Page 17 of Praying for Thunder

“Oh.” A little embarrassed, Anita put on her jeans. When she grabbed her shirt, she stopped due to hearing an animalistic—and concerning—growl. “D-Diablo?”

He sucked the lip ring into his mouth as he intimidatingly shook his head no. His voice was now lower and full of warning. “Leave your blouse on the floor.”

Since it was an old flannel, Anita thought the wording sounded… odd. “Because of the tattoo?”

Diablo delivered a wicked grin. “Yes. For the tattoo.” As if Anita were prey, he walked around her, his hands caressing her bare stomach to find full breasts to cup. His lips dipped to her neck that she offered as desire grew. “And… for me.” He licked up her neck to behind her ear, his clothed groin pressing against her butt. “You are sensational.”

Anita, breathless, didn’t care that Diablo was guiding her to the chair. She was ready to bend over it and submit to anything this sexual man wanted. That’s why she was surprised when he laid her on her stomach and grabbed his tattoo gun, asking with that deep voice, “Are you ready?”

She giggled. “More than you know.”

He seductively teased, “Tsk. Tsk. There will be time for that later.”

Pouting, she complained, “Fine.”

Then, the strangest thing happened. When the gun began to work on her right shoulder blade, instead of the pain she expected, her eyes grew heavy, and she fell to sleep…

“Thunder. He is important…”

Diablo felt groggy as those words entered his mind. He was now sitting in his chair on wheels but didn’t remember doing so. Nor did he recall picking up his tattoo gun, yet here he was, setting it down on the sanitized table. “What the—” He searched his memory and knew he’d only had two beers. Nowhere near enough to cause an alcohol-induced blackout.

Soft breathing had him looking to his left.

It was Anita. Asleep. With her tattoo complete. Except, it wasn’t exactly the one they had agreed on.

A panic roared to life inside Diablo like an erupting volcano. He started uttering, “No, no, no, no,” suspecting what had transpired.

Still on her stomach, Anita took a deep breath while waking up. Her eyes opened lazily. She smiled at him. “Hi—Oh my gosh! Diablo, you are drenched in sweat! Are you okay?” She reached out for his hand, Diablo quickly accepting.

His stomach turning, he leaned forward and kissed her hand, worried she would never let him touch her again. “I’m so sorry.”

She giggled, but it was extremely cautious. “Does my tattoo look that bad?”

Sitting back up, his head spun, and his spine weakened. He’d never gone rogue with a tattoo before. “Anita…” He couldn’t find the words. “I don’t understand…” How was he to explain this?

“W-What?” she asked as chills raced across her shoulders. “What does that mean?”

In complete dismay, he pointed to the mirror on the wall. “See for yourself.”

Sensing more danger present than she had ever dealt with before, she slowly crawled off the lowered table, making her way toward the mirror. Not wanting to let him out of her sight, she carefully peered over her shoulder… then screamed.

Defensiveness knocked her back into high gear. She reached over the chair and snatched a silver tool from his sanitized table, not even knowing if it could help her or not. Pointing the questionable weapon, she demanded, “Who are you?” She sidestepped, wanting to gather her things and get closer to an exit.

Emotionally deflated because a certain part of his existence was interfering with an innocent night, his shoulders rose and then fell. “It’s so complicated.”

Sure to not put her back to him, she grabbed her flannel. Thinking of the tattoo, she demanded, “How do you know about that night?” Panicked, she slid an arm in the shirtsleeve, trading the weapon to her other hand so she could defend herself if he dared to move.

His eyes welled. “Who is he?”

Her nostrils flared as she slipped her other arm into the shirt. “Who are you talking about?”

So much regret was searing the deepest part of him as he proclaimed, “Thunder.”

Ani’s chest was panting. She was so upset she felt she may vomit. “That’s not what she meant.”

As Diablo fought feeling the terror of the night the tattoo was representing, the night the lightning lit the sky, his jaw jerked side to side in anguish. “The one she prays for.”

“Stop it!” boomed the woman experiencing immeasurable affliction. “How do you know about Rosa?”