Escaped Artist (Untamed #3)

one

“Y
es!”

Thump.

“Oh, god!”

Thump-thump.

“Ohhhh godddddd!”

Thumpthumpthumpthump.

“Yes, YES, YESSSSSS!”

I looked down at my toast and winced, my appetite vanishing faster than the groupie would once Synner was through with her. From the sound of it, it was clear she thought she was auditioning for the role of his girlfriend. Did she really think that the louder she screamed the more likely it was he’d keep her? According to Dash, the guy had no interest in relationships that lasted longer than a wham-bam-no-fucking-way, ma’am.

“You know, Dash, when you warned me that crashing with the band would be ‘fucking noisy,’ I was imagining drum beats and guitar riffs.”

My brother looked up from his scrambled eggs and smirked. “We’re recording an album called
Nailed to the Wall
. What the hell did you expect?”

“Not Synner’s groupie on lead vocals.” I looked toward the drummer’s room—at least the door was closed this time. “That being said, I’m grateful for a place to stay. Even if it often resembles a cross between a modeling agency and a brothel.”

No Man’s Land was taking a break from their European tour, and in the three weeks I’d spent living with them I’d been privy to way too many tits and way too much ass.
Yes
—surprisingly, there was such a thing as an excess of T&A.

Dash laughed and ran a hand through his messy, dark hair. “You know the saying:
When in Amsterdam…”

“
…DO all the Romans?
”

“Exactly,” he said with another deep laugh. “Not to mention, you’re rooming with four guys and a girl in their twenties—all of whom have very healthy…
appetites
. It’s just a fact of life.” As if to illustrate his point, the thumping and humping grew louder, punctuated by a couple of loud spanks. “I don’t understand why you refuse to feast, Dare. You can have any woman you want. And if you ever plan on shedding that Ree chick, you’re gonna have to shed your clothes with someone else.”

Dash’s bedroom door opened and a tall, gorgeous blonde walked out. She caught sight of Dash, and with her long hair swinging and narrow hips swaying, she catwalked over to the counter. Her lips latched on to his as her nails raked over his back in an overly-dramatic goodbye kiss.

Groaning, I looked away, my chest constricting with thoughts of Ree. Three weeks. Three fucking weeks since the gallery show. Since that prick Archer showed up with a diamond ring the size of a fucking boulder.

Jesus. Why did Dash have to bring her up? How did he know about her anyway? I hadn’t said anything. Hell, I was doing everything I could to not think about her at all—the last thing I would do was actually TALK about her.

Besides, Dash and I didn’t talk. Not really. We shared drinks and laughs, but we never got personal. Getting personal would mean sharing shit about our mothers, and both his and mine were way more messed up than either of us wanted to admit. It would also bring front and center the hell our asshole father had put the two families through…yeah, that was another topic I steered clear of.

“So,” the blonde said, running a finger along Dash’s jaw. “Will I see you again tonight?”

Dash sighed, this regretful expression on his face. “Sorry, babe,” he said. “I’ve got to focus on my music.” She pouted, and he gently lifted her chin. “But you, and the memory of last night, will be my muse.”

She looked embarrassedly pleased as he released her and waved her toward the door. He nodded at her retreating hot ass and raised a wicked eyebrow at me as if to say,
Get yourself some of that
.

But I wasn’t the least bit interested.

“How many of them actually fall for that shit you just spouted?”

Dash grinned. “Every single one. Hook. Line. And sinker.” Peeling his eyes away from the girl, he turned back to me. “So, you want one of your own?”

“NO.” Not with Ree on my mind. “And how the hell do you know about
Ree?
”

He shrugged. “I talked to Dalia. Or, rather, Dalia talked AT me. A lot. And very loudly.” Taking a deep breath, he put down his fork and aimed his dark blue gaze at me. “Look, if you want to talk—”

“I have nothing to say.” Ree and I went from being two broken people who soothed each other’s demons to something more. Much more. And the thought of it almost brought me to my knees. I could still see her smile every time I closed my eyes, feel her skin on my fingers, smell the ghost of her scent lingering around me, haunting me. She smelled like no one else—like honey and summer, so fucking sweet.

Shit. I shook my head, trying to force her out of my thoughts. Again.

She couldn’t be mine as long as she was owned by her family. And they were never going to release her—that was clear. I was out. For real, this time.

My brother’s jaw tightened as he regarded me for a moment. “You know, you’re not the only person in the world who’s had to let someone important go,” he said quietly. “Doing the right thing is hard as hell. But doing the right thing is
right.
”

“Doing the right thing is right? How enlightening. Do I smell a new hit single?”

“Fuck off, Dare. I’m just trying to help.”

