As I watched her work, my hard-on made a reappearance. How couldn’t I be turned on? Her talent and flair combined, and she exuded a joy as she drew that was irresistible to me. It also made me wonder if this wasn’t where her talents lay. I’d teach her to ink, but fuck, that would take years before she was ready to even go near anything other than oranges and pigskin to practice on…
I couldn’t see her appreciating the pigskin option, but it was the closest to human skin, and that was how I’d been trained and I intended on teaching her what I had learned.
Still, if that didn’t work out, there was no denying her skill as an artist, and with mine as a tattoo artist? We’d be a knockout.
❖
Saint
The second we pulled up at the clubhouse, Keys muttered to his sister, “I’ll take you to Lucie.”
Kenzie didn’t exactly look overjoyed at the prospect, because Lucie liked very few people and Kenzie wasn’t one of them. Still, she trudged along after him once he’d shot me a look and said, “I’ll be five minutes. Wait for me?”
I only nodded, knowing full well where we were going—the tattoo parlor.
I wanted the details on when that had happened. We’d gone from dealing with the fact that Ama wasn’t going to go to RISD one day, to the fact she was working at the parlor. Sure, I guessed it was a good fit considering her gifts, but…
My nose wrinkled as I thought about her working with Ink. Anyone with fucking eyes knew how she felt about him. He was her goddamn hero, and even if I was jealous, I had to be grateful to the bastard for saving her. He’d been the one to end that cunt Sanchez, and he’d been the one, in her eyes, who’d been her savior.
Still, the idea of them working together all the time?
Yeah, it rubbed me raw, especially since I’d decided to stop fucking around and make my move. The feeling that it might be too goddamn late was unnerving, and the five minutes I had to wait while Keys sorted out his sister felt way too long.
When he returned, his face was tightly lined with irritation.
“What’s wrong?” I called out.
“She just pisses me off.”
I blinked at him. “What did she say?”
“Asked me if I was going to go panting after Ama.”
“What the hell happened? She flinched at every second noise, and now she’s being a bitch again?” We stared at one another for a second. “Think she played us?”
“Can’t play those bruises,” he rasped, running a hand over his head. “Fuck, I feel like a bastard for even questioning this shit, but something ain’t right. She pulled a complete one-eighty.”
She’d done more than that.
Jesus.
From cowering to catty in less than a day, it was beyond messed up.
“Fuck, Lucifer is gonna be pissed if—”
“Both Lucifers are gonna be pissed,” Keys grumbled. “Where’d the Prez go, anyway?”
“Headed straight to the clubhouse. Think he wanted to clear shit with Wolfe.” I rubbed my chin. “Will probably call church soon. Get everyone on board with the potential shit storm heading our way.”
Keys blew out a breath as he absorbed that and, unsurprisingly, changed the subject, “We going to see Ama?”
“Sure are.”
I hadn’t even dismounted, so I just watched as he climbed on, strapped on his half-helmet—something we all wore with gritted teeth—and started his engine. I followed behind him, dipping my chin at the prospects manning the gates.
Hell’s Rebels was one of the largest MCs this side of the border. Mostly because it was boring as fuck around these parts and a lot of kids rebelled by coming here to Prospect. Not many dropped out, to be fair, and we had a lot of lifers who preferred this way of living to shoveling horse shit on a dude ranch or cutting off bulls’ balls on the family ranch.
Couldn’t blame them.
Here, at least, you got paid for the miserable jobs—paid well. Plus, it wasn’t all just runs. There was plenty of work on the books. We had our own garages—two in this county alone—and then there was the factory that produced slick ghost guns, as well as the fact Dagger and Axe were trying to talk Wolfe into starting a micro-goddamn-brewery.
Life was always varied, never boring, and the level of commitment we all had with one another surpassed that of blood. We were family by choice, and that mattered a whole hell of a lot more—Kenzie was case in point. We gave her our loyalty, and yet, she might have been fucking playing us.
Didn’t matter if a bitch was raised in the MC, I swear, Dillinger was right. Couldn’t trust a woman or an automatic weapon.
