Impatient, see? Patience and tolerance weren’t the virtues I had in spades.
“Oh yeah, I remember the party. Don’t remember fucking you though.”
“You always fuck me,” she hissed, and damn, was that pride in her voice?
“Not that night.” I’d remember too. I’d spent all night with Ama. She’d come down to the party, we’d had a few beers, and I’d taken her back to her room with Keys. As she’d fallen asleep, the pair of us had too, and we’d awoken the next morning sandwiching her.
I swear to fuck, that was the best night’s sleep I’d ever had.
Of course, the threat of losing a hand hadn’t made the night wholly pleasurable. If her daddies had found out about us being there, hell, we’d have been lucky just to lose a hand.
Bubbles’ eyes began to dart around her shitty bedroom, a place that was loaded down with so much shit she belonged on a TLC show, and if she licked her fucking lips one more time, hell, I wasn’t going to be held responsible for my actions.
“You know you’re the daddy, Saint,” she pleaded.
“No, I don’t. I always wear a rubber. Always. I’m not about to touch you without one.” And fuck, I didn’t even leave the rubber in her room. Even now, it was still on my cock and would be until I made it into my bathroom where I’d flush it down the toilet.
Sweetbutts were notorious for pulling this shit on single brothers.
To be fair, most of my MC brethren didn’t have the smarts I did. Not only did I make sure to always use a condom, I never allowed myself to get that drunk where I lost all my faculties. No bitch could ever claim I was drunk and couldn’t remember the sex. No woman would ever be able to magically impregnate herself…
Yeah, I knew it sounded crazy, and I was probably coming off as a real dick, but I didn’t give a fuck.
Bubbles was trying to find a way to stake a claim on me. To get something out of me that wasn’t hers to have.
If any woman was going to have my babies, it was Ama. Not this bitch.
Goddammit.
If there was ever proof I needed to stop fucking around and get a claim on my woman, this was it.
If I’d been anyone else, then she might have been able to pull this dick move. I might have believed her, and even though I’d have made her get a DNA test when the kid was born, for all these months of her pregnancy, I’d have been obligated to hang around her, to treat her with consideration when the lying bitch didn’t deserve any.
Rubbing a hand over my chin, I murmured, “Bubbles, you need to blame that baby on some other unlucky fucker.” Before she could do more than scream my name, I headed out the door.
When I saw Keys waiting there, I frowned at him. “The fuck are you doing out here?”
He snorted. “Waiting on you. Dumbass.”
“You heard?”
“I heard.” His eyes narrowed. “You sure it’s not yours?”
“Sure as fuck.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You know who else she’s been boning?”
“Everyone,” he retorted.
“Wonder why she thought she could pull that move on me then.”
“You don’t think she’s right?”
“She said I didn’t use a rubber with her the night of my pop’s birthday party.”
That made his eyes darken. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” I walked away from Bubbles’ small bedroom, and when I was far enough away that I knew she wouldn’t be able to hear, hissed at my bro, “If you think I was about to sneak out of Ama’s room in the middle of the night to go and fuck that ho, you’re nuts.”
He raised his hands. “Understood.”
I tipped my chin. “Good. Just don’t understand why she’d try to pin that shit on me, you know?”
“Because Ama is soft-hearted, and she knows Ama would probably convince you to be a proper daddy?”
Rage swirled inside me. “Fuck off. You can’t mean that.”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen her hanging around Ama the past few days.”
“They been talking?”
“Not sure.” He laughed a little. “You know what she’s like. Off in her own world.”
Yeah, I knew that, and as much as I loved Ama for it, it also made me nervous as shit. For someone who should be hyperaware thanks to her background, she wasn’t. It was like she was in a bubble now. One that Keys, her daddies, and I would kill to keep her in.
Scraping a hand over my face, I scented something that turned my stomach—Bubbles’ pussy on my fingers. Grunting, I mumbled, “I need to shower.”
“You only have about thirty minutes before we’re setting off,” Keys warned.
I shrugged. “So? That’s long enough.”
“Ama wants to say bye. You know that takes ages.”
Lips twitching, I hauled ass and headed back to my room. Keys clambered in after me and, pulling out his cell, lay flat out on my bed jingling his fucking keys as he caught up with his messages as I went and cleaned up.
The shower didn’t take long. Just long enough to dispose of the sticky condom, to get rid of the scent of that bitch off my hands, and to clean my dick off.
After I rubbed a towel over my body, I jumped back into my cut, jeans, tee, and boots, and returned to my room.
Seeing Ama sitting cross-legged at Keys’ side had me shaking my head at her. “What are you doing in here?”
She smirked at me. “Was hoping for a show.”
A startled laugh escaped me, but I wasn’t sure why. Ama, though she was away with the fairies a lot, actually had a vulgar sense of humor. I wasn’t sure where she’d gotten it from—well, with four biker dads, I guess I didn’t have to look far for the culprit—but the shit she came out with usually had Keys and me chuckling.
Though I was amused, I cocked a brow at her. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”
She shrugged. “Not supposed to do a lot of things, but I do them anyway.”
Keys snorted. “Just call you rebel, huh?” he teased from behind his phone.
