by Isabel Wroth
“Temporary,” he growled, “until you give me the go ahead to make an appointment for you at the Boneyard.”
Ripley frowned hard, her fingers curling into the lapels of his cut. “Isn’t that the place where you guys…oh. Oh!”
Her teeth raked across the fullness of her bottom lip. Her long lasting red lipstick didn’t budge. Saint couldn’t help but pull out the memory of her screamin red lips stretched around his cock and shudder with the need to see it again.
He’d have gone back to one of her treatment rooms to see if he couldn’t make that fantasy a reality, but he could already hear the growling of the club’s bikes as they drew nearer.
“You want me to get your brand?” she murmured, searching his face like she thought he might be teasing.
“My brand, my name. Scares the fuck out of me, but I want to see you holding my babies like you were holding Roar’s last night.”
Ripley shifted on her toes until there wasn’t an inch of space between their bodies. Her fingers uncurled to rub up and down over his chest. “Scares you? Why?”
The rumble of motorcycles got closer and bought him a little more time to figure out how to keep from sounding like a pussy.
“We’ll talk about it later. Time to ride.”
*****
Ripley walked out the front door of the shop to see every member of the club, minus Gee, Toad, Nasa, and Damon, parked on the street. Ever was perched behind Roar, Athena grinning from behind Raid, both women looking at her with eager expressions. Like they were every bit as excited about this ride as she was.
The sound of fifteen idling motorcycles vibrated through Ripley’s body like she was standing in front of a subwoofer at a rock concert. Her heart raced, her hands shook as she locked up and followed Saint down the stairs to where his Harley was parked.
She was so ready for this ride, had they been alone, she’d have leapt up behind him like a monkey. But not wanting to embarrass herself, she let him get her helmet settled, smiling when he pulled a pair of pink tinted sunglasses from inside his cut, and took his hand to balance as she threw a leg over behind him.
Not wanting to squeeze anywhere near Saint’s belly, Ripley slipped her arms under his and reached up to cup his shoulders. He gave her thigh a squeeze, turned the key, and the machine between her legs roared to life.
Saint lifted his chin at Top and over the growl of their combined engines, Top bellowed-“COPPERHEAD!” and took off.
Saint rolled into place behind Roar and Raid, the rest of the club falling in around them. Ripley couldn’t help but grin, thinking that instead of knights in shining armor, these guys were knights who rode around on their shiny armored steeds.
Adrenaline socked her in the gut every time Saint turned a corner and the motorcycle leaned a little closer to the ground, laughing at gravity as the black and chrome machine curved across the asphalt on two fat tires. Every stoplight they hit, he let go of the handlebars and wrapped his fingers around her calf, massaging her leg.
Ripley decided as the city streets turned to back streets and then to the winding road of 1431, where carpets of bluebonnets and vibrantly colored wildflowers covered the hills, she was addicted.
When they all pulled into the parking lot of their destination, Saint helped her to dismount, and asked with an amused smile.
“You good?”
Ripley peeled her princess pink helmet off and shook her hair out. “Yeah.”
She hoped the sudden burn of lust she felt was obvious in the look she gave him, and from the way his hand tightened on her butt, it was. If they had been back at the compound, she’d have jumped his bones as carefully as possible. Saint hissed and ducked his head to press a hard kiss on her mouth, obviously on the same page.
“If we were back at the compound, or at home right now…” He let the sentence linger sensually.
Hours later, Ripley lay pinned beneath Saint’s body, weak from the deliciousness of the rolling orgasms he had pushed her to. His face was pressed against her throat, his cock still buried inside her, giving a few lingering pulses as though trying to give her more pleasure.
Any more and Ripley was sure she would die.
What a day.
She closed her eyes while her fingertips roamed the muscled smoothness of Saint’s back. Her thoughts turning to the stress and fear she had started out with, walking into the spa, remembering the aftermath of the shooting. Then the delight, the desire, the utter relief that had filled her when Saint had walked in. The tension she had carried with her all day melted away like it had never been, and Ripley had taken her first easy breath.