Of course, the second that thought crossed my mind, I felt bad. Ama wasn’t like that. But most girls weren’t like Ama either, so I wasn’t sure what that even goddamn meant.
As Keys cranked his throttle wide open, he jerked me from my thoughts as he took off with a roar that told me Kenzie had said more than what he’d shared with me—he was wicked pissed. I took off after him, loving the blurring of the roadside, the burning bright sun overhead, and the glowing blue sky as we dominated the road that would take us from the clubhouse to the nearest town of Jonsson. Sure, I’d been seeing similar sights for the past day, but there was nothing like owning your own roads, flying down highways that belonged to your territory.
The fact that Keys’ ass had to be aching like a SOB told me how badly he wanted to see Ama. She was like human Prozac, made most situations better.
Lips twitching at the thought of telling her she was a walking, talking anti-depressant, I had to admit to being relieved when the sign of Jonsson’s population popped up in the near distance. I was ready to stretch my legs too.
Jonsson wasn’t exactly Corpus Christie, but it was big enough to have a couple fast food chains, not just mom-and-pop restaurants. As we passed the Mexican mom-and-pop place, though, my stomach rumbled and I let Keys continue on to Black Ink so I could grab us all some takeout—it felt like hours since we’d last eaten.
The place was a regular of ours, so they knew my order and had it ready in ten minutes. I made it to Black Ink with the food still steaming and headed inside the tattoo parlor to find Ama and Keys sitting at the booth, while Ink worked on a dude who looked like he was having barbed wire wrapped around his bicep—Ink was a fucking awesome artist.
I headed over to the booth with my goodies, and Ama, spying food, clapped with glee. “Mexican?”
Grinning at her, I declared, “What else?”
Ink snorted behind me, and to his client, asked, “Want a taco?” That he recognized the logo on the paper bag said it all, Taco Toni was infamously famous in Jonsson. Their food was beyond epic.
The guy grunted, but his nose twitched as he studied the bag with avaricious eyes. “Fuck, I’d kill for one, but my wife has me on this goddamn keto diet. Fucking torture, I swear.”
Ink laughed and carried on with his work. I took that as all the permission I needed to start eating in the tattoo parlor.
Getting all the stuff out of the bag, I placed it on the table and let Ama do the rest. Kind of sexist, maybe, but Ama could be particular when she chose.
“Since when did you work here?” I grumbled under my breath as she divvied out the tacos al pastor to us all, leaving some in the foil for Ink when he was done.
“Since today. It’s my first afternoon,” she said brightly.
The look Keys sent me as he dug into his taco said he was as unhappy about this development as I was.
Seeing her bright features, though, I had to admit her happiness eased my annoyance. Of course, that disappeared when I saw the state of her throat.
“Is that a hickey?” I hissed at her, the taco in my hand crumbling as I squished it like a bug in my fist.
Her eyes flared wide at the question, but her hand patted at her throat—in the exact spot where the fucking love bite was.
“Shut up, Saint,” she retorted, her gaze darting to her food as her hand continued to cover the bruised skin.
/> Keys scowled. “Who do we need to beat up?”
Ama being Ama scoffed, “Since when do I need you to beat up every guy who kisses me?”
“Every guy?” Keys ground out. “This happens often?”
Of course, Ama failed to realize that she cut Ink a glance when Keys had asked her that particular question, which was clue enough as to who had given her the hickey.
The fuck?
When had that happened?
First this shit with the tattoo parlor, and then Ink and her hooking up?
Christ, her dads were going to fucking kill him, and I’d be in the front row to watch that go down.
Then, when Ama twisted to glower at Keys and probably shower him with her outrage, I saw it.
On the table.
“Jesus Christ, Ama. Did you do that?” I reached forward with my clean hand and picked up the drawing. I looked around to see if there was a photo nearby, because it didn’t take a genius to figure out this work was for a portrait, and when I saw it, then glanced at the sketch again, my mind was even more blown away.
It was so fucking good that for a moment, I forgot that she and Ink had made out.
