Inked Boy: The All American Boy Series Read online

  Inked Boy

  C. A. Harms

  Copyright © 2021 by C. A. Harms

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  More to Come…

  About the Author

  Also by C. A. Harms

  Opposites Attract

  The saying goes, opposites attract and, in this case, it couldn’t be more true.

  Chapter One

  Breanna

  * * *

  "Will you hand me the red lipstick," I look from Aurora to the tube of my favorite Chanel lipstick and then back to her. I am feeling slightly envious of my best friend, but that is a daily thing. She is a force, a diamond in the rough. She has no fear; she never truly has. She's a jump-in and grabs the bull by the horn’s kind of girl.

  She is the kind of woman I'd love to be, always choosing to live her life to the fullest.

  I take a moment to look over her and can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. She wears a killer pair of black leather pants and a fitted red off-the-shoulder shirt with a low-cut neckline that enhances her perfect chest. She can pull off the look, and she owns it.

  I wish I had her confidence.

  I am a woman who loves men, but if I ever considered batting for the other team, Aurora would be my type. She is breathtaking. Since we were little, it's always been the two of us, turning heads wherever we go.

  We are polar opposites, Aurora with her long dark hair and my golden locks and natural wave. She is the wild child, and I'm the voice of reason. I'm the one fearful of the consequences, and she is the one lecturing me about only having the chance to live once, so stop wasting it.

  I lift the tube and hand it to her, watching as she carefully glides it over her lips before pressing them together, releasing them with an overly exaggerated pop.

  "You should wear this too," she holds it out to me, and I arch a brow. I fell in love with the color the second I saw it. Although I bought it thinking I could pull it off after putting it on the first time, I decided red was not my color. So, I've chosen to admire it in its pretty little tube instead.

  "I'll stick with sheer gloss," she does not attempt to hide the rolling of her eyes. "What?"

  "You are your own worst enemy, I swear it, always overthinking everything way too much.”

  "Well, one of us has to be the mature one, the logical one."

  "Because living a little would kill you," she doesn't give me the chance to say anything in return before spinning around and walking out of my small bathroom. "I'll be waiting in the kitchen when you decide to pull that stick out of your ass."

  "Bitch," I mumble and hear her laugh fade as she goes in the direction of the kitchen. Looking at my reflection, I smile to myself while gently gliding the gloss over my lips.

  This is how Aurora and I have always been—constantly hassling one another and giving truths without pause and opinions without fear. Aurora is my person. I may not always like what she has to say to me, but I value it.

  Twenty minutes later, I'm walking into the kitchen to find her with a bottle of Tequila, cut limes, a saltshaker, and two shot glasses.

  "What?" She asks, shrugging as she fills the two small glasses and then looks at me once more. "We aren't planning to drive after we get to Bear Creek, it's a girl's weekend away, and I figure what better way to start a girl’s trip than Tequila." She taps the top of the shot glass and gives me her 'get a move on girl' look. Pursed lips, an arched brow, and a wrinkled nose, she waits for me to accept my fate. It's a look she has had to use with me often, during the course of our friendship.

  "What the hell," I say, making her frown turn into a smile as I step closer and grab for the glass. "To a weekend of freedom and bad choices for you," she laughs at me as I tilt my glass in her direction, "and for me, another night of babysitting." Then, flipping me off, she brings her glass closer to mine, and they make a clicking sound. Together we throw back two shots each, and I shiver as I dance around with a lime between my lips.

  I wouldn't say I like Tequila, but it's our go-to when we kick off our nights out. It serves a purpose, to relax me.

  "Another one?"

  I immediately start to shake my head as I shiver through the ick of the taste and the burn the alcohol provides. "I've got to see straight to take pictures."

  "I still can't believe you have to work during this event."

  I wouldn't call it work. I'm a freelance photographer. Mostly I do family photos, school pictures and so on. But I'm also hired to take photos for the Music Festival in Bear Creek, which is less than an hour outside of Boulder, where we live. The pictures will be used to promote the event in the future and highlight the artists who are performing. It's great because they take my images and broadcast them throughout monitors in all the local stores and webpages. I love what I do, capturing the moments, sharing what others may not see at first glance. It's thrilling.

  It's my passion; it's my form of art.

  "Stop complaining," I nudge her as I pass. "You act like you don't enjoy pointing out all the hot guys you want me to snap a picture of during these things."

  "That's the best part. I get to admire them later and not feel like the perve that's taking the pictures with my phone."

  "Oh so, I'm the perv?"

  "You said it, not me." She laughs, and I, too, smile. I'm looking forward to the weekend. Maybe it is time for me to let go a little and have some fun. Perhaps I do need to stop analyzing everything and enjoy what is happening when it's happening.