Then the amazement she had experienced when Saint had pulled the princess pink Harley Davidson jacket embroidered with his claim to her all over it, the ride on his motorcycle, the cruise with the club…the churn of emotion was still overwhelming enough to bring her to the brink of tears.
It had only been weeks, a scant handful of weeks, since Saint had blown back into her life. They had gone from one relationship extreme, or lack thereof, to the next. A hitman coming for the club, then the shooting, Saint’s brush with death, her wake-up call. Maybe she had given in and forgiven Saint for all the horrible things he’d said and done. But remembering how he had passed out on the floor of the spa, his blood soaking her hands and what she had thought was his dying declaration of love ringing in her ears, was too much.
The pain of losing him, of him jumping in front of a bullet to save her, telling her he loved her and passing out…she would never have forgiven herself if she hadn’t been able to tell him he was an asshole, but she loved him too.
Ripley turned her head to brush a kiss to Saint’s temple, lifting her hand to smooth his hair from his sweaty brow while bubbles of emotion burst like champagne against her skin.
“Saint?”
He gave a sleepy, “Hmm?” in answer.
“Thank you for today. I had so much fun riding with you, with the club like that.”
She could feel the bristles of his mustache rasp against her shoulder as his lips curled up in a smile.
“I’m sorry it didn’t happen sooner, princess.”
“Doesn’t matter, today was perfect. I love my jacket.”
“I’m glad.”
“Did you mean it, about making me an appointment at your tattoo shop?”
In answer to her tentative, softly spoken question, Ripley felt Saint’s smile turn into a frown. He lifted his head up to glare down at her,
“Babe, come the fuck on.”
She almost winced at the bite to his tone, not having realized her question would have been so offensive. “Saint-”
“You think I’d just randomly offer my colors to a woman for shits and giggles?”
“No, I just-”
He cut her off again, lowering himself down like he was going to kiss her, but the glare he gave her was too hot for kisses.
“I meant it. All of it. I love you, Ripley.”
“I love you, too.”
“Good, cause I’m not wasting anymore…what did you say?”
She managed a smile, her fingers kneading into the thick muscles of his shoulders while she gave herself a moment to memorize the way he looked right now. The surprise that had blown his pupils wide, how sexy his hair was, all mussed from where she had gripped it tight earlier.
“I love you, Saint. Please make me that appointment at the Boneyard.”
*****
When she had first seen it, Ripley had been apprehensive of the tattoo design Saint worked up for her. It wasn’t subtle and it wasn’t small. For her very first tattoo, it was almost intimidatingly large. Something that would potentially cost a fortune to remove, should the day come that Saint no longer wanted any claim on her.
It was a beautiful tattoo, no doubt about it. Saint had gone straight up Romeo and Juliet style with the design. A big red heart crowned in flames, resting on a bed of yellow roses, with rays of light shooting out from behind it all, sort of like a halo. Wrapped aro
und the heart, was a white banner inked with black letters, no Pin Up Princess this time. It simply said, “Property of Saint.”
He was putting his mark on her, claiming her as his ‘property’ and therefore off-limits to anyone else.
It had, at first, irked Ripley to literally have a label on her body proclaiming her a man’s property, but a quick conversation with Ever and Athena had settled her nerves about it.
The conversation had been rocky at first though.
“It’s like how ranchers brand their cows.” Athena had told her, and Ripley about lost her mind.
Ever took exception to having her tattoo compared to a cattle brand. “I don’t know what the hell Raid told you, but that’s bullshit. Pardon the pun.”
Athena rolled her eyes. “Ranchers brand their cows, so that if they’re stolen, there isn’t any confusion who the cow belongs to. It’s a symbol that says, ‘This is mine. I protect it, I value it, so fuck with it and I’ll kill you.’”
