Hard as It Gets by Laura Kaye
Dedication
To Jenn, who started it all.
To my peeps in the vault, who are the best friends a girl could ever have.
To Brian, whose incredible devotion made it possible.
To Christi, who went way, way above and beyond.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Chapter 1
Becca Merritt stepped through the heavy industrial door and into another world. A buzzer screeched above her head, sending her heart into quick palpitations somewhere in the neighborhood of her throat. Compared to the late April warmth, the indoor air was like a meat locker, thick and intensely cold—or maybe that was just the draining weight of her anxiety these past days. She hugged herself and rubbed her arms.
“Be with you in a minute,” a gruff voice called from the back. The driving bass beat of a hard-edged rock song echoed from the same direction.
Gripping her purse more tightly under her arm, Becca’s gaze scanned the colorful images covering every inch of wall space. Tribal birds, winged hearts, dagger-eyed skulls, full-faced roses, crosses, and cartoon characters were some of the designs she noticed at first glance. Playful, gory, beautiful, haunting, many of the images were objectively artistic and oddly compelling.
Becca found tattoos intriguing, and she saw a lot of them on patients that came through the emergency department. She’d never really considered getting one for herself, though. Her father would’ve flipped out, and she’d always valued his opinion too much to rock the boat. With her dad gone now, she supposed there was nothing stopping her besides not knowing what image she’d want permanently drawn on her skin.
Like nails on a chalkboard, the buzzer sounded again and the door banged shut behind her. Becca whirled, expecting . . . she didn’t even know what. Strange as the past few days had been, anything seemed possible right now. But it was just a woman. A totally fascinating woman. Despite wearing all black, she was a riot of color, from the dark red highlights in her shoulder-length black hair, held back in sloppy-but-cute pigtails, to the dramatic eye makeup, to the colorful ink running the length of both arms. She was the Goth yin to Becca’s Plain Jane yang.
The woman juggled a stack of huge pizza boxes and a plastic grocery bag of canned sodas. “Sorry if you’ve been waiting a while.”
“Oh, no.” Becca rushed to her. “Can I help you with that?”
“Aw, you’re a doll. Yes, please, before my wrist breaks off.” The woman twisted her hand out. Becca unlooped the plastic handle from her arm, revealing angry red grooves in her skin from bearing the weight of it. “It’s a good thing I like these guys so much.” A quick grin as she dropped the two pizza boxes on the counter, which nearly reached to her chest she was so short. She heaved a deep breath and braced her hands on her hips. “Now, how can I help you?”
Becca’s stomach flip-flopped. Would she finally start getting some answers today? “I’m looking for a Mr. Rixey.”
The woman arched a pierced brow. “Mr. Rixey? Don’t hear him called that often.” She chuckled and winked. Between her vibrancy and the mischievous sparkle in her dark eyes, she gave off such self-assurance that her presence dominated the room, making her seem much bigger than her petite stature. “And may I tell him who’s asking?”
“My name is Becca Merritt. I don’t have an appointment or anything.” The rich, spicy smell of the pizza made her stomach clench. When had she last eaten, anyway?
“I think he’s finishing up with someone, but I’ll make sure he knows you’re waiting. Have a seat, if you like.” The woman gestured to the Naugahyde couch behind Becca, the one that had probably been new when bell bottoms were fashionable, if the pea green color was any guide.
“Thanks,” Becca said. The cushion creaked as she sat.
The woman scooped the pies off the counter and disappeared behind a dividing wall. “Oh, Mr. Rixey, your presence is requested,” she said in a singsong voice. The response was muffled by an outburst of exclamations over the arrival of their dinner.
The strangers behind the wall hurled playful insults and sarcastic retorts at one another. Becca smiled, reminded of Charlie, her younger brother. The one she’d always felt motherly toward, despite only being a year older. The quiet one, who’d been withdrawing into himself more and more with each loss her family had experienced over the years. The one she hadn’t seen or been able to contact for almost a week—ever since their fight—not even through the private channels he’d set up just for the two of them.