I rubbed at the crease that had formed between my eyebrows. “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” Dash
was
trying. I had to give him that. He’d been trying for four years now. Money when we were desperate for it. His house in Los Angeles when we’d had to flee New York. “I just don’t think getting laid is going to solve my problems this time around.” I shook my head. “I’ve already tried to fuck this girl out of my head. Trust me. And it didn’t work.”

“She’s under your skin,” he said with a nod. “You haven’t painted since you got here, and Dalia said it’s rare for you to go a single day without touching a brush.”

Clearly, Dalia and Dash had been talking way too much.

“I’m taking a sabbatical from work right now,” I said with a shrug.

“Work? Painting naked chicks is hardly work.”

I tipped my head, unable to stop the small smile at his jab. “And fucking groupies is?”

“Touché.” He shot me his trademark crooked smirk. The one that—according to Dalia—had made him one of rock music’s most eligible bachelors. “Look at us. Living the good life.” His grin soured as sarcasm laced his words. “Dad would be so proud.”

I refused to talk about that bastard. Even with blood. “Look, I’m busy with the tattoo shop for the time being. No time to paint.” When he’d heard I needed to get out of Paris, Rex had sent me to his former lover, Jasmine, who owned a parlor in the red-light district. As soon as she’d seen the designs I’d worked on in L.A., she’d hired me on the spot. “Right now I need the quick cash that comes with ink—painting doesn’t pay. At least not yet.”

Dash and I were splitting the cost of Dax and Dalia’s trip to Europe. Usually they spent summers working and saving for school, but this opportunity to travel and visit me in Paris and Dash in Amsterdam had been too great. I wanted them to experience the world while they could. So I was paying for it. Happily, but I needed to be actually
making
money to be able to afford it.

“Can I come by the shop this week and have you start on the one here?” Dash pointed to a spot on his chest, right at his upper-left pec.

My eyebrows shot up. “You still haven’t gotten it done? I sent you that sketch months ago. There are tattoo parlors all over Europe.” I nodded at his arm. “And you’ve clearly stepped in one recently since that partial sleeve is new.”

He pressed his lips together and looked down at his plate. “I was waiting for you to ink this one.”

“Me? Why?”

“You’re a brilliant artist, Dare,” he said.” I knew it ever since you did my first tat at that shop on Sunset.”

I studied him. His jaw was tight, the expression in his eyes hard and unreadable. There was more to this than my supposed brilliance. I’d bet money on it. “This one’s important to you.” The design he’d asked for had been a little wren with a music note in its beak. Really different from the rest of the ink on his body. Almost…sorrowful. “You gonna tell me what it’s for?”

“Just as soon as you tell me about Ree.”

“Touché.” I shook my head and picked up my plate. “I don’t start work until two today. Why don’t we head over to the shop now?”

“No way!” Indie burst into the kitchen, glaring at me. “He’s not going anywhere. We have to be at the studio in fifteen minutes.” She strutted over to Synner’s door and pounded on it, her small frame belying her strength. “You have five seconds to get the fuck out here. Knowing you, that’s more than enough time to leave a lady unsatisfied!” Then she hit the bathroom next. “Hawke!” she called out as she banged on the dark wood. “No respectable man should take such long showers unless there is a woman in there with him.”

“There is,” Dash said with a laugh. “
Two
, actually.”

Indie groaned and shook her head of wild, insanely blue hair. “Hurry the fuck up. All of you! We gotta go!” As the lead singer and only woman in No Man’s Land, Indigo Zane had quite a set of lungs on her. When she yelled, the rest of the band jumped. “Where the hell is Leo?”

“I’m almost afraid to say,” Dash mumbled through a mouthful of food.

She descended on him, smacking him in the shoulder. “Spill.”

“Christ, Indie. Save it for the studio.” He groaned and rubbed his shoulder. “Leo went jogging.”

Indie’s bright blue eyes widened. “
Jogging?
NOW?”

The front door opened and Leo strode in, stopping short when he noticed Indie coming at him. “Where’s the fire?” His dark skin glistened with sweat as he looked down at her fisted hands.

She got right in his face and glared up at him. “You were seriously JOGGING right now? What the hell, Leo?”

“It’s
Lynx.
How many times do I have to tell you that? Fucking call me Lynx.” He took a swig of his water and ran a hand over his buzzed, dark hair. “What’s the problem?”

“The PROBLEM is that we’ll be late to the studio. AGAIN. I swear it’s like I’m babysitting four fucking toddlers. EVERYONE,” she yelled, hands on her hips, blue hair swinging. The thumping stopped suddenly and the shower turned off. “Get your asses out here! NOW! This album isn’t going to record itself!”