A shaky breath escaped me at the thought, and the need that writhed through me was uncomfortable to handle, especially when David was looking at me like I was a walking goddess.
I was no one’s idea of a goddess.
Unless you were into ink, and then, okay, I’d accept the title.
What I could do with a tattoo gun was magic. Sheer, fucking perfection. Worthy of a chef’s kiss, if I did say so myself.
“Thanks,” I grunted at him, slapping my shades over my eyes before I traced over the lines of the design I’d come up with twelve weeks ago.
This particular tattoo was taking a hell of a lot longer than I’d like, but not for monetary reasons. Sure, it was worth a couple of grand, but a tattoo this detailed had to be broken up into hourly slots. The trouble was that every time I worked on Laura, she cringed and tensed up like I was stabbing her with knives instead of a tattoo gun.
It was agony—for both of us.
“Here,” David soothed, and I’d have laughed if I’d have been anyone outside this scenario, looking in.
He wafted a pot of coffee in front of me, literally under my nose. It was like putting a freshly baked pie in front of Yogi bear or something.
But I was me. And I did take David for granted.
“Thanks.” I snatched the mug from him and, kicking my Converse-clad feet up on the desk, I sank back and started slurping.
The pattern wasn’t one I’d have suggested. It was more fitting for a cushion or a set of curtains, in my opinion, nothing really original, but Laura had come to me with it, and that’s what I was giving her. There were massive frond leaves that played peekaboo with tropical creatures, an expanse of greenery from a rainforest that I didn’t have to get to design. What set it above a regular illustration was the detail. There were birds in the design I couldn’t remember the name of, but they looked like they could fly off her tit they were so realistic.
Reacquainting myself with the overlay, and also adding a few details here and there, I switched focus as he told me, “Laura will be here in two hours. Want anything from the bakery next door to set yourself up for the appointment?”
I shook my head, not even bothering to look when he headed out of the tattoo parlor for his lunch. Sure, he cared, and it was nice, and his awareness of how exhausting the session with Laura was was touching, but I couldn’t be too encouraging.
If I wasn’t careful, he’d start breaking into my apartment again. That hadn’t been an issue in the past, but if he did it when Cruz came over? Fuck, he’d shoot David. I didn’t want my PA to die nor my fuck buddy to go to jail, especially when it was unnecessary.
When the bell tinkled over the door, my focus wasn’t disturbed, because I knew it was him heading for the bakery that made the best bao rolls in the area, but when it rang again, I wanted to groan because I hated dealing with pop-ins this early in the morning.
Only, when I raised my head, trying not to glare at the customer who, ya know, paid my bills, I registered this kind of walk-in was one I could tolerate.
“You look like you’re in a mood.”
“I am.” I tipped my head to the side as I peered at Giulia, my brother’s woman, marveling—and not for the first time—that Nyx had settled down.
Nyx was the coolest psychopath you’d ever come across. He was so high-functioning you’d never know he was a serial killer.
Not that I was supposed to know that either. I was just the person who tattooed his trophies onto his back—that was all.
Giulia wasn’t what I’d have picked for him, not exactly, but the bundle of Italian curves seemed to have my brother’s cock in a clamp, so who was I to argue? If she stopped him from heading down the river to Crazytown, then I was grateful.
I’d lost too much family to want Nyx to disappear as well.
Even if he did drive me fucking insane.
“What kind of mood?” Giulia asked, blinking at me as she perched her round butt on the corner of my desk. It was a scratched old thing, vintage and retro weren’t words that could describe it, but I’d found it in a thrift store a couple of months back and just had to have it.
With a surge of new clients lately, I’d reinvested in the shop, replacing an Ikea-special sofa with a turquoise Chesterfield, putting a nice rug down on the floor that an old friend from school had designed for me—it had one of my mandalas laser-printed onto it—and the walls were a blank white with photos of my designs on there, some on client’s limbs, others just of the initial work up process. A few were framed, articles that showcased my skills and the body art that had forged the rep that was earned through hard work and determination… A determination that was founded in my desire to not let that bastard win.
