Masquerade

Masquerade

Book 3 in The Games Series

Nyrae Dawn

New York Boston

To my sister, Jessica, one of the most talented and caring people I know. I am blessed to have a sibling with such a big, loving heart.

Acknowledgments

As always, I have to start with my family. My two beautiful little girls who amaze me daily and who get it when Mommy is in the writing zone. To my husband, who has taken over doing so many things around the house, and doing them well in order to give me writing time. We got so lucky to find each other. I’m thankful for you every day. Huge thanks to my incredible agent Jane Dystel, and everyone at Dystel and Goderich Literary Management. There is no one else I would rather have in my corner. You guys are truly amazing. To my editor, Latoya Smith. I am so lucky to be able to work with you. You not only make my books stronger but also your enthusiasm never fails to make my day. Also, I would like to thank everyone at Grand Central Publishing. I still get smiley when I tell people I write for you. I wouldn’t have been able to write this book without the help of my tattoo artist, Eliza, from County Line Tattoo. Not only are you amazing at your job but you also answered my million questions about tattooing without hesitation. Any mistakes are my own and I can’t wait to schedule another appointment with you! Finally, I would like to thank my readers for everything. Your support and excitement means more to me than I could ever put into words. I couldn’t do this without you!

Chapter One ~Bee~

It’s almost perfect. The only thing missing as I stand in the middle of Masquerade is the constant buzz of a tattoo gun. After the past few years, it’s my form of comfort. Like a lullaby that sings me to sleep, massaging the tension out of my muscles. But at the same time, it shoots endorphins into my veins, bringing me happiness—something that’s mine and will always belong to me.

Yes, I need to hurry up and open the doors to my tattoo parlor before I go crazy for that lullaby. Tomorrow is the day. I can’t wait.

I play the words again in my head: my tattoo parlor. They’re scary as hell and exhilarating at the same time. I’m not sure many twenty-one-year-olds can say they’ve already worked in five shops, but none of those places belonged to me. This one will stick. I’ll stick. I have to, for a lot of reasons. One of them being, despite the fact that it’s my name on all the paperwork for Masquerade, my parents footed the bill.

It doesn’t matter that I’m paying them back, only that they did it. After everything I’ve put them through—after the way that I struggled so much to love them the way they do me—they did it. Hell, I fight to even understand the word. People throw love around all the time, but I’ve seen it make people do crazy things. It’s not something I’m sure I want. But still, they’re always there.

Walking over, I straighten one of the frames filled with tattoos I’ve done. To the right of it is the one and only workstation here. It’s exactly what I need, small without too many places to make a mess. Growing up, my parents—shit… I shake my head—Melody and Rex—had both been artists. They would get lost in their zone and the house would be a mess with supplies, but it didn’t matter because they were happy.

Then I went back home and everything was different. They were happy like Melody and Rex, only not in the same way. They didn’t get so deep in their art that they’d forget di

No, my real parents were perfect—are perfect—and even after eight years, it’s still hard for me to be the person they need me to be instead of the one I am.

But I try. For them, I try.

“Christ,” I mumble, not sure why I’m feeling so introspective today. I’m a single girl in a new town. What I need to do is get out and have some fun.

After locking up Masquerade, I climb into my Honda Insight and drive to my apartment. It doesn’t take me long to get ready. I keep my blond hair down. It’s so long it hangs past the middle of my back. I put on a black spaghetti-strap tank top with silver studs on it. It shows some of the tattoos I have, one on my right arm, the back of my neck, and the star on the front of each shoulder. Slipping on a pair of black heels, I walk to the bathroom and change out the small diamond stud in my nose and then I’m out the door.

It’s not like Brenton is very big, so it doesn’t take me long to find a club called Lunar that looks like it could be a good time. It’s about 10:00 p.m., so a little early, but all I want to do is have a drink and relax anyway. More than that and I’d have to take a cab.

Music pulses through the speakers when I walk in, and I suddenly feel a tinge of guilt for being here. I guess my real dad got lost in the bottle for a while after I was kidnapped. I hate using that word—kidnapped—because it makes it sound like they were horrible to me when they weren’t. Anyway, he’s okay now. They’re those kinds of people. They make it through everything together, but I wonder if they’d be disappointed I’m here.

No, I tell myself. There’s nothing wrong with having a beer once in a while.

It takes a couple minutes to make my way through the crowd and up to the bar. It smells like alcohol and too many bodies, but I try to ignore it. A seat opens up and I take it. Men sit on either side of me, but none of them seem to be paying any attention, which is good. I’m not in the mood to be hit on tonight.

The bartender comes over a few minutes later. He’s about my age, hot, but a little pretty for my type. He has blond hair and green eyes that run the length of me, telling me it’s going to be him that tries to flirt.

“Hmm, let me guess. Cosmo?” he asks. I shake my head. “Lemon Drop? Mojito?” He keeps tossing drinks at me, and I continue shaking my head.

“You’re going to have to give me a clue here. I’m drowning and I’m usually pretty damn good at knowing what a girl wants.” He winks at me and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“The only thing you have that I want right now is a Corona with lime.”

“Ah, a beer girl. I was way off.”

He grabs a bottle, twists the top off, and then hands it to me.

“You’re new. I would have noticed you before,” he says.

I nod. Again, he’s good-looking. Maybe on another night I would have been interested or if I were a different kind of girl—the good kind. But I’m not and I swear he looks like he belongs in a college frat, so I lean back and take a drink of my beer.