Spider: A tattoo romance (Rough Ink Book 2)

  Spider

  MV Ellis

  Blurb

  She’s been broken by life. He’s always had it easy. Can they trust each other enough to be the fix they both need?

  I used to wonder if there was something wrong with me, because here was nothing wrong with me. I’m a happy, well-adjusted, laid-back guy, or so I always thought. The reality, though, is I’ve been coasting through life, not thinking or feeling, just being.

  That is until everything goes wrong, and Emi comes crashing into my life in the worst way possible. Yet for all the drama, angst, and heartache she brings with her, she’s also shown me what it means to be human—to feel, love, and hurt. She’s taught me what it meant to be alive.

  She’s so fragile, yet she’s also the strongest person I know—a true survivor. She’s been to hell and back but wakes up every morning ready to fight another day.

  And when tragedy strikes and my perfect world falls apart, she’s the one helping me pick up the pieces. Yet each time she needs me to be there for her, she pushes me away.

  But I refuse to just walk away. She’s taught me that real life isn’t easy, and if something’s worth wanting, it’s worth fighting for.

  Spider © 2019 by MV Ellis

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Spider is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.

  www.hottreepublishing.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: PopKitty Design

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-925853-86-5

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-925853-87-2

  Contents

  Warning

  Dedication

  1. Spider

  2. Emi

  3. Spider

  4. Emi

  5. Spider

  6. Spider

  7. Spider

  8. Emi

  9. Emi

  10. Spider

  11. Emi

  12. Spider

  13. Emi

  14. Spider

  15. Emi

  16. Spider

  17. Emi

  18. Spider

  19. Emi

  20. Spider

  21. Emi

  22. Spider

  23. Emi

  24. Spider

  25. Spider

  26. Emi

  27. Spider

  28. Emi

  29. Spider

  30. Emi

  31. Spider

  32. Emi

  33. Spider

  34. Emi

  35. Spider

  36. Emi

  37. Spider

  38. Emi

  39. Spider

  Epilogue

  Thanks

  Spider Playlist

  Also by MV Ellis

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  More From Hot Tree Publishing

  Warning

  TRIGGER WARNING This book contains information about domestic violence and/or violence which may be triggering to survivors.

  Dedication

  Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.

  Isaac Asimov

  To the estimated 1 in 3 women worldwide who have experienced partner violence—society’s secret shame.

  1

  Spider

  “Everybody on the motherfucking ground! Palms on the floor by your shoulders. Anybody moves a fucking muscle and she’s dead first. Then I’ll get the rest of you one by one.”

  The sharp cold of the polished concrete floor bit into my cheekbone as I slammed to the ground on my stomach. I made sure I landed with my face turned toward Tommy so that I could see both him and Emi. If she’d seemed scared when she came into the studio, she looked petrified by this point.

  The color had drained from her beautiful amber skin and her pupils were startled pinpricks. I was sure it was from the adrenaline coursing through her veins, rather than a mind-altering substance. She didn’t seem like the type. Not only that, but I knew for a fact that she hadn’t taken anything in the last few hours at least, because she hadn’t been out of my sight since she’d walked into the studio.

  The unfolding situation would terrify anyone. A gun pointed at her head, wielded by her deranged boyfriend. Tommy had his arm around Emi’s neck, crushing her windpipe in the crook of his elbow, clearly enjoying seeing her struggling for breath. If she didn’t do as she was told quickly enough for his liking, or grappled at his arm as she had a few times in an attempt to get more air, he just squeezed tighter to remind her who was boss. I didn’t doubt that he would kill her, either by strangling her or by sinking a bullet into her brain at point-blank range.

  An image of the gruesome scene that would ensue if he did lodged in my mind, and I gagged on the bile that rose in my throat. There was no way I would let that happen. I’d take a bullet before I watched him do that to her.

  I began running scenarios in my mind like football drills, ways I could take Tommy down and avoid anyone else getting hurt. I didn’t mind him coming to harm, but I didn’t want the rest of us to suffer more than we already had.

  As though reading my mind, Tommy tightened his choke hold on Emi and walked farther into the room. “Nobody get any funny ideas or she’s gone. I mean it. This is not a drill, and don’t think I won’t end her. I’ll do it and not even think twice. She means nothing to me.”

  Hate wasn’t a word I could ever recall using and actually meaning it. Sure, as a kid, I’d hated this or that trivial thing, or this person or that one. As an adult, I never used it, because it was an emotion I couldn’t connect with. But lying on that floor, watching Tommy pace around us, hearing Jorja’s faint sobs and sniffles, and watching the waterfall of tears silently cascade down Emi’s face as she struggled to fill her lungs, the muzzle of his gun creating a dent where he’d shoved it against her temple, I hated him with a ferocity that shocked me. Even under those extreme circumstances.

