Surrender A Section 8 Novel - By Stephanie Tyler Page 0,11
his ribs for a finale, to ensure he wouldn’t get up when she was dealing with his counterpart.
He took her more seriously. He was big and could easily overpower her if she’d let him. That’s the key, her mother had always told her. Never let them have the advantage.
Her mother had fought to the death. But you couldn’t fight with bullets. And the familiar anger welled up inside Avery as she spotted a gun tucked into his jeans, exposed as he raised his hand, readying to punch her in the face.
She put up her own fists, ducked his attempt, because she was smaller and faster. Two quick jabs of her own, one of which clocked him squarely on the jaw, and she was chest to chest with him. Her hand was on the butt of the gun, cocked and ready. One quick wrist move and she said, “Your choice . . . if you want to lose your little friend.”
He’d stilled instantly. She stared directly at him. “We’re both going to walk away and you’re not going to follow me.”
He held his hands up. She took his gun with her, turned and walked down the four steps under the awning that said simply, Tattoos, and never looked back.
She’d been in New Orleans almost three full days—seventy-two hours—and trouble had already found her. And she was actively seeking out more.
“You find Gunner, take over his top floor,” Dare had told her earlier that evening as they’d walked out of the hotel they’d been staying in since their arrival.
“What does Gunner do?” she’d asked.
“Technically, he’s running a tattoo shop.”
“So what makes you think he’ll help us?”
“He saved my life.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she’d persisted, and all Dare would say was, “I know.”
“Did you call him?”
“No.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you introduced us?”
“Yes,” was all he said before he drove away in his old truck, leaving her to grab a cab.
Still, she’d done her research on the way over. What had people done before laptops and WiFi and 4G service?
Maybe walking into Gunner’s shop brandishing a gun was a bad idea, but the tattoo artist didn’t look up from his work. The woman getting a tattoo seemed almost lulled into a state of relaxation—her chest was bared and Gunner leaned over her intently.
Even seated, Avery could tell Gunner was tall—over six foot five probably—with white-blond hair that was cut short. His features were Nordic but when he glanced up at her his eyes were a warm blue, the color of the summer sky. There were tattoos running up and down his bare arms. She had a feeling they traveled under his wife beater and maybe even down his jean-clad legs.
You can’t miss him, Dare had said.
That was a fact.
She figured the guy was armed and that any fight with him might not be a draw. As a show of goodwill, she took the ammo out of the gun and pocketed both. The walls were lined with framed photos of his tattoo artwork—some were almost grotesque, but she couldn’t deny they were beautiful.
Gunner had a gift. Why he chose to have his shop here, in a location that no doubt kept away business, kept him from getting famous, she didn’t know. But there had to be a reason.
If he knew Darius and Dare, that was definitely the biggest piece to the puzzle.
“Don’t have any openings,” Gunner called out finally. From what little information she’d managed to find, the shop had a quiet, cultlike following. It served an exclusive clientele and was famous for not accepting appointments.
“I don’t want a tattoo.”
“You’re all done, sweetheart,” Gunner drawled to the pretty woman in his chair, and she smiled up at him, a slightly dazed look in her eye. “You got a ride home?”
“My husband’s picking me up, yes,” she said as he helped her stand and showed her the work.
It was obvious it hadn’t all been done today—no, this was a massively beautiful work that encompassed the woman’s breasts, or where they’d once been. It was a swirling pattern of color that covered the same amount of skin a sports bra would, making it look like she was wearing some kind of short, floaty camisole. It no doubt hid the scars from a double mastectomy. The woman’s hair was short and gray, like it was growing in from a recent round of chemotherapy, but on the whole she looked healthy.
“It’s perfect,” the woman breathed and turned to give Gunner a gentle hug.