Surrender A Section 8 Novel

Chapter Four





Two months later

New Orleans

The cabdriver didn’t want to drop her there, asked her three times if she was sure she had the right place.

“Really, I’m fine,” Avery told him firmly, watched him press his lips together in the rearview mirror as he pulled over in front of the address Dare had given her.

She was fine, because after everything she’d been through, she’d be damned if anyone would stop her now, no matter how hard they were prepared to try.

She knew there were nice parts of New Orleans as well as tougher ones, as was the case in any city. But after Katrina, things were different, her mother had said in that wistful tone she always got when talking about this place.

Avery had wanted to come here for as long as she could remember but had been half-afraid, thanks to Mom’s warnings.

New Orleans makes you do crazy things.

“Ma’am, just go directly into the shop—don’t stop to talk,” the driver said now, as she glanced out the window to get her bearings.

There were two men standing a few doors down from where she needed to go, and a larger group a block down, all of whom stilled when the cab pulled up. She paid the fare and exited the car, kept her head up as she walked toward her destination. But it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“I have to be useful. I can’t cower and let you protect me forever,” she’d argued to Dare earlier.

“It’s not forever.”

“Give me a job. I don’t want to be helpless.”

“I get that.”

“You said we need to get crazy. Let me get crazy.”

Now she was sure she felt Dare’s eyes on her as the closest two men moved toward her swiftly. Maybe she screamed tourist or maybe it was simply because she was a woman alone.

Crazy indeed.

She flexed her hands by her sides and kept moving forward, as did they.

She took the first man out easily because he wasn’t expecting her to kick his ass. One swift chop of her hand across his throat and a second hard kick to the groin and he was on the ground, moaning like a girl. She managed a second kick to 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.

Avery felt like she’d broken 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, f*ck me. And he sent you in here all alone—what the hell is that a*shole thinking?” Gunner muttered.

“He said that you owe him because you saved his life.”

“Something I never plan on doing again,” he assured her.