Ever narrowed her eyes at Athena. Ripley was still gaping in offense at being compared to a cow.
“I’ll agree with the last part,” Ever drawled, “Forget the rest, Ripley. A brand is a big deal. It’s a permanent mark of their commitment to us. And believe it or not, there’s some psychology behind what they choose.”
Ripley had shot a confused look at Ever and got a shrug even as Ever blushed a little.
“When Roar ordered me to get his brand, he could have picked anything. I was at the time giving him hell about being loyal, doubting his ability to remain faithful to me, and not go running around behind my back with the club sluts. My tattoo, his brand? He picked an Edwardian Lion. He’s a Leo and, to Roar, a lion symbolizes loyalty.”
A sweet rush of emotion pricked at Ripley, even as Athena gave a dreamy little sigh.
“Raid designed the henna of my tattoo for me, but added geranium flowers to it in my favorite color.” Athena lifted her shirt to show off the beautiful sunset orange and pink flowers for Ripley to see. “The first letter I sent him apparently smelled like rosewood and geraniums. I’d been mixing up a batch of candles in the house and the scent permeated the paper unintentionally. Raid said it was the first time in a year he had taken a breath that wasn’t saturated with death and despair.”
Ever hummed and smiled a sweet, blissful smile.
“Whatever Saint picks for you, you can have your say about whether or not you like it. Put it where you want it, but it will have some special meaning just for the two of you. It’s not a tramp stamp, it’s his promise that as ‘property of,’ Saint will take care with and of you for as long as you let him.”
With that information warming her heart, Ripley had voiced her trepidation at the size of the beautiful tattoo Saint had asked Frankie to work up for her.
“I love everything about it. It’s just really big for my first tattoo and I’m nervous.”
Saint hummed in understanding, hugging her back against him, his chin resting on her shoulder while they stood in the comfortable lounge area of the Boneyard to discuss the details.
“Nervous about the size or the pain?” His deep voice rumbled up and down her spine, electrifying her with ripples of desire, even as the rich vibration relaxed her adrenaline flushed muscles.
“Both, I think.”
“Frankie can shrink it down a little, princess. It doesn’t have to be that big. Did you take the Tylenol like I told you to?”
“Yes.” Ripley took a deep breath and spread her palm over the sketch. “Tell me why you picked this?”
Saint reached around to touch the fire that crowned the ruby red heart.
“Every time I look at you it feels like my heart’s gonna burn right out of my chest.” He went on, dragging his finger down to the heart itself, “I love your pin-up style, so I wanted you to have something to reflect that. Since you’ve got some Irish in you, I tweaked the Claddagh thing to better fit my style and yours. Fire for loyalty, heart for love, and the yellow roses are symbolic of friendship and happiness.”
“And the halo?”
Saint touched a kiss to her shoulder, his voice a deeper rasp, “You light up my life, princess.”
Ripley was fighting emotional tears at this point, moved beyond words, beyond speech for a moment. Frankie had good timing, ambling up to smile at them both,
“So, how’s it going?”
Ripley blinked out of her emotional study of the tattoo that would be inked into her skin forever.
“I’m ready,” she managed to say.
Frankie nodded, rubbing his hands together with a big smile on his face. “Good deal. Any changes?”
Ripley leaned back and let Saint take her weight, her hands sliding over his where they rested on her belly. “No. It’s perfect as is.”
The pain turned out to be less than what Ripley had been expecting. It hurt, but honestly once she got over the initial burning and stinging, she had floated into a haze of rather unexpected arousal. The sort she usually felt after Saint had fucked her into a coma of bliss.
Whether it was the rush of adrenaline-laced cortisol or the haze of love she felt whenever Saint caught her eye and smiled this proud little smirk, Ripley couldn’t say.