  Maybe Tommy and I weren’t so different. I liked to think we were, that we were literal worlds apart, but with all that anger, hatred, and adrenaline-fueled power coursing through my veins, I couldn’t say that I wouldn’t stoop to behavior every bit as evil as his, if the situation called for it. But the difference was, I would only go there if there was no other option, no other way to help someone else. And I wouldn’t take the decision lightly. I didn’t consider hurting people a sport like Tommy seemed to.

  I couldn’t see everyone from where I was, but I knew the studio’s layout like the back of my hand, and I’d made sure I knew where everybody was when we’d dropped to the ground. Kota was over to the right, just in front of the reception desk and behind Tommy in his current location. Even if I hadn’t clocked Jorja’s position before hitting the deck, the sounds of her distress gave me a good idea of her exact location, in the far left of the small room. Kian was behind her, also to my left. My view of him was blocked, but I knew he was there.

  It
was a shame that Zed and Harley weren’t there. Not that I wished being held up at gunpoint on anyone, but the two of them were like me—built like brick shithouses. We were tall, broad, ripped, and not about to blow over in a breeze. Kian wasn’t a weakling either and was tough as a motherfucker. But with the two other guys with us, I was sure that, using the element of surprise and our sheer weight of muscle, we could have taken Tommy, firearm or no. As it was, I wasn’t certain. Still, I would rather risk those odds than lie prone and at the mercy of the whims of a crazy person.

  That said, I hated that I couldn’t see Kian’s face to communicate with him. Whatever I was going to do, I’d just have to do it and hope Kian—and Jorja, and Kota too—wised up to the plan and jumped on board. Either way, I knew I could trust Kian to have my back in any way he could. He wasn’t the most talkative guy. In fact, he was the polar opposite of my permanent case of verbal Delhi belly, as noted by none other than “charming” Tommy, who now held us all captive. But he was a solid friend regardless.

  In my scheming, I’d tuned Tommy out, which I realized wasn’t the most sensible plan. I needed to remain aware of where his head was at before making any kind of move. Despite having muted Tommy’s crazy ranting for a moment, I’d kept watch on Emi, and therefore him, the entire time. It killed me to see her suffering, but in the short time I’d known them both, I was sure that what I was witnessing was the tip of the iceberg of his mistreatment of her. My mind went to all kinds of dark places, imagining what her life must be like on a day-to-day basis.

  I brought my attention back to Tommy’s crazy diatribe, hoping for a miracle. I kidded myself that maybe in the time I’d stopped listening, Tommy had come to his senses, or was running out of steam. No such luck. His ranting was every bit as hateful—if anything getting worse as he worked himself into a frenzy.

  “…you and your boyfriend over there. You know you have to get up earlier than that to get one over on me, right? Fucking Hansel and Gretel bullshit amateur hour. Why didn’t you just lay a trail of breadcrumbs and hope a SWAT team followed it? You. Dumb. Fucking. Bitch.” He dragged her back and forth as he yelled louder and louder, working himself up more the longer he went on.

  “See? See? It’s like I always say. You’re useless. Worthless. Can’t even fucking make an escape plan properly, can you? Can’t do anything right even if your stupid, nothing, pissant little life depends on it. I should off you right here and now for being a total waste of air and human cells. Your parents should’ve done us all”—he spun around, waving the gun in front of him to include everybody in the small reception area—“a favor and Plan B’d your stupid ass before you had the chance to become a stain on my existence. Would’ve saved me the trouble of putting you down now.”

  He forced the gun into Emi’s mouth. She gagged around the metal barrel, which only made him shove it deeper.

  “C’mon, baby. What, you can’t deep throat anymore, huh? That’s not what you were telling me this morning.” I wanted to punch the lecherous grin off his face as he laughed at his own crudely childish joke.

  I considered myself an even-tempered, laid-back kind of guy most of the time. As a general rule, I didn’t go in for big shows of emotion of any kind, so the feeling of wanting to spring up from the floor and end this guy was a shock to the system.

  But I had to keep my cool. As much as it killed me to watch Emi treated that way at the hands of that lunatic, I couldn’t risk her life and everybody else’s with stupid heroics, regardless of my urges. I just wished the police would hurry the fuck up before Tommy did something we’d all regret.

  Moments later, a voice boomed at us from somewhere overhead.