  A good time is long overdue.

  Chapter Two

  Daxton

  * * *

  Drawing and creating have always been my escape. It’s something I do when things get tough, which for me growing up was most days. I spent my entire childhood in foster care. I never had a true family or a place to call home. That kind of life left me with little hope of anything significant, being tossed around over and over, never feeling like I belonged anywhere, or that anyone wanted me. So, I learned a long time ago that if I wanted something, I had to fight for it. To strive to be better, I must pave my own path.

  I learned far too young what a fucked-up world we live in, and no way would I ever bring a child into the hell that surrounds us all.

  Born to a junky and her dealer, I had no chance at a good life from the start.

  My entire life, I’ve been bounced from one home to the next before the sheets had a chance to warm. Sleep with one eye open, my boots on, so if I had to run, I didn’t have to worry about stepping on anything along the way; that was my life.

  I was the child that refused to unpack his bags because I knew I wouldn’t be staying long enough, so why bother—never making friends. Why waste time when tomorrow they will be forgotten.

  I trusted no on
e until I met my boys and Luna. They are the only true family I have ever had.

  I’m proud of how far I’ve come. No one has given me a thing. I’ve worked hard for what I have. Yet, still to this day, I carry all the anger from my childhood on my back.

  Some say I’m an asshole, that I’m cold and miserable. I’d have to agree. I let very few people in; I’m guarded. Very few knew me as anything other than a prick, my circle is small, and I like it that way. I don’t find the need to smile and wave; I keep my focus forward, one step at a time. One foot in front of the other, and if you don’t like me, well, then move the hell over and let me by.

  Deranged Ink is not only my place of business; it’s my home. I can afford to live in a house in the up-and-coming part of town, but I preferred to live in an apartment above the only place that has indeed ever been mine.

  I started tattooing in a shitty little parlor in Chicago, doing great designs for shit pay. I was young, and the owner took advantage of my talents. Then I met Jace and Olly, or Oliver as most know him. A rough kid from a rough neighborhood. Our first interaction was with our fists, over some chick that, now looking back, I know got off on turning us against one another. In the end, he and I walked away together, ignoring the blood and bruises we’d caused each other.

  Also, leaving behind the whiney girl that I’m sure had a different guy by midnight.

  I slept on his couch for a week, and I realized he and I were almost one and the same during that time. We’ve been best friends ever since.

  Six months, that’s how long it took us to save up enough money to leave Chicago and set out for a fresh start.

  I’d made my mind up when we rolled into Colorado; I was never looking back. I took all the anger and shit of my past and turned it into determination. The drive to succeed and prove to every negative person of my past that I made it.

  Now I am the owner of an established Tattoo shop in Bear Creek, Colorado, with four others working alongside me. I finally have a real family and a real home.

  “You about done?” I look over my shoulder to find Jace standing in the doorway with a smirk on his face. “I’m just saying,” he shrugs, “the streets are crawling with ladies in tight pants and short shorts. Yet here you are inside, sanitizing counters and organizing inks.”

  “Because not all of us are horny teenage boys looking to get laid.” Jace is a menace, a downright dirty sleaze. We’ve all given up on trying to keep up with his flavor of the week, or should I say day. Sooner or later, he’ll have to run out of options, which I guess is why he’s so keen on this event—new options coming in from all over, gathering right outside our door.

  “Luna and the guys are already gone. They said they’d meet us at the South Gate.”

  I nod just as I toss the last of the sanitizing wipes in the garbage. I’d have to finish up later or face listening to Jace continue to whine about missing out on his next conquest.

  I prefer to skip the festival; the crowd does nothing for me. Instead, they make me anxious and put me on edge.

  As we exit the shop, I make sure to lock the door and double-check it. Jace groans behind me, and I flip him off. I may be a little overly obsessive when it comes to Deranged.

  As we walk the streets of Bear Creek, I feel at peace. The crowds aren’t too bad until you get close to the main stage.

  I’ve spent so much of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next disaster to strike. Here, I don’t have to; things are peaceful. As we move through the people standing around talking, I get quite a few looks from people, but I don’t let it bother me. My skin bears the troubles of my past. A canvas of my pain and struggles. Those that have made me the man I am today.

  My left arm is one complete sleeve, wrapping up onto my shoulder and curling around my back. The ink on my back wraps around and extends upward onto my neck. It makes me appear dangerous to some, and they watch me as if they expect me to snap and do something psychotic and unpredictable. I don’t let the looks faze me; people like that don’t deserve my time.