The desk didn’t fit. At all. It was old and cumbersome. But I liked it.
Old and cumbersome wasn’t always a bad thing.
Sometimes, comfort mattered, and on a desk, drawers were like pockets in a dress—always came in handy.
“A pissed off mood,” I grumbled, frowning at her over my shades. “What do you want?”
She snorted. “Thought we were friends.”
“We are.” I arched a brow at her. “Being grumpy with you is a sign of friendship.” And it surprised me to realize I wasn’t bullshitting her. I liked Giulia. She was what my brother needed, and she didn’t take fools lightly.
My kind of chick.
My reply had her smiling, and that smile told me we were on the same wavelength, something she confirmed by telling me, “I work the same way.”
“Yeah? Then you’ll know I’m not chirpy enough for a wasted conversation. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She shrugged. “Just been thinking of getting some more ink is all.”
“I’ll always talk ink.” Her words perked me up some, enough to stop slouching and to sit up. Especially when I thought she might have wanted to talk about Nyx. I liked her but I didn’t want a pow wow about him before two PM. I needed coffee and maybe some Twizzlers before I could handle that convo. “What kind?”
“Thinking of a more effeminate version of the Sinners’ logo.”
“You want a different kind of patch, hmm?” My mind drifted off as I started putting pieces together.
“Yeah. Just feels right. I’m tied to Nyx in more ways than just what I feel for him.”
My lips twitched. “My brother is all grown up, sounds like you are too.”
“Think he was that a long time ago,” she said dryly. “Me? Well, that happened before him for sure.”
“I can believe that about you, but where he’s concerned? Barely.” I rolled my eyes. “You weren’t around for the ride when he was in his twenties.”
“I’ve heard,” she retorted with a laugh. “Stone’s pretty big on sharing stories of when you guys were younger.”
I liked that she said ‘younger’ and not young. Giulia wasn’t jailbait, but the age gap between her and my bro would make people curl their noses up. If noses could curl.
“Yeah, well, that’s Stone. All chatty.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “How’s she doing?”
“You only saw her yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. But today’s another day, and I just woke up so haven’t checked in with her yet.”
When Stone had almost died at the hands of a psychotic Angel of Death who roamed her hospital ward, it had been a revelation to both of us. There was an age gap between her and me too, not as distinct as my brother and his woman, but large enough for a friendship to have failed when we were kids. Still, we were closer than sisters, and almost losing her had been a prompt for us to be outed.
Until her attack, no one in the clubhouse, on the compound, had known about our friendship.
What could I say? We were sneaky bitches.
“She’s fine. She was talking about her and Steel finally getting to fuck.”
Hiding a grin, I said, “Christ, she’s been waiting to tap that for a lifetime. No wonder she’s antsy.” I kept giving her shit about how long
it was taking her and Steel to get it on, but it was only teasing. Mostly, I was just relieved she was in one piece and capable of walking, never mind screwing a man she’d been pining over for decades.
“Antsy ain’t the word,” was Giulia’s wry rejoinder.
I hummed. “Maybe I should give her a call.”
“Probably be a kind thing to do. She’s nervous.”
“I’ll bet.” I peered down at the calendar, checking to make sure I had time before Laura’s for a call, and then I blinked. “Huh. She’s scheduled for ink today.”
“She is?” She pouted. “She didn’t split with the details yesterday.”
“Knowing Steel, he told her to be cagey. It’s a good thing I know she loves him or I’d slap that man.”
Giulia grinned. “She’s leading him around by the dick.”
“How it should be, kemo sabe,” I said sagely. “Although, I don’t wanna know about my bro’s dick, even if you’re leading him around by it. Knowing he has a Terminator penis is more than enough.”
She whistled under her breath. “I’m a lucky woman.”
