Read Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4) for Free Online Page B

was mostly empty. An artist who seemed to be covered with tattoos worked on a woman’s calf, and the needle hummed quietly. It could just be heard over the rock music playing in the background. The artist nodded to Silas, but didn’t stop his work.
    Cold dread lined my stomach, and I marched toward my doom at the back of the space. A black chair waited there and looked like a modified version of what you’d find at a dentist’s office. My feet refused to move. My stop was so abrupt, Silas slammed into me and almost knocked me over.
    “Whoa, you okay?” His large hand clamped on my bicep, steadying me as much as he was himself.
    “I don’t think I can do this.” The chair, the buzzing from two stalls over . . . the word nope looped over and over again in my head.
    The hand on my arm was surprisingly firm. “Sure you can.”
    His eyes were pale blue, almost a silver color, and I was too disoriented by them to realize he was guiding me into the stall until the backs of my knees hit the side of the chair.
    And his hand was still on me, his palm touching the bare skin where the sleeve of my t-shirt stopped. Goddamnit. The hair on my arm lifted in goosebumps. I fractured in two. Nerves made me want to bolt, desire made me want to stay. Then his hand was gone.
    Rings rattled on the line as Silas drew the wraparound curtain closed. The overhead lights were still bright, but it felt secluded. Intimate . When we were completely hidden, his hands rested on his hips.
    “You’ll have to take off your shirt.” His voice sounded different. Tight.
    I swallowed thickly. I’d known this was coming. I’d hoped the tattoo artist wasn’t too skeevy, but now I almost wished for it. Skeevy I could handle. My discomfort at a leering look could distract from my discomfort while ink was layered into my skin.
    Fuck it. I would not let fear rule me, and besides—other than the scar, I didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. I worked hard at the gym to keep both my athleticism and aesthetics up to par for my job. My fingers grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and stretched it overhead, then folded it and tossed it on the side table.
    I’d worn a simple black bra for the occasion. His gaze traveled the curves of my chest, and quickly shifted away like he wanted to be a gentleman.
    “Have a seat,” he mumbled, turning his attention to a cabinet. It creaked as he opened it and began pulling out supplies. My heart beat in my throat when I slid into the chair, and the vinyl was cold against my bare skin. The anticipation was agony. Every subtle noise from him as he prepared was louder than gunfire in my ears.
    I watched Silas dig the drawing out of his back pocket, examine it, and uncap a marker. He sketched on a piece of transfer paper until he seemed satisfied, then resumed his other prep.
    “How bad is it going to hurt?” I asked.
    “I’m sure less than whatever made the scar.”
    I clenched my teeth. “Yeah, but I didn’t make the decision to get that.”
    Black latex gloves were snapped on, and I dug my fingernails into the armrests of the chair. Don’t run, or this will be worse . If I ran, every time I’d see the scar, I’d be remind of two failures. I closed my eyes tightly and drew in a deep breath.
    “Regan.”
    My eyelids fluttered open to stare up at him. He had a sponge in one hand and used the other to gently urge my bra strap out of the way. I wished the latex wasn’t between his fingers and my skin.
    “Now is when I give my standard lecture about tattoos being expensive, difficult, and painful to remove.” The cold sponge swiped over my shoulder. “More painful than getting the tattoo in the first place, they say.”
    He set down the sponge and picked up a razor, skimming the blade lightly over the surface of my skin, being as gentle as possible over the raised, uneven scar. The sponge wiped again, cleaning the surface, and my skin tingled as it dried.
    Silas retrieved the design he’d redrawn in marker. The