“I’m not a rebel, but I’m certainly not an angel, and I’m tired of you thinking I am.” She huffed and folded her arms across her chest.
The move plumped up her tits, and the way she pouted? Christ, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about using those tits to get myself off in a titty fuck that would be better than any other I’d ever experienced. Especially if it ended with her opening up those pillowy lips and sucking on the tip of my cock.
She was beautiful, my Ama. Like sin and sass had come together to make the impossible—an angel in hell. I didn’t care what she said, didn’t care how hard she argued. She was an angel. In both spirit and looks.
Ama even had the white blonde hair, adding to her angelic image. With her light green eyes, creamy alabaster skin, and a mouth that made a rosebud look free of color, she was everything I wanted, and nothing I’d ever thought I could have.
But…
Maybe I could.
Where there was a will, there was a way, right? Wasn’t that what Dorie, my stepma, always said?
“Anyway, I don’t want to fight,” she was grumbling now, those tits still plumped up.
“Who’s fighting?” I retorted, amused. If anyone knew what a fight was, it was Ama. Her momma and dads could argue like no one else. Of course, it usually ended with shit no daughter would ever want to be around, but I’d seen Flame fuck the mad out of Lucie a time or two—accidentally, of course.
If any of her fathers knew I’d seen Lucie naked and being fucked, Jesus, they’d have my eyes.
But I knew, deep down, Ama held that kind of spirit too. She was good, pure, but there was a wicked streak in her. I knew that and wanted to expose it. Wanted to mine that vein like it was made of gold, because to me, it was.
She huffed again then changed the subject. “When are you back?”
“You already know,” was all Keys said.
“Four days. We’ll be back on Thursday. We’re only going up to Fort Hancock.”
> She pursed her lips. “Has to be because of Granddaddy.”
“Maybe.”
The war between the Hell’s Rebels and Satan’s Knights, whose main clubhouse was located in Fort Hancock, had long since celebrated a ceasefire.
No one had known exactly why Satan’s Knights had pulled up roots from their temporary clubhouse an hour’s ride away, not until Ama had been abducted.
Wolfe had called on Lucie’s father, Lucifer, the Prez of the Knights, to ask for help in finding Aaron Sanchez’s bitch mother. More manpower, more brains working to eradicate any threat against Ama. With that had come the revelation that Lucie wasn’t the old Prez’s daughter, and that she was the reason behind the Knights’ sudden disinterest in our business.
She squinted at me. “Maybe?” She hummed. “That means yes. You never say ‘maybe’ unless it’s yes.” Ama reached up and began plucking at her bottom lip. “Wonder why Momma isn’t going.”
I snorted. “Because this ain’t for fun, baby doll. It’s all business.” We had a shipment of cigarettes that Lucifer was going to take off our hands. We ran them up the East Coast, he took them along the West.
Business, no pleasure now.
I’d intended to enjoy some of the Knights’ clubwhores when I got there, but after fucking Bubbles? After potentially being tied to the bitch forever?
No fucking way.
When I came back, Ama was mine.
No more waiting around, no more fretting like a pussy. It was time to claim her, and I just hoped she was ready to be mine. When I cut Keys a look, I amended it to ours, because that boy loved her just as much as I did. And hell, I loved him too. Not in a gay way, but like a brother, and we’d always been the three musketeers. Always.
I didn’t see any reason to change that shit, not considering her past.
15
Ama
“Ink?” I whispered his name as I crawled into his bed. He didn’t stir, never did usually, so I climbed in and settled at his side.
The second my body curved into his, I released a relieved sigh.
With Keys and Saint having left for my granddaddy’s clubhouse, I wasn’t happy. Hell, that was an understatement.
I hated it when any of the people I loved went on a run, but knew there wasn’t much I could do about that. Saint and Keys would be going on more and more. Ink, less so, and my daddies had stopped around three years before. Most of the younger generation, except for the Road Captain, handled the runs now, which was great in one sense because I didn’t have to worry about my fathers, but Saint and Keys? Nope. They’d be doing this stuff for a long time to come.
Men didn’t always come back from runs.
Sometimes they were shot by rivals and died. Sometimes they were arrested. Sometimes…
God, sometimes were just as bad as what-ifs, weren’t they?
My throat felt thick as I turned my face into Ink’s back. He scented of smoke, the soap he used—lime and mint, which was my favorite fragrance in the world, so he smelled like a mojito—and just that faint, underlying essence of him.
With my nose burrowed between his shoulders, I forced myself to relax, but I wouldn’t until the guys were back. Still, I needed to sleep, and I knew, point blank, I’d endure another nightmare, so at least this way, I’d have something nice to wake up to if I was plagued again.
Taking a deep breath, I let the calm of the night seep inside me—the music had cut out at three—and allowed myself to sleep.
Of course, he visited me that night.
Aaron didn’t always, mostly it was just flashes of his face, of the memory of what he’d done, but he did tonight when my saviors weren’t there to keep him at bay. I’d learned that I needed all three of them close at hand to evade Aaron, and with two of them gone? I was up shit creek without my paddle.
