by Kay Maree
“I don’t skip,” she sasses and flicks her long hair over her shoulder.
My eyes zero onto her lips pouting over the rim of her coffee mug. Her neck elongates as she takes her time sipping down the dregs, prolonging our departure, taunting me. I take the bait, rounding the bench with the stealth and speed of a ruthless killer. She barely swallows before I latch onto her neck and bite down hard enough to feel her body prime under my mouth.
“Tova,” I rumble around her skin between my teeth.
She hums briefly in response.
“As much as I want to bend you over the bench right now, it’s time to get your arse downstairs.”
My command snaps her from her lust-filled trance that she so easily slipped into. The green flecks in her eyes illuminate against her dark eyelashes as she stares me down. It’s not hard to see why most people find her intimidating. If her family status wasn’t enough to send people packing, her resting bitch face sure was.
“Don’t test me, you know I don’t dish out ultimatums because I love the sound of my fucking voice.”
I swear her lips twitch, just once, but that fleeting moment is all I need to know that she’s simply keeping up appearances for the sake of her badass image.
“Good, because your voice is like fucking Al Pacino after he’s been kicked in the balls.”
I rumble a laugh; my voice is deep at the best of times and it’s rough from my bullshit smoking habit, but I drop it further.
“Baby, my voice makes you fucking purr and you know it.”
The only hint of her composure cracking is her eyes flaring, and fuck if she didn’t just lean closer.
“Slade?”
“Yup.” I smirk.
“Get your arse out of my way, it’s time to go.”
I run a hand over my grin as she pushes past.
“That’s my girl.”
“Not your girl,” she calls.
“Yeah, Tove, you fucking are.”
I’m still chuckling at her snappy movements as she collects her sketch pad and shoves it in her bag before grabbing her helmet. Fuck, I’m a sorry sonofabitch for getting caught up in Tova; she’s gonna be the death of me, that much is plain as day. Good thing I thrive on a challenge.
Her tight jean clad arse is out the door as I bum a smoke and tuck the packet back into the pocket of my cut.
“Babe,” I bark.
She turns but doesn’t say a word.
“You hot?”
Tove’s lips part into a sinister grin as she taps her bag. “Always.”
A slice of relief passes through me; at least she’s armed. I didn’t need to check—I figured she was always packin’ whenever she left the apartment, but peace of mind keeps a brother from worrying over things he shouldn’t be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tova
“Well, good morning to you, Te. Nothing screams having had your brains fucked out than walking bow-legged.”
I stop short, unusually taken back for a moment by Henley’s bullshit as soon as I step through the shop door.
“I’m not walking bow-legged,” I snap and round the counter.
“Ha!” He raises his hands in triumph then indicates towards the door. “But you got fucked, right? Pretty sure that’s why Slade is about to give me the third degree.”
I slam my bag onto the counter and glare at Slade as he pushes open the door like he’s simply here for another tattoo. I cross my arms and try not to let my eyes wander over his body as he stalks towards us.
“Seriously, Slade, I thought you had business to sort today.”
“I am on business,” he drawls without taking his eyes of Hen. “Mornin’, Henley. Got a minute?”
“Not if you want ink. Fully booked today, mate.”
Slade smirks and finally slashes his eyes my way. “Not today. Tova’s not to leave the shop unless it’s with me or one of the other brothers. Got it?”
My hackles rise as Slade talks about me as if I’m not standing right in front of him.
Hen shrugs. “Of course. What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” I snap, earning another glare from Slade.
“It’s not nothing,” he hisses. “She received a death threat yesterday afternoon, and since she’s not gonna keep her arse parked up at home, and short of putting brothers on the door to this place, she’s not to step outside alone for a fucking millisecond.”
“Shit, Te, you sure know how to make life interesting.” Hen turns back to Slade. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Slade points at him. “Good. And I’m only fucking trusting you because you’ve done my ink for years and I know you take no bullshit.”
