Surrender A Section 8 Novel - By Stephanie Tyler Page 0,12
in on such an intimate moment. Until then, she’d never much considered the mysterious privacy of tattoos, never given a thought to what seemed to be a sacredness of process.
The woman was flushed—pride, adrenaline. Gunner seemed to glow as well, like he was some kind of fallen angel.
In reality, he was probably a mercenary. That didn’t make him the devil, but he’d no doubt done things he could never talk about, things that would haunt him.
Maybe tattooing was a way of repenting. Or maybe he just liked the stress release.
And even though she knew she should step away, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the work. She supposed that was the point. The woman looked . . . empowered. She might not have her breasts, but the way she looked now, the covering was beautiful enough to draw attention away from that fact. “My husband’s going to love it. I love it.”
Gunner simply smiled, and when she was ready, he helped her into her shirt and walked her outside. He came back inside a minute later, locked the door behind him. He looked Avery up and down, his blue eyes boring through her. “I don’t want women with guns in my shop.”
“I have a proposal for you.”
“Christ, do you have to make it sound like marriage? I’ve had enough of them, each one worse than the last.”
“Why keep doing it, then?”
“I’m a romantic,” he deadpanned. “Are you looking to be my next bride?”
“Not especially.”
“Then talk to me. You’re what—a bounty hunter who wants to turn merc? Or the more PC private contractor?”
“We need a home base.”
“Not another merc group looking to save the world.” Gunner paused. “You pay well?”
“Very.”
“Bullshit. If you had money you wouldn’t be here.”
“I’ve heard you’re the best.”
“In many, many ways, sweetheart.” He paused. “You gonna tell me why you’re really here? Because you’re obviously new at this shit.”
“Will you rent me the top floor?”
He sighed, stared up at the ceiling for a long second before pinning her with his gaze again. “I’ll make you a deal. You let me tattoo you, you can have the top floor.”
“Who gets to pick the tattoo?”
“Me. And I get to pick where.” He smiled wickedly and she nodded and made a deal with the new devil in her life.
She stuck her hand out. After he shook it, she said, “I’m here for Dare.”
“Ah, fuck me. And he sent you in here all alone—what the hell is that asshole thinking?” Gunner muttered.
“He said that you owe him because you saved his life.”
“Something I never plan on doing again,” he assured her.
Chapter Five
Grace Powell was dancing in her garden in the middle of the goddamned New Orleans bayou summer night in the rain.
Dare watched her, alternately fascinated and pissed that he was fascinated at the way her dress clung to her, molding to her breasts in a way that made him want to sink to his knees and howl at the moon.
Or lower her to the wet ground and take the dress off.
He wanted her with a longing so deep and dark he didn’t think he’d ever fill it, even if he took her over and over in the hot rain scalding his skin.
So fucking inappropriate. His body was strung too tight for this kind of seductive dance. It took everything he had to stay in place.
Her feet were bare, her long brown hair had coppery highlights and was pulled back in a single braid that shone with water droplets . . . and she was smiling.
Take her now.
After all, why did she deserve to be happy, despite what Avery had tried to tell him earlier? Avery, whom he’d left behind in town to connect with an old friend, only partially because he didn’t want her to take part in this kidnapping.
He’d assumed that when Darius said, Go home . . . you’ll find grace there, he’d been talking in a more spiritual sense. Instead, he’d found Grace Powell’s address in the safe at the house Darius kept on the bayou, written in Darius’s handwriting.
Grace Powell.
Dare and Avery had researched Richard Powell, what little there was on him. There was less on his daughter. From what Dare could gather, Grace had been “missing” for the last six years, and somehow, S8 had discovered where she was staying. Might’ve been dumb luck since she’d ended up living in the same bayou parish, but Dare suspected there was more to the story. Because Powell’s daughter was a powerful tool in the S8 arsenal.