Beneath This Ink (Beneath #2)(39)

Fucking pathetic.

I needed to kick my own ass.

She scooted off the bike, careful to keep from flashing the world with her goods. I knew because I watched closely.

“You good?” I asked.

She nodded, smoothing her clothing into place.

“Thank you. For the ride. For last night. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I sat on the bike sideways, watching as she turned and took one step away from me. But I wasn’t ready to let her go. I grabbed her hand and hauled her back into my arms. I crushed my mouth to hers and stole whatever words might have spilled from her lips.

She’d never know it, but that kiss was to brand her as mine.

I released her, and she stumbled back on her heels, eyes wide. She lifted a hand to that luscious mouth I’d just devoured.

I couldn’t stop the grin from forming on my lips. “Have a good one, princess. I’ll be in touch.”



Hennessy was waiting in the alley at Voodoo when I killed the engine and walked my bike into my garage.

“Heard you had some trouble last night,” he called from where he leaned against the brick wall.

I dropped my helmet on the seat. “Yeah.”

“And you were conveniently unavailable even though witnesses put you at the scene.”

Fucking *s. Apparently my staff needed to learn they were supposed to be helpful in their statements to the cops—but only to a point.

“Well, detective, I’m conveniently available now. And flattered that you’re waiting on me at,” I looked down to check my watch, “just shy of six o’clock. Slow morning?”

“Slower than yours, it seems.”

He flipped open his little cop book and clicked his pen. “Who was the blonde, Con?”

I surveyed Hennessy and wondered if anyone would miss him if he disappeared. He was about six foot, two hundred pounds, with a buzzed head and a don’t-f*ck-with-me attitude. He was actually my favorite cop on the NOLA police force. I put his age at a few years younger than mine. Probably twenty-seven or eight. Still young enough to think he was making a difference. Yeah, someone would probably miss him if I fed him to the gators for asking about Vanessa.

I’d taken too long to answer, because he looked up at me, dark eyes narrowed. “The blonde?”

“Didn’t catch her name.”

One eyebrow lifted. “And yet you were carrying her out of your club?”

I played it off, smirking. “You know my style, Hennessy. I don’t get most of their names. And it’s not like I asked for her number either.”

He rolled his eyes. “Your guy claimed the security cameras haven’t worked since you bought the place. That true?”

“Sure is. It’s on my list of shit to do.” Actually, it was on my list of shit to do last week, but I’d gotten a little distracted.

“Can you at least give me a description of the blonde so I can attempt to track her down for questioning?”

“Come on, Hennessy, don’t you have enough information already? Besides, the best description I can give you is not of her face.” I didn’t like talking about Vanessa that way, but, considering it was her reputation I was saving, I got over it.

He slapped his book shut. “Fine. I’ll drop the questions about the blonde, but I do need your statement. You want to do it now or come down to the station?”

“You want coffee?”

“Wouldn’t turn it down.”

“Then come on up.”





I picked up my cell phone for the eight hundredth time and looked at the screen. It didn’t matter that I knew the thing would vibrate if a text came through; I still couldn’t stop myself from doing it. It’d become a reflex. A really annoying, totally distracting, absolutely ridiculous reflex.

It also didn’t take a genius to figure out whose text I was expecting.

But it never came.

I told myself it was a good thing. And when I stared at the calendar on my monitor, I knew it was a good thing. I had to report for duty in three hours at the Botanical Garden for a gala with Lucas Titan.

When I thought logically about my life, I knew that I should be looking forward to the event. It was the kind of thing I was bred for. My closet was full of designer cocktail dresses and evening gowns selected by personal shoppers for such occasions. Small talk was an art at which I excelled. When it came to people’s names, hobbies, children, pets—my mind was a filing cabinet of information. My father was right in some respects. I would have been a damn good politician’s wife, but Simon wasn’t for me. He never had been. But being seen on his arm had lifted my father’s scrutiny for a couple years, and also helped me gain some much-needed confidence to show off my skills. Sometimes it took having a friend at your side to take you from faking it to making it.

But now I was going back to faking it on Lucas Titan’s arm. My irritation flared hot and fierce. I was more than arm candy. I was more than a gateway to the inner circle of New Orleans’ upper crust. It infuriated me to be used as such. I wanted nothing more than to tell Lucas Titan to go to hell.

I tried to imagine how that scene would play out. Archer’s reaction. The disbelief followed by disappointment. It was the disappointment that would hurt the most. I didn’t think I could handle seeing that emotion on my last living Bennett relative’s face.