Henley sniggers. “It’s more like knowing what bullshit to take and what not to tolerate.”
He’s right; Hen is all sweet bad-boy on the outside but has no qualms with telling people to fuck off if they’re out of line. It doesn’t happen often at the shop, but I’ve witnessed it a time or two before.
“Tove.” Slade’s smooth voice slices through my thoughts, weaving its way through my system—and damn straight it makes me purr.
“C’mere.”
He doesn’t move an inch, and neither do I. We’re locked in a battle of wills and defiance that neither of us wants to cave into. If he wanted a follower for his old lady, then he shouldn’t have set his sights on me. In saying that, not many men could handle all my attitude, and Slade’s not one to give a woman the time of day if she’s a needy, whining pain in the arse.
“Damn, Te, you’re gonna get your arse spanked later if you don’t move it,” Henley chortles.
He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, grinning like an utter fool while getting kicks out of the mini standoff between me and Slade.
A glint enters Slade’s grey eyes from Hen’s comment, though it’s gone within the second and replaced with hostility when his phone rings.
“Griz.” Slade’s eyes cut to me. “Yeah, she’s with me at Voltage, and nope, Indie’s not here.”
Griz replies before Slade signs off with, “Ten,” then disconnects.
He stalks towards me, not bothering with a request this time. “Turn your damn phone off silent.”
I eyeroll to distract myself from Slade’s scent. It makes my knees weak, and I can’t help but set a hand on the reception desk to steady myself.
“What did Griz want?”
“Wanted to see if Indie was with us. She’s bunked school again,” he drawls.
Nothing new there; Indie was a pre-teen force to be reckoned with. “Jesus, she’s a handful.”
Slade’s burst of laughter is sharp and loud. “Runs in the bloody family, that I can assure you.” He doesn’t waste another moment before pulling me into his arms and holding tight. “Stay put today, little bird. I’m not going to make you promise because that won’t mean shit. I’m telling you to wait until I pick you up. I gotta get going. Oh, and if Indie turns up here, lock her down and ring your brother.”
“A Costello doesn’t get locked down,” I sass.
“Don’t I know it,” he growls then steals my comeback with a searing kiss that leaves me a little breathless.
Slade’s lust filled gaze turns business-like the instant he releases me. He throws a departing, “Henley,” over his shoulder then stalks from the shop like the fucking King of town.
I snigger when people do a quick step to move out of his path. They give him a wide berth as he swings a leg over his Harley where it’s parked on the sidewalk. Slade ignores the turning heads and the women clutching their handbags tighter as if he’s gonna do a fucking snatch and run. I pause, drawn in simply by watching him light a smoke before he tears down the street like a thunderclap from Hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Slade
I’m striding into the clubhouse like a motherfucking boss, leaving a plume of smoke in my wake, flicking off arseholes when they tell me to p
ut the damn thing out.
I’m late. Again. It’s becoming a common theme for me and I don’t like it one bit.
Butch and Jet pause their game of darts to smirk and raise a brow as I stalk past, and Butch can’t fucking help himself.
“Got your dick wet yet, Slade?”
My steps don’t falter as I take an impromptu detour, cock my hand back and punch him square in the nose.
“Ah, fuck, you arsehole!” His voice is muffled behind his hand and his eyes are throwing daggers at me. “Calm your fucking roids. You just broke my nose.”
He’s not joking; I felt and heard the tell-tale crunch of cartilage and bone breaking. There’s blood pissing down his lips and Minnie is quick to rush over with a towel. Serves him goddamn right; now that Tova is mine, no fuck is going to get away with speaking out of line about her.
“I’ll wait until it heals then break it again, then repeat the process for an entire year if you so much as look at Tova the wrong way.”
I tone back the yelling as I apologise to Minnie. Sure she’s one of the club bitches, but she’s somewhat of a matriarch around here. Always caring for the dumbasses who get sliced or shot—and that included me.