  “This is Detective Eric Muñoz. We have the building surrounded. We urge you to walk out of your own free will and surrender your weapon so we may end this situation calmly.”

  It was safe to say that being calm was the last thing on Tommy’s mind. At the sound of the voice on the loudspeaker, he lost it completely, making his earlier behavior seem sane. He yanked the gun out of Emi’s mouth, sparking a huge choking fit, which he ignored.

  “Fuuuuuuuuuck! What the fuck! I’m gonna put a hole in her head. Don’t test me. I’m a guy who does what he says. Everyone in this room will be wearing her brain chunks if you don’t back the fuck away.”

  I desperately feared for our safety. Was he really so delusional that he believed the police were about to “back off”’ because he told them to? More to the point, did he think they’d even heard what he’d said? The fact that our survival depended on the unpredictable actions of an unstable mind filled me with dread.

  “Tommy, p-p-please….” It was the first time she’d spoken since he’d put the gun to her head. Emi’s voice was broken and hesitant but still audible, and my admiration for her grew tenfold. Through this whole encounter, her inner strength had shone through. She’d been terrified the entire time; she may have cried, she may have pleaded, but still her courage and resilience were unmistakable. She was a fighter. There was no doubt in my mind about that.

  “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Bitch, I will kill you. I will kill all of you!”

  I ran through the options for ending the situation a second time, playing out the scenarios in my mind. None were a perfect fit, but I knew I had to do something before things got out of hand. I could never have forgiven myself if I’d lain there and done nothing while the worst happened to Emi, or any of us.

  When Tommy turned his back to me, I moved my leg without making a sound, pulling my knee up so I could get to a crouching and then standing position easier.

  As I moved, there was a sudden flurry of activity from nowhere. I barely had time to register what it was, but when I did, I saw Kota sailing through the air past me like some kind of ninja. A nanosecond later, she was on Tommy’s back and the two of them were tumbling to the ground.

  2

  Emi

  I didn’t know what was happening, but any movement or commotion that was out of Tommy’s hands was an opportunity for me to save myself. Before I had time to think or calculate the risk, I sprang from his grasp, trying to bolt for the other side of the small room, toward the hallway where the treatment rooms were. It was a long shot, but it was all I had, and I liked my odds better as a moving target, with the whole room in flux, than I did trapped in Tommy’s arms with a gun pointed at my temple or shoved in my mouth.

  The crack of gunfire was loud and terrifying. I registered the heat and smell released as the bullet left the chamber—it was amazing what information the brain could process in such a tiny fragment of time—and then the heavy blow to my back as my body hurtled to the ground. I scrunched my eyes shut to block out the reality that Tommy had made good on his promise to use his power over me to achieve his goal.

  This is how death feels.

  It was a few moments before I realized that the weight slamming into me hadn’t been Tommy’s gunshot. It was a few more moments before I figured out it was a body. Lean, strong, athletic, hard. A smell hit my nostrils: a now familiar aftershave, a faint but distinct male musk, hair wax.

  Another moment passed, and my brain finally caught up with reality. I was on the floor. Spider was on top of me, shielding me from the commotion. Protecting me from danger. Prepared to take a bullet for me.

  The word chaos didn’t cover the scene unfolding around me. In a twist to this ordeal, I couldn’t have predicted, the tattoo studio’s receptionist—Kota, I believe she said her name was—had tackled and disarmed Tommy in a feat of what appeared to be superhuman strength and agility.

  I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself, but now Tommy’s face was pressed into the floor, and she was on top of him with one knee jabbed into his neck and one of his arms pulled back behind him. He was screaming bloody murder, dropping every cuss word under the sun, and wriggling like a toddler on a changing table, but he was going nowhere unless the receptionist let him.

  I scanned the room, searching for injuries, but it seemed everybody
was okay. Another of the tattoo artists had kicked the gun under a designer leather easy chair that sat to one side of the reception area.

  The next thing I knew, the glass door to the store shattered into a billion pieces, and we were in the center of a sea of blue-and-black-clad NYPD SWAT team officers. There were more automatic weapons than I hoped to ever see again, even if I lived to be 100.

  The police quickly moved in and took over from Kota, dragging Tommy away while yelling his Miranda rights at him over his incessant hollering. One of them must have retrieved the gun, because when I looked under the chair again, it wasn’t there. More officers swarmed what was now a crime scene, until the reception area was almost full.

  As we were no longer under physical threat, Spider lifted himself off me, and we both scrambled to standing.

  “Sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you. I thought… I thought he was going to kill you.”

  Why the hell was he apologizing to me? He was far from at fault. More than that, he’d tried to save my life, risking his own at the same time.