Body Of Art by Nikki Winter

 
     
Chapter One
     
     
              He couldn’t believe he was doing this shit. Granted it was more than a little necessary but still. He was a man! And he’d announced that when he’d been talked into this too! He’d said it as loudly as possible, was one step from beating his chest but he’d been laughed at. Laughed at! Him! Sullivan “Sully” Byrne! The man whose name was whispered in fear and awe. The man whose named was both revered and respected. The man whose name was...
    “Sully! Get your giant ass out of the car! Now!”
    He jumped as though someone had pulled the trigger of a gun right next to his head. “No respect.” Sully muttered as he finally opened the door to his younger sister’s tiny, impractical, embarrassment of a vehicle. Frackin’ mini coupe. How did anyone drive a mini coupe and not feel as though they were being buried alive?
    “Ow, ow, ow, ow. What the hell Rhona?”
    The brat finally stopped twisting his ear as he made it out of the tight confines of the car. She shoved a manicured finger in his face. “Do you want me cranky Sully? Is that your ultimate goal here?”
    His brow quirked. “You mean you’re not already cranky? Ow, ow, ow. Would you stop doing that?”
    Rhona let go of his ear once more. “I have listened to your goddamn lamenting for the last goddamn forty-five minutes on the goddamn drive over here through some of the worst goddamn traffic I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Not to mention I have our goddamn mother breathing down my goddamn neck along with my goddamn soon-to-be mother-in-law. So if you want to see another goddamn day, you’ll shut your goddamn mouth and walk into that goddamn building and learn the fine art of the goddamn waltz. You got me, goddammit?”
    He bit his lip so hard that tears of pain mixed with the tears of amusement crested his lids and simply nodded his head, a small squeak that sounded anything but manly leaving his throat.
    Satisfied for the moment, his sister spun on the heels of shoes that he was sure cost his future brother-in-law a pretty penny and marched through the parking lot, head held high, shoulders back, auburn hair twisted regally at her nape. “Sully!” Rhona snapped and he followed in a military-esque fashion, determined not to get  his throat slit today because he’d pissed off a stressed bride-to-be.
    “No respect.” He muttered again following her inside the huge building she’d dragged him to in downtown Seattle, Washington. He very rarely made the trip up from California during the summer, being that this was the busiest time for his tattoo shop, preferring to pay for Rhona and their mother--Fiona--to catch a quick flight down to him. But his sister’s wedding was more important than his business. What she’d requested from him  was the greatest honor and despite his goddamn lamenting he’d do it a thousand times over if she asked him to.
    She peered at him over her shoulder, bright blue eyes narrowed on him in a challenge. “What was that?”
    Sully swallowed. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
    With an arch look of disapproval fit for a feline, she continued her walk. He made a face behind her back.
    “I saw that.”
    He mocked her silently.
    “Sullivan...”
    “Oh get the stick out of your arse!” She was irritating him. When she irritated him, his accent came back. When his accent came back, he hated it. They’d grown up in Dumfries, Scotland with their mother and father, not coming to the states until Ewan Byrne decided to move his wife and kids for a job opportunity in L.A. at a law firm that dangled a money and a better lifestyle in his face. Sully and Rhona’s father only enjoyed a few years of that opportunity before the stress of his job took a toll on his health and he had a heart attack.
    It had taken Sully years to shake his accent, Rhona on the other hand had been rid of hers not even two years after their move to the states.
    The brat snorted.
    “And stop yer