“Sorry about the blood, Min. Get this fool to clean it up once he finishes having a fucking cry.”
She glances at me before pulling the towel away to check how munted Butch’s nose is. “I’ll get it sorted, Slade, Griz is waiting for you. Between Tova and Indie, he’s gearing up to reign down Hell.”
“Shit,” I curse as I leave her to it.
Tiny is waiting for me and has obviously got instructions from Griz to send me straight in—he opens the door and closes it swiftly behind me.
“Any news?” I ask around the cig that’s now back between my lips.
My hand is aching after slogging Butch but it’s totally worth it. With a huff through my nose, I swap the lighter to my other hand and it takes me a few attempts to relight. Griz still hasn’t said anything, and when my eyes flick to his, he’s leaning back in his chair with his arms cross over his chest.
His stare is hard and dark—he ain’t fucking happy. No wonder he’s already hitting the booze.
“No, there’s not. Not in terms of leads anyway. The bullshit over the territory line seems to have sorted itself from the boys little visit.” He lifts his brass knuckles off the desk in front of him and starts turning them over.
“Everyone’s got their ears to the ground, but so far we’re coming up blank. No indication of who the killer is; he—or she—seems to be fucking good at keeping their movements on the down low. We’ve gotta be looking at a professional here, not just some vigilante on a blood spree. Not with the way every scene is as clean as a fucking whistle. Peters says they don’t have a shred of hard evidence to date, and he ain’t lying. He’s definitely shitting himself now that I’m breathing down his neck.”
“You sure he’s giving you all the info?”
“Positive. I don’t think he’ll try withholding info again, don’t you?” Griz chuckles, referring to when Peters got a little roughed up after bullshitting a few years back.
“Got a plan?”
He pours another drink then shoves the ashtray my way. “Echo is putting extra surveillance up since there’s sweet fuck all in the entire building. You still got eyes on Tove?”
“I do. She’s not easy to live with, man, and she’s learning the hard way that I ain’t no fucking pushover.”
Griz smirks. “You’re either one brave sonofabitch or just plain stupid to call dibs on her. Though, no point in claiming a woman that’s gonna be boring as fuck in six months’ time… Or take off unannounced because she can’t handle shit,” he adds bitterly.
Indie’s mother basically dropped her and ran. For a year or so Griz hunted for her while struggling to raise a baby, hence why Indie has been passed around the old ladies in the club, all chipping in to help where they can. Ironic really, since him and Tova were raised the same way. Griz has been bitter and cynical about love ever since Jayda shot through, and his long list of one-night fucks is proof of his attitude towards relationships.
“Tove sure as hell ain’t gonna be boring the shit out of me anytime soon,” I drawl.
Griz sniggers as he tucks the knuckle dusters into his cut. “I need you with me today. We’re gonna go for a little ride into town and meet with someone who claims he has information on the Puppeteer. Since Tova has now been targeted, I’m thinking there’s a link; a retaliation of some sorts.”
I stand and check the back of my jeans, ensuring my handgun is still neatly tucked in the waistband. The urge to light up again is strong; my addiction to the nicotine hit has increased since all this bullshit started.
“As in, all the other women whacked were merely a warning and Tova was the target all along?”
Griz’s nostrils flare as he rolls his neck. “Perhaps. It’s a hunch, one that might not be right, but it’s all I’ve got to go on at this stage. Grab Butch and Bishop then we’ll head out.”
I halt and lower my voice. “Not Butch.”
Griz tilts his head back and looks down his nose at me. “Why the fuck not?”
“I don’t trust the cunt, that’s why. Plus, he’s now got a broken nose.”
“Christ, Slade, you fucking clocked him one?”
I smirk. “Yeah, I did. He was running his mouth.”
Griz runs a hand through his hair then over his beard. “Why the distrust?”
“Gut feeling. He ain’t all he’s cracked up to be.”
