Page 48 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

M y fingers trace over delicate skin, imagining ink trailing to the curve of her ass. Pebbles appear with each stroke, disappearing, only to reappear as I follow the path again.

It’s a view I indulged in all yesterday as I worshipped her mind, body, and soul, while she healed pieces of mine I thought would always be broken.

My little painkiller. When her performance was canceled due to the entire main cast, minus her, getting food poisoning, we only left the bed for food, water, or take a piss.

“That tickles,” she mumbles, turning her head to face me. Wild, fiery hair hangs over her face, hiding those brilliant, kaleidoscope eyes. My hand lifts from her back to push it away, needing to see her. “What are you thinking about?”

“Why do you dance?” The question has been on the tip of my tongue since the salon, but no conversation we’ve had has presented the opportunity. I suppose it wasn’t offered now, either. I just took it. Like I took her.

“Because I love it.” The response is automatic and robotic. Even if I hadn’t heard the bits and pieces I had, that alone would tell me all I need. She’s said it so many times, probably to herself as well, that it comes without thought. “Why do you work at a record label?”

Reciprocation. The reason why two weeks ago, I didn’t press or ask questions. Now I need to know everything about her. So I have to give her something.

“Because I love music. It’s in my blood.” That’s the truth, but the observant minx knows it’s not the whole truth. Her eyes shine with consideration. I see the hunger for answers.

“Not fighting.”

“No.” I return my fingers to her back, using her soft curves as a distraction. “Fighting is a high and a release for everything I keep bottled up.”

“Self-aware.”

“Mhmm. Very.” Hard not to be when everyone calls you out. What’s the point in denying the consensus?

“So you always wanted to work in an office?”

“Hell, no,” I laugh. “That’s why I scout talent. My damn title is way too much for what I do.”

“I doubt that. Sooo…” She turns, facing me, her hands tucked under her head. “I’ve seen the guitar. Do you play?”

Gold and green sparked, giving her away. “Someone’s been snooping,” I chuckle.

“Not snooping, observing what was left out on the coffee table for anyone to see.”

“Still snooping.” I give her side a playful pinch, making her yelp. “Okay. I’ll tell you, if you tell me the truth about why you dance.”

“Fine. I do it for my mom. She pushed me to this. Tried with Phoebe too, but she hated it. It was her dream growing up, but according to her, she had us, and it was over. I think she was trying to fulfill her dreams through us. She died bringing me my shoes for a recital, so I guess it’s my way of honoring her and her wishes.

” Her chest rises with heavy regret while her fingers trace the ink on my chest, using the same distraction I used moments ago.

“I should’ve quit after she died. It’s honestly caused me nothing but problems. Phoebe blames me for Mom favoring me, which she did because I kept going when Phoebe stopped, and for her death, for the same reason.

And she’s right, if I had been honest, she wouldn’t have been rushing to me.

She also blames me for Dad. If our mom were still here, he would be too.

It’s part of the reason why I lost my sister. ”

I’ve heard all of this before, but in much more general, vague terms. Brows dipping, I think back to the conversations we had, our shared bond over siblings we could never live up to—and how they let us down.

Graham let me down by forgetting me, but she said…

“The other part is over a guy.” Fiery eyes snap to mine, full of anger, ready to lash out.

“Hey.” I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb over her anger.

“No judgment here. I heard one side of the story. Trust me, I understand when people only know one perspective.”

“I didn’t go after him,” she demands. “I was in a towel, getting ready to go to rehearsal for a show, when he walked in. I told him to get out, but he wouldn’t listen. He kissed me and tried to do more than that, but Phoebe walked in.”

My jaw ticks, red hot fury races across my skin. That’s a much different story than the one I heard. “I need his name.”

“Calm down, Rocky. I handled him a few days later when he came over, looking for Phoebe. I bet his balls still hurt.” She smiles, and I feel it in my chest—that kind of sharp, searing warmth that never came before her.

God-fucking-dammit. I think I really do love her. Not just like or want. Love.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Just fuck.

“Your turn. Give me something, so I feel less pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic, and if you hate dancing, you should stop.”

“And do what?” she chuckles. “Be a waitress forever? Though I will admit working at Inferno pays very well.”