  “Damn,” Jace mumbles, and I glance at him just in time to see that he is eyeing some dark-haired girl walking past us. She’s wearing a tight pair of leather jeans that leave little to the imagination. He’s practically drooling, which makes me chuckle. You’d think the guy never saw a half-naked chick before. “Tell me that you don’t find that hot.”

  “I’m not dead, Jace, I’m a guy, and yes, I find that hot. However, I don’t feel the need to dry hump the fucking air every time a pretty woman walks by.”

  “She’s not just pretty; she’s sinful.” He growls the words. “Could you imagine her on her back with her legs in the—,”

  “Stop,” I hold up my hand, not needing to hear anymore. Dirty fucker has no shame; he doesn’t even whisper the words because Jace doesn’t care who hears him.

  I see Luna and the guys up ahead. Olly notices us first and holds a beer up in the air giving it a slight taunting shake.

  As we get closer, I take the beer he is offering and lift it to my lips. I do find it hard to relax; I’ll admit that. I’ve lived a life with nothing; I’ve eaten food from the garbage, stolen a coat from a rack inside a restaurant to stay warm. Those are times I never want to relive. So, instead, I work my ass off, pushing myself to ensure that those times are a thing of the past. I eliminate distractions and obstacles that may or do stand in my way.

  I stand to the side, listening to Jace go on and on about the girl in the leather pants, and every time a new girl walks by, he gets semi-distracted. He looks like a bobblehead shifting around from side to side, his words fading for a few seconds before regaining his focus.

  Luna is the only girl trapped in our crew, but she knows how to handle us.

  She grew up with seven brothers, being the youngest in her family. So, she learned at a young age how to fight back. Looking at her, you’d never think that you should fear her, but the woman is a beast. She works at the shop, giving tattoos and filling in for Zac when he’s backed up on piercings. But she also teaches self-defense classes to victimized women. I know there is a story there, but we’ve never pushed her to talk about it.

  She feels safe with us four, just as she should because I know without a doubt that any of us would break the neck of anyone who tried to hurt her.

  I look around at each of my friends as they laugh and enjoy themselves and feel pride. Each of us has our troubles, we’ve lived in dark times and struggled, yet here we are. We have each other, and that is something that will never change.

  Chapter Three

  Daxton

  * * *

  As the day goes on and the night moves in, the crowds get a little thicker. Alcohol flowing allows everyone to get a little wilder. This only makes me more alert because people tend to get stupid when they drink, and I’m not in the mood to get trapped in the middle of someone else’s shit.

  “Whiskey Barrels is up next,” Luna announces, and I look down at my empty bottle deciding now is the perfect time to sneak away for a refill.

  “Anyone else need another drink?” I ask, looking around the group. Zac holds his empty bottle up, indicating he needs another one and everyone else says they are good.

  “I got it,” I tell him, and I don’t wait for anyone to offer to come along. Instead, as I move through the crowd and toward the tent a few yards away, I take the time to look around.

  It doesn’t take me long to spot Autumn, my ex standing near the left side of the tent, and my anxiety kicks in knowing if she notices me, things could shift, and that is the last thing I need. The woman is certifiably insane.

  I quickly shift to another line and make sure to keep my eyes on her through the sea of people to ensure I remain off her radar. Finally, after standing in line for nearly ten minutes, I order and pay, then begin working my way through the crowd to join my friends once again.

  But before I reach them, I am stopped by a loud squeal, and before I can prepare myself, someone collides with me—That’s when I fe
el the coolness soaking my shirt and the front of my pants. I stand in place, with my arms out to my sides, protecting the two beers I just bought. There is no use in attempting to shield myself; the damage is already done.

  The only thing I can see before me is the top of some girl’s head, her blonde hair completely shielding her face. The smell of lavender surrounds me, mixing with a tinge of something fruity. The sounds of laughter echo around me, and I look to my left to see two girls covering their mouths, trying to contain their reactions and failing miserably.

  “Oh my God,” the blond girl finally speaks as she slowly lifts her head. “I am so sorry,” the blue of her eyes practically glowing in the reflection of the lights flashing around us. For a few seconds, I forget that I am wearing her drink and stare at her. I’ve never seen eyes so blue.

  “There was something on the ground, and I tried to step around it, but my foot slipped, and before I knew it,” she cringed, her brows creasing as she looked over my front. “Damn it,” she stops, and I find it cute that she is so frustrated with herself. “I’m so sorry.”

  Immediately she starts to wipe at the wetness on my shirt before moving lower. Just below the buckle of my jeans, and I know then, it hasn’t even occurred to her how close she is to rubbing my dick through my pants. Her hands move up and down and side to side as she focuses on the wetness she has caused.