“Enough,” I groused, but I dropped my feet to the ground and stared at the calendar. “When do you want to talk about your new design?”
“I figure I’ll let you come up with it.”
“You don’t want any say in it?”
“Nah.”
My brows rose, but inside, excitement hit me. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I trust you.” She rubbed her brand, a miniature version of one of the skulls Nyx had decorating his back. He must think I was a moron if he didn’t realize I knew what each one represented—the death, by his hands, of a pedophile. “I think you get me, and you, more than anyone, understand the vibes of the club.”
Studying her, I granted her a small smile. I knew how it felt to feel lost, but my reasons were totally different than hers. She was trying to make the club her family, but there was no point in that. Not that I was going to tell her she was wrong or anything.
Did I look like I had a death wish?
Cruz, in a rare display of openness, had already told me about the rumors whispering through the compound about her…but it wasn’t like I hadn’t figured that out either. Not when she had two skulls now, which meant she and Nyx had gone a-hunting together. That also meant Giulia had pedo blood on her hands, and she wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.
Me? I was the one losing all the sleep. Well, me and Mav. The local insomniacs. We should have started a club of our own together.
“I’ll text you a design, okay?” I wriggled my shoulders. “Might not be for a few days.”
“You busy?” She arched a brow. “That’s great.”
“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s great but I’m a one-woman-show, Giulia. There’s only so much I can do.”
“If you need help around the place, I’ll gladly pitch in.”
If she’d told me she shat eggs, I’d have been less surprised. “You want to help out?”
She shrugged, and I immediately sensed she regretted making the offer, which made me feel like a piece of shit. “I mean, it was just a suggestion.”
I actually liked my sister-in-law. She was good for my brother, and if it was true that they’d hunted as a pair, then I figured Giulia was the kind of crazy who could take Nyx unto death. But she was delicate, more delicate than I thought Nyx knew. She’d been assaulted, attacked in the press, vilified… then it hit me.
Her assault had gone down in the new bar the Sinners had started in West Orange… where she worked.
No woman could be satisfied working around the compound. Disinfecting shit only took up so much time, and while cooking for a bunch of bikers was probably like feeding an army, I had to figure that wasn’t enough job satisfaction for anyone other than a clubwhore. Which Giulia definitely wasn’t.
“How would you like to help out?”
She stiffened a little. “It’s okay, Indy. It was just a suggestion. I don’t need your pity.”
“Good thing,” I retorted, “because you weren’t about to get any.” I shrugged when she glared at me. “You surprised me.”
“Why? Think I’m only good for cooking, cleaning, and fucking your brother?”
I winced. “Well, he’d be the one who’d know about the latter, as for the rest, I didn’t think so, but to be honest, I never really thought about it.”
“Well, I have.” She bit her bottom lip, her shoulders hunching a little as she mumbled, “I need to get out of the clubhouse. Tormenting the clubwhores has been fun, but I liked working at the bar, and every time I drive past it, I want to scream. I was thinking about the diner, and I know Steel would give me a job because they’re crazy busy and need all the help they can get—”
“But that’s just a continuation of what you’re doing at the clubhouse. I get it.”
“Yeah. Though I’d get paid.”
My brow furrowed. “You don’t get paid now?”
“You know how the clubhouse works,” she said wryly. “It’s not like I need anything, and if I did, Nyx would—”
I raised a hand. “Fuck that. No woman should rely on a man for money.”
“I told you, I don’t need pity.”
“And I already goddamn told you, I’m not fucking giving you any,” I growled. “Even if I can only pay you a couple hundred bucks every two weeks, it’s better than depending on that bunch of jackasses.”
“I don’t have any bills to pay,” she argued. “I don’t expect a wage.”
“Fuck. That,” I repeated, but I was a little calmer this time. “Having to ask a man for dough to buy tampons is something no woman should have to go through.”
Fucking bikers.