“The 7th Circle.” I lift a brow, daring her to argue, knowing she will anyway. If not today, then someday.

“Mhmm.” I get the feeling her argument won’t come with words. Pressing my lips together, I internally prepare myself to get into another fight…and possibly a bullet to the head from Dom. “It’s good money, but it’s not exactly my dream job.”

“Then what is?”

“I don’t know. The only thing I’ve done since I was three is dance. Fuck, I barely graduated because I spent so much time practicing, I failed half of my classes. Colleges aren’t looking for the C-minus student they’ll have to teach everything to.”

“College is overrated.” I shrug.

“Says the guy who works at a music label.”

“You don’t have any idea what else you’d like to do?”

“Nope. See why I’m stuck? Don’t get me wrong.

I love dancing. I hate performing, hate the endless rehearsals and classes.

Always the same moves, steps…No matter how much the choreography changes, it’s the same core to every show.

It feels like there’s no true originality to it.

I never get a minute to do anything I want.

Can’t take liberties or be creative. But I’m not even sure what else I might be good at or interested in. ”

My mind works, wondering if she’d be interested in anything we have at Sin Records. If she’s even interested in an office setting or the music world at all.

Yet, I can’t see her enjoying the monotony. She was born to dance. That much was evident last night. Even if it pissed me off.

“Your turn, Romeo. Stop deflecting.”

“Not deflecting,” I chuckle, then sigh, telling her about my time with my mom, learning to play. How it was all that I wanted, even after she died. Then, about the wake-up call from my dad. “Those who can’t do, teach. Or in my case, search the country and world for others who can.”

“I have no clue how to read music, but the lyrics I read were amazing.”

“Maybe, but they’ll never sell. Trust me..” I wink. “It’s my job to know these things.”

She hums again, looking less than convinced. Before she can argue, I drag her under me, nudging her thighs apart with my knees. “Enough talking.”

“More deflecting?” She calls me out with a challenging arch of her brow.

My lips almost brush hers, our breath mingling. “For now.” Our mouths press together, soft and seductive and…

The fucking doorbell rings.

“I was beginning to wonder if this was some secret castle no one knew about.”

“I’m punching whoever the fuck that is?” I grumble.

“We have to get ready anyway, remember? Theater, then your brother’s.”

“Fuck my life. Can we skip that?”

“You may be able, but I’ve flaked on Casey way too often since promising her we could be friends.”

The doorbell rings again, and I fling the covers off, stomping through the bedroom to the door.

“Aren’t you going to put on pants? Or shorts?”

I pause at the door, looking over my shoulder. “No. Only a few people know where I live, and if it’s any of those motherfuckers, they can suffer the consequences of showing up uninvited.”

“You know, it could be the wrong apartment. They might have a kid.”

My fingers brush over my mouth, sick at the thought of traumatizing a child.

There is already enough of that in the world.

“Fine.” I scoop a pair of basketball shorts off the floor, pulling them on, but my hard cock tents the nylon fabric.

Hopefully, it won’t traumatize them too badly because it’s the best I’ve got at this moment.

The bell sounds again, my irritation spewing like shaken ginger ale, as I look through the peephole and find it’s not a small child, but an asshole. Cool metal presses into my palm as I rip the door open, growling at my intruder. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you, too, little brother.” The arrogant asshole claps my shoulder and squeezes past me.

“Most people, I don’t know, call before they come over.” I stand with the door open, hoping he’ll take the hint.

He chooses not to. Graham isn’t stupid. Just stubborn. All his wealth and power haven’t dented his entitlement. Admirable when he applies those devilish resources to others, but when he pulls that CEO shit on me?

“Get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

“Coming with you where?” My stomach already revolts against his demand, knowing where this is going.

“Casey is panicking over everything not being perfect today. I’m choosing to blame the psycho-bitch for fucking with her head. Anyway, it’s either I do it, or she won’t go to her show. There’s not a lot left to do, but too much for me without help.”

Eyes slanting at my brother, my arms fold over my bare chest, and my jaw works side-to-side. “Again, all of this could’ve been relayed with a phone call instead of you muscling your way through my front door.”