Under Locke(10)

Blake’s sky blue gaze narrowed a tiny bit as he slid them over what I could assume were my wet, traitorous eyes. “Dex piss you off?” he wondered in a quiet voice.



I had to keep from sucking in a ragged breath because that would definitely set off an alarm, and shook my head weakly. If I would have been paying attention, I would have taken in the fact that he suspected Dex was capable of doing something to upset me. Like making girls cry wasn’t out of the ordinary for that jerk.



But Blake’s eyes were too perceptive. He opened his mouth to speak but his eyes slid passed my seat and he tilted his head up in the direction of the door.



“Sup,” Blake called out, still keeping his spot directly in front of me.



“Slim called in. You mind stayin' late?” Dex. The smooth, rich, melodic voiced dick-face spoke.



"Whatever." My bald coworker shrugged and slid his eyes over to me discreetly, tapping his fingertips on the desk. “You want something to drink?” I kind of loved him for ignoring the jerk that had just made me feel like I was the dumbest person alive.



I did want a drink but since I wasn’t sure what the hell was about to happen with Dex, I didn’t want to take the chance that I’d be mooching off a soda and have to walk my shamed hide back across the street, so I shook my head.



Blake shrugged and walked around the desk to head toward the back.



From my peripheral vision, I could tell Dex was standing just to my right a few feet away by that point. His black shirted blur told me so. Every instinct in me wanted to walk out, but I wouldn’t until he, the mean jerk, said something.



Some small, sadistic part of me wanted to look in his direction, but I didn't.



Will had always told me I wore my emotions on my sleeve. I was a terrible liar because of it. I was wary of looking people in the face when feeling crappy came more naturally than being in a good mood. It wasn’t a shock Blake could tell something was up, but he wouldn’t know what since he’d walked in after the unintentional verbal beat down had finished.



"Hey—," the good-looking ass started to say before Blake saved me from further humiliation by calling out Dex's name a moment later.



The last thing I wanted to do was stay. I didn’t want them to keep me either. I’d been someone’s charity case for half of my life, and I sure as hell didn’t want it to multiply now. I’d told myself I was staying because it wasn't just a matter of wanting a job. It was a necessity. Plus, Sonny was friends with these people, and I didn’t want to embarrass him. Maybe if I could suck it up a couple weeks, and then put in my notice it wouldn’t be as bad as just walking out. Just two weeks.



I could do two weeks.



I'd lived for years not knowing whether I’d even be alive to turn twenty. Two weeks of dealing with an asshole couldn’t be worse than a million other scenarios I'd already lived through.



So even though everything in my heart screamed at staying and battled against my pride, I was going to stay, regretting with every inch of me ever having walked into the damn building to begin with.



~ * ~ *



It was close to midnight when the second to last customer, an older man that Dex had worked on for well over two hours, made his way out with a wink and a “Goodnight, sweetheart,” in my direction. Blake still had a young girl spread out on his chair with her pants down to her crack as he tattooed a Monarch butterfly on the top corner of her butt cheek.



I’d spoken to Dex twice throughout the last few hours. Each time went along the lines of, “Dex, so-and-so is here for their session.” In reality, I wanted to ask him if he’d sold his soul or if he’d never had one to begin with.



But the minute the dollar signs popped up in my head, I forced myself to say what I needed.



I was surprised by how consistent business was. Most of the customers were scheduled in advance but one had been a walk-in.



A brief conversation with Blake had explained more of the things I'd be responsible for. Shop manager duties mainly consisted of reordering supplies—like inks, gloves, jewelry, etc.—filing expenses, paying utilities. Easy things. Dex handled everything else, any cash deposits at the bank, and settled accounts with the company they used for debit card usage.



He and Blake had been busy, and I’d been busy talking to customers about random stuff while they waited. I was surprised by how nice everyone had been—with the exception of Dex's dumb face.



There hadn't been a single biker in the shop either. Weird.



All of this assured me that I’d avoided having to interact much with my boss. The owner. The bleeding mouth sore.