But it definitely added a whole new layer of unbelievable to sex, that was for damn sure.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ripley woke up alone, frowning as she looked around her bedroom expecting to see Saint, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the bathroom, or in the kitchen making breakfast. The last text she had gotten from him had been at two am, letting her know he was stopping by the spa with Damon to collect the motorcycle Ripley had been using in her photoshoots.
The custom bike had been bought by the gleeful husband of one of the women Ripley had done the ROT Rally photo special for. The husband had apparently loved seeing his wife in pin-up style, arched over that motorcycle so much, he’d had to have it.
Which was great for Gee, if the kid ever woke up. His coma had gone on even after being weaned off the drugs keeping him asleep, and the doctors couldn’t say why. But, when he did wake up, he was going to be forty thousand dollars richer.
A soft snore from the direction of her living room had Ripley’s heart tripping, relief surging forward, only to drain away when she rushed over and found the brother with the scarred face, Pen, sleeping on her couch.
Pen either heard her or felt her uneasiness at finding him there, because he went from asleep and snoring, to wide awake and rolling off the couch to come up on one knee, gun in hand. Ripley made herself stand perfectly still while Pen’s dark eyes rolled over the room seeking a threat.
It was disturbing to watch the fluid, panther smooth move he pulled, moving his cut aside to holster his gun as he stood up.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice a thick growl.
Ripley shivered like someone had walked over her grave, wondering why she was so easily able to forget that the men of Perdition, weren’t just pretty faces. Some of them had combat experience, like Raid, like Pen. She swallowed thickly and held up her phone.
“Saint was supposed to be home by now. The last text I got was him telling me that he and Damon were going to my shop to get Gee’s bike.”
Pen didn’t tell her she was overreacting, he snagged his phone from the coffee table and started dialing numbers.
One pot of coffee later, nerves shot, Top walked through her front door and the look on his face was grim. Time seemed to slow as he came towards her, numbness, icy numbness worked its way up from her toes in a sickening rush.
She barely felt the ceramic of her coffee cup as it slid from her nerveless fingers, didn’t hear the crash of it on her kitchen floor, or feel the heat of the liquid where it splashed against her legs.
Sound came in wonky waves, Top’s strong voice came in and out as he approached her, as he came to tell her Saint was gone. Ripley saw white at the edges of her vision and was about to lose her mind when Top reached out and gently popped her on the cheek, shocking her
out of her growing hysteria.
She blinked, Top’s hand cradling the cheek he’d just smacked, brushing his thumb back and forth over the stinging flesh while flames, unholy flames, burned in his eyes.
“I give you my word, Ripley, we’re gonna find him.”
*****
As soon as she had heard the news, she knew it was time. She couldn’t hold back any longer, though the very idea of coming forward now had the power to steal her breath and leave her fighting nausea. She’d pulled up to the curb opposite the Perdition compound and had been sitting there for the last hour, working up the courage to go inside.
She had enjoyed three years of freedom, of having made herself a home, wonderful friends in Ever and Athena. Tree years of slowly believing she had a future in which she was safe and didn’t need to hide anymore. A future that could include love.
She had been sick three times on the way over here. Terrified to the point where she was wet with sweat, freezing cold in the middle of summer, shaking so badly it was a wonder she hadn’t crashed. A long row of glittering motorcycles sat along the one wall and she could practically feel the hum of furious energy flowing from the building.
She knew she had to do this, but the repercussions…the horror of what her actions could unleash…
A shriek escaped her without thought as the door to her beat-up truck was yanked open and a gun shoved in her face. She almost pissed herself until she saw the shocked face of the man holding the gun.
“Tara? What the fuck are you doing here?”
Pen slapped his gun back in his holster and pulled her out of the truck, towering over her with a black look on his face, not taking his eyes off of her when he yelled over his shoulder.
“Stand down! It’s Tara!” Pen shouted, making her jerk in the tight grip he had on her shoulders. “Babe, look at me.”
Shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, Tara rolled her eyes up to look at Pen, knowing this was the last time she was probably ever going to see him again.