Like always, Aaron was bleeding from the gunshot wound to his temple, the other side of his face a gnarly mass of ruptured flesh. I was an adult now, no longer a child, but whenever I was in this dream, it seemed to overtake me, overpower me until I was back to being that terrified twelve-year-old.
The scream escaped me, and I thanked God for it because it tore the dream apart and returned me to the present.
When I opened my eyes, I was tucked tightly in Ink’s arms, and his face was on my shoulder. His deep, even breaths should have made me think he was sleeping, but somehow, I knew he wasn’t.
“Ink?” I whispered, twisting my head to the side slightly so I could wipe my tears on the pillow.
He hesitated— I felt it. Knew he was trying to pretend he was still asleep.
Had he done this before?
Pretended to sleep when I’d awoken from a dream in his arms?
I wasn’t sure how that made me feel, but at the moment, I just wanted him to recognize that I wasn’t about to let him pretend now. “Ink,” I repeated, this time with no questioning note to it.
“Yeah, Ama.”
“Would you mind if I came to work with you at the tattoo parlor?” It had been on my mind ever since Keys and Saint had left on their run.
The idea of not going to the college of my dreams hadn’t been as hard to process as it might have been for some. Sure, the choice was taken out of my hands thanks to my past, but also, there was nowhere I really wanted to be other than here.
At my question, he tensed a little. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
I licked my lips. “Yes.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in my voice, nor should there be. I’d only applied to the colleges I had for one single reason—proof that I was a good artist. That I had ideas that were worth exploring, a talent that was worth cultivating.
That could be done here or there. I didn’t need to be in school for my abilities to improve, and now, with the proof that some of the best art schools in the land were willing to give me a full ride? It was the perfect validation.
Ink couldn’t say no to my request.
“If you want,” he grumbled. “It will be mostly admin work at first, Ama, you know that.”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Really?” He sounded doubtful. “You’ll have to talk to people and try to keep the place somewhat organized. Then there’s the cleaning shit you’ll need to learn—”
“So?” I huffed. “You think I can’t learn that stuff?”
“Of course, I do, I just don’t know if you want to. It isn’t all art and sketching, babe. There’s more to it than that.”
Slowly, I rubbed my chin over his forearm. “I know.”
He released a short laugh at that. “You do, huh?”
“I do.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Why not.”
My lips curved. “Thank you. Can I start tomorrow?”
“So eager,” he teased lightly.
“Definitely.” I’d been waiting for this opportunity since I was sixteen. I wanted to work with Ink so damn badly that I’d have been willing to drop out of high school if my momma hadn’t threatened to take me to class every day and tie me to the chair.
Graduation was a big deal to my mom. My daddies, too.
He hummed under his breath. “Go to sleep. We have work in the morning.”
Excitement buzzed inside me, and it only stirred hotter and faster as he stayed exactly where he was—not moving away from me, not twisting to lie flat on his back.
We were as close as two spoons in the silverware drawer, and I wasn’t about to complain about that.
Normally, I fell back asleep with a respectable three feet between us, with Ink nearly hugging the edge of the bed. Now that I thought about it, I should have realized he’d been awake all along. Each and every time I’d awoken with a bang, he had too, and he’d hugged me through it before mumbling in his sleep and rolling over, putting distance between us.
Tonight, he didn’t.
Tonight, he stayed close, and I loved it.
Loved his heat, his hardness. Loved how safe and secure I felt.
&n
bsp; When I awoke the next morning, it was to find his side of the bed empty, but I knew, point blank, that another nightmare hadn’t stirred me into wakefulness.
Why?
Because he’d held me close? Tucked me so tightly into him that I didn’t know where he’d begun and I ended?
As I spread out on his sheets, I star-fished and took a moment to savor the scent of him in his own personal space.
When my daddies had moved out of the clubhouse after momma and I had returned home, taking us to the custom-built house that was just across the compound, the single councilors and a dozen or so brothers had moved in too, filling the place to full.
Ink’s room was unsurprisingly plain, except for the work he had on the wall. Whether he liked to admit it or not, ink and flesh were his medium, but he was more than just a tattoo artist. He was an artist.
The plain white walls, the simple IKEA dressers, and the navy comforter didn’t speak of a biker. Hell, they just spoke pure bachelor. But the pictures he’d hung? Jesus, they were good—anything from Chinese-style dragons that soared over a three-foot by three-foot canvas, to tribal patterns that were heavy on repetition and detail.
Even though the pieces themselves weren’t original concepts, the flair they were completed with was. I’d never seen work like Ink’s before, and the fact I was in love with him was only one of the reasons I wanted to work with him. Being at the tattoo parlor would bring us closer together, sure, and that was one of my goals, but being taught by Ink would be like a dream come true.
His work created splashes of vibrancy amid a blank canvas of an anonymous hotel room, which was quite fitting considering the clubhouse was a seventies style motel. It had two floors—a wide reception area that had been converted into a common room, complete with bar and a small games room, and then at the opposite end, the family room and kitchen where the kids hung out.
Most of my life had been spent in or around the family room, and graduating had meant I could actually enter the common room—even though I knew my dads loathed it when I crossed the threshold.
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