I swore, they got my heartbeat racing like nothing else could, and not simply because their asses looked fine in a pair of jeans.
Mind whirring, I grumbled under my breath, “You can start tomorrow.”
She blinked. “Doing what?”
“I don’t fucking know,” I retorted, “but I ain’t having my sister-in-law dependent on the Sinners forever.” I glowered at her. “You were getting paid at the bar, weren’t you?”
“Some.”
My scowl deepened at that non-answer, which told me the tight cunts had been shafting her in more ways than just Nyx was, but she met me glare for glare so I just groused, “Well, enough of that. David pretty much runs the front of house. He has no life outside of me so—”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s my stalker.”
“Your stalker?” she repeated.
“Yup,” I told her, tone cheery for the first time since I’d woken up.
“You’re not going to explain that to me, are you?”
I grinned at her. “Nope.” I even popped the ‘p.’ “Anyway, you can help him out…”
Her smile was sheepish and she pulled something from her pocket then shoved it at me.
When I stared at the piece of paper in her hand, I tilted my head to the side to see it all, then murmured, “Well, well, well…”
Six
Cruz
She shrieked when she turned around and saw me standing there, leaping a few inches off the ground in surprise before her eyes turned nasty and she snarled, “I told you I fucking hate when you do this.”
I didn’t grin at her, even though I wanted to.
Even though, something about this crazy fucking woman made me want to grin all the time, like a goddamn clown, the last thing I was renowned for was my cheery personality.
I was the Grim Reaper by nature as well as nurture, after all.
Instead of grinning at her outrage, I arched a brow and murmured, “On your knees.”
Her nostrils flared with her irritation, and she even jerked her neck a time or two in agitation, and I allowed it.
This. Fucking. Once.
Once she walked through that door, Indy was no longer a tattoo artist, no longer a sister, no longer
a business owner, she was a woman.
When I was here, she changed.
Shifted.
Became mine.
Independent women were the hardest to dominate, but the fucking best. Watching them relinquish control? Nothing hotter. And a woman like Indy was like no bitch I’d ever fucked before. In fact, calling this simply ‘fucking’ was sacrilegious.
“You have one minute to obey,” I rasped when she just stood there staring at me like the proverbial rabbit in headlights.
The words snapped her out of her stupor like I’d anticipated, and she sank to her knees.
Things had changed between thanks to a bad dream, and another nightmare had prompted a conversation amid pillows and rumpled sheets, while entangled in each other’s arms, tucked in the deep shadows of midnight, as her whispers tore through the cracks to reveal the cold, hard truth as she saw it.
I’d already known, but it meant something that she shared it with me.
“What are you doing here?” she rasped, but she kept her head bowed like I showed her.
A part of me shuddered with longing at the sight of her. Her skin, thanks to her Algonquin heritage, was a little tawny, a lot dusky, like no other color I’d seen before—unique. That was Indy. And her hair, as a result of her ancestry, was the nearest thing to silk I’d ever touched.
It’d been shorter the first time I’d ever met her, and gradually, had grown out some over the years. Now, I’d never let her cut it. One day, she’d give me a hand job with her pony tail. It was at the top of my to-do list.
The black strands were thick, strong, and the color was the perfect contrast to her skin. I wasn’t an artist, not like she was. If anything, my skills were in shit that no one really understood—not because I hadn’t shared the truth with anyone, but because my brain drifted through chemical formulas that went over most people’s heads. I didn’t have to be an artist, though, to register how truly beautiful she was.
Her cheekbones weren’t all that high, but she was too skinny and as a result, a little gaunt. It meant that her lips were framed, and she usually painted them in a lurid shade. I’d seen her wear anything from bright yellow to dark green. She suited the darker colors though. I’d come to learn that her lipstick represented her frame of mind, and knew she had a color for every occasion.
Cruz : A Dark MC Romance (A Dark and Dirty Sinners’ MC Book 5) Page 7