Deranged Ink #1: Bad Boy/Second Chance/Surprise Baby Romance Read online

  deranged ink book #1

  DAXTON & BREANNA

  C. A. HARMS

  contents

  Disclaimer

  OPPOSITES ATTRACT

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Epilogue

  Book #2 Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright @ 2022 Author C.A. Harms All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. If you should do so, legal action may be taken to protect the author and their work.

  disclaimer

  Disclaimer:

  * * *

  The first twenty-six and a half chapters of this book were previously published in a novella that was titled Inked boy. This is the extended version of Breanna and Daxton’s complete story from start to finish, making it a novel without the previous novella cliff hanger.

  opposites attract

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

  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 over‐thinking 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 reaction, 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 pa
rt. 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.

  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 making friends. Why waste time when tomorrow they will be forgotten.

  I trusted no one 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’ll 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 closer 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 crowds 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 tries to hurt her.

  I look around at each of my friends as they laugh, and enjoy thems
elves 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.

  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 come along. Instead, as I move through the crowd and toward the tent a few yards away, I take the time to look around.