“He’s been with the club for years, since my old man was Pres.”
Fuck it, before I can think, I’m reaching for my smokes again. “And that’s why he can’t be fucking trusted. Honestly, I think he’s dirty, got eyes on the top spot, biding his time until he can take a shot at running this place.”
Griz’s jaw clenches. I don’t give a fuck that he doesn’t like what I’m saying; it’s a gut feeling, and normally when I get one it’s only a matter of time before shit heads south.
“You sure?” he bites out.
“I am.”
With a final beat of silence, Griz nods and wrenches the office door open. “Grab Bishop and whoever else is sitting on their arse.”
We stalk down the corridor and I peel off to the rec room as Griz heads out back. I purposely ignore Butch glaring at me as I glance around the room.
“Bish, Ruck, job’s on.”
They’re up and following me without question.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Tova
Slade’s late. I don’t mean five or ten minutes late; I’m talking a whole fucking hour late.
I huff again and Henley gives me an irritated scowl. The shop is all cleaned and tidied for the weekend. I’m scheduled to work tomorrow, and despite Henley vehemently stating that we should close for the day, I wasn’t having it. We had a business to run.
“Stop fucking huffing—you’re killing my vibe.”
I set my elbow on the counter and point my pencil at him. “I hate tardiness, especially at the end of the day. Shut up so I can plot my many ways to maim Slade.”
Henley scoffs and resumes his own sketch. “Who even says tardiness now days?”
He’s designed most of my tats and is the only one I let within a quarter mile of my skin with an ink gun. I don’t trust anyone else after getting a couple of extremely average pieces done when I was younger by some guy who talked a big game but did shit work.
“I fucking do,” I sass.
Henley chuckles then nudges my leg with the toe of his boot. “It’s Slade’s, isn’t it.”
I keep my face carefully neutral. “What?”
“That.” He points at the artwork depicting the Grim Reaper sinking his fingers into a skull with one hand, while tenderly cradling a woman in the other.
“I’ve already told you, it’s not for a client.”
Hen jabs his pen in my direction. “Ex
actly.”
“Whatever. I’m getting more coffee. You don’t have to wait around, you know.”
He doesn’t look up. “Yes I do, and you know it. I’ll have one too since you’re making.”
I add a snide remark as I snatch up my phone and stride out back. There’s an email waiting for me, telling me that my requested information wasn’t able to be found. I’m frowning at my phone when I hear the distinct rumble of a Harley pulling up outside.
“Man-candy has arrived,” Henley calls, so I hastily exit out of the email and lock my phone.
“You suck him then,” I bitch as I stomp out to see Slade stroll through the door, taking his merry time.
Henley is doing a crap job of hiding his amusement as he packs up his gear.
“Slade,” he acknowledges and cocks his head my way. “Good luck with her.” Hen’s eyes then find mine. “See you Monday, Te.”
I flick my sketch pad closed. “You’re in a hurry all of a sudden.”
He gestures between Slade and I, his arm muscles flexing under his ink. “I don’t need to witness this.”
Slade’s low chuckle rolls over me and I bite the inside of my cheek when his scent reaches my nose, mentally groaning because he smells so fucking good.
Once Henley has roughly kicked the shop door closed, Slade speaks. “Ready?”
I fold my arms and glare at him, only then noticing he’s got a reddened cheek bone and a slightly puffy eye. My face must show my surprise.
“It’s nothing, Sparrow. Just another day at the office.”
As my eyes skip over his features, my heart hurts more than it normally does to see one of the guys roughed up and bearing the signs of physical confrontation. The intensity in Slade’s grey eyes cause my resolve to weaken. He’s willingly showing me his softer side—the side that isn’t an arrogant arsehole who knows he can get whatever he wants. His tongue darts across his lower lip, drawing my attention downward as he steps closer. His fingers grab my waist, silently commanding me to comply to his wishes.