tattoo women. Funny though, those kinds were usually screamers.

  I hadn’t dated much recently, focusing my attention on my shop. The No Women policy had taken over more than just one aspect of my life.

  “Alright,” I said, sitting up, stretching my back, “I need you to turn this way.”

  She let out a small sound and raised herself up, yawning, hair a mess. She’d be even more tired than this if I was finished fucking her.


  She got to her feet and stretched, that damn shirt still covering her tits. Fuck, I wanted to see them. This was going to be an eight-hour cock tease.

  She lay back down on the table, facing me. Fuck.

  She was fucking laid out. Just for me. I would fucking eat her up. I followed the curve of her neck, along her chest, the stupid shirt, her ribs, her waist. When I met her eyes, she was watching me. Fuck. She saw me checking her out.

  I clenched my teeth, hoping she wouldn’t be able to notice how hard my cock had gotten in my jeans.

  I picked up the ink I needed and started shading. She instantly relaxed. I smirked. Shading always hurt less. I glanced over to her; her eyes were closed.

  “Don’t fall asleep on me, Sticks,” I warned, “I have a policy about tattooing unconscious people.”

  “Hmm,” she mused, “Like your policy on women? You won’t do it unless someone bugs the hell out of you?”

  I let her have a smirk for that one. That was damn true. “Bugging isn’t the same as harassing,” I pointed out.

  “Fine,” she conceded with a smile, eyes still closed, “It worked though, didn’t it?”

  I didn’t say anything. She already knew she won. She didn’t need to drag me through the dirt to remind me.

  “Why no women?” she asked, “Bad experience? Burned by an ex?”

  I wanted to roll my eyes. I’d been asked this question for years. “Nope, just fucking sick of them. They’re too much of a pain in the ass. And you know all about that.”

  This time, she didn’t say anything. She knew she was a giant thorn on my side, a liability and a major pain in my ass. There was no tiptoeing around her feelings.