The lit windows of Mad Dog Tattoo drift past as I roll down Wilshire for the fourth time in half an hour, my windshield wipers slapping against the downpour. At some point, Mad Dog’s little brother is going to pick up on it, if he hasn’t already—the kid has eyes like a hawk.
I need to be honest with myself. Mad Dog Santos isn’t just some tool for us to use to explore our kinks. He saved my life. He was there when Celeste needed him, and I have a feeling there’s more to their past than either of them have let on. I want to know what it is, and as much as I want to follow through to get a taste of what Celeste is offering, I want this more for other reasons that, frankly, scare the ever-living hell out of me to even entertain.
I’m curious, sure, but that’s only part of it. What Celeste and I went through, how we came together, wouldn’t have been possible without him. To say that I love the man probably isn’t even a stretch, but if I give myself to him the way Celeste is asking me to—and God forbid I like it—there will be no going back.
Emotionally invested isn’t even the half of it with him. He’s my fucking blood brother. We may not have bled together, but enough of my blood has spilled on his skin to count. And there was no way in hell I missed the way he looked at us during the photo shoot—especially at Celeste. He took a beating over her once upon a time, and I think there’s a chance he would again if it came to it. There is no one I trust more than him.
A state of calm resolve settles over me, and I move on autopilot once the decision sinks in. There is no going back after this. I have no idea what Manny would think if he knew what I was about to do. But maybe he would understand. His death left a hole in my heart that Celeste alone can never fill. A friendship with Maddox would go a long way to relieving that emptiness. Something even deeper might obliterate it entirely.
The bell jingles over the door, and I find Maddox, rather than his brother, seated at the counter, working on a tablet. He looks up, and his eyebrows lift for a second before his lips twist into a cocky smile and he crosses his arms. “You ready for that tattoo? I guess that means you were happy with the shot I chose.”
My insides are in chaos, but I nod and chuckle. “A few of the others were tempting . . .” I pause and tilt my chin to indicate the shop at large. “You working alone tonight?”
Maddox shrugs and eyes me, evidently picking up on my weird behavior. I’m usually a lot more easygoing when I come to see him. “Sam and Elle had a school thing. Holiday dance. I think he even took a date, so maybe he’ll get lucky.”
“I think that kid was born lucky. He has mad skills. So do you. Or . . .” For the first time, it occurs to me to wonder. “Which one of you designed the tattoo?”
“It’s my work,” he says. “I only outsource for clients I’m not personally invested in.” His voice takes on a wary tone. “You didn’t really come to talk about Sam or the tattoo though, did you?”
I feel like a ball of white fire has lit inside me, crackling and sparking through my limbs. It makes it difficult to answer, but I manage to not sound like an idiot.
“Not exactly. This might be a bad time though.” I don’t know how I thought this would go, but my timing was shitty if I thought he’d just close up shop on what is usually a busy night just to hear my insane request.
“Not a problem. It’s December. Nobody’s out in this shit anyway. Just give me a minute to lock up. You can head upstairs and grab a beer. The lift is unlocked.”
It feels oddly familiar, comfortable even, when I push through the employees-only door then step into his clanky old elevator and hit the button to take me to his loft. I grab a beer and stand in his kitchen, leaning against the counter while I drink, mentally rehearsing what now sound like completely ridiculous lines.
A few minutes later, my spine tingles in recognition of some shift in the building, then the sound of the elevator kicks on. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and force myself into stillness. My body is lit up like I’m about to dive into a fight, adrenaline pumping through my veins enough to make me half hard.
I chug the beer and stare at the new photos he has on his wall—he took the sexy ones down and replaced them with shots of some of the residents of LA’s streets. My brother and I would have landed there ourselves if it weren’t for Gustavo, the bastard. He picked Manny out of all the gangbangers in La Valla and took him under his wing. Manny was always the more ambitious of the two of us, but he still had a heart, and not even Gustavo’s influence managed to corrupt him. I always believed it was working that closely with Arturo that made Gustavo the brutal bastard he was, but now that I spend my days with Papá, I’ve seen how carefully he runs things, how reasonable he really is. The only time I’ve ever seen the man show emotion is around Celeste or Elena and her family. And with me. That’s what makes it so easy to do whatever he asks—he’s like the father I never had.
What the fuck am