Which was saying something.
Keys whistled under his breath when I showed him. “That’s some of your best work, babe.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and her hand dropped from her throat, revealing the hickey which, of course, put me right back into the frame of mind to go on the fucking rampage.
“You think?” she inquired softly, and the hesitance in her tone told me how nervous she was.
God, talk about my fucking kryptonite.
“It’s like the picture but better,” Keys pointed out softly. “It’s crazy good. Where did it even come from?”
She shrugged and hunched her shoulders slightly as she mumbled, “It just flowed.”
“Well, it flowed like magic,” I replied, so fucking proud of her that I was a mixture of emotions I wasn’t sure how to control.
I was angry over the kiss, confused about what had prompted Ama to start working here, annoyed over Kenzie, awestruck by Ama’s talent, proud of what she could do, and also raging at that fucker Aaron Sanchez for holding Ama back to the point where she was staying here instead of heading to RISD.
I wasn’t hungry anymore, not with this shitty cocktail of feelings rumbling around in my gut, but still, I shoved the food at her and grumbled, “We should eat before this gets cold. No point in wasting it.”
She grabbed the plastic fork and began cutting up the tacos into pieces like the monster she was. Keys and I snorted at the sight, but said nothing as we bit into our meals.
It took her twice as long to eat what we did, but I was used to watching her eat. Even found it a turn on, if I was being honest.
As I studied her, I asked, “Ink gave you that, didn’t he?”
I caught a sight of her bright pink cheeks before she dipped her chin and stared at her meal like next week’s lottery numbers were buried on the plate.
“Ama?” Keys prompted softly. “Did he?”
When she didn’t reply, I wondered what the hell was going on. She shared everything with us, but somehow her world had changed while we’d gone on that fucking run.
I was supposed to be the one putting hickeys on her throat.
Not fucking Ink, dammit.
6
Ink
As I handed the client the aftercare instructions and received payment for a simple but well-done job, my phone buzzed and I saw it was from the Prez.
Wolfe: Get back here now. Emergency church.
When Saint and Keys’ phones didn’t ping, I knew it was just for the council.
Me: Be there ASAP.
Wolfe: Not soon enough.
Brows furrowing, I grabbed my stuff from behind the counter and headed over to the booth where Ama and the guys had been sitting since they had shown up.
“I have to get back to the clubhouse.”
Ama tipped her head to the side. “Why? The shop doesn’t close for another four hours.”
“I have to get to church.”
Though Saint’s and Keys’ eyes widened, they didn’t say a word—they knew not to. Ama, who also knew not to but did any way, inquired, “But why?”
“What happened on the run?” I asked the others.
“Nothing. It was pretty peaceful for a nine-hour trip,” Saint replied. “Lucifer was—”
“The Knights’ Prez came with?” I blurted out, at the same time Ama squealed, “Granddad’s here?”
Even as my lips twitched at her excitement, my brain was working overtime trying to figure out what was wrong. Still, the best way to know what was going down was to haul ass, so I inquired, “Look, do you mind closing up, Ama?”
“Of course not, but I don’t know how to work the alarm.”
“I can show you how to switch that on now.”
She shuffled out of the booth and followed me to the alarm system. I showed her how to activate it, then when she was there, murmured, “Do me another favor?”
Her eyes were big and bright as she stared up at me. “Of course.”
“Hang out here for a while. Until after closing, maybe. Until I text.”
Her brow puckered. “Why? I want to see Granddad.”
“I know, but I have a weird feeling.” Sheepishly, I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s my first day of being allowed to protect you without having to sneak around it, let me get away with it this once?”
Though she narrowed her eyes at me, she nodded. “Okay. But text when you can. I haven’t seen him in ages.”
Then, she stunned the hell out of me by leaning up onto tiptoes and pressing a kiss to my mouth. One that was impossible to translate as friendly.
I let her get away with it because I didn’t have time not to, and when she’d finished, her eyes were hazy with need and she looked so fuckable right then, I couldn’t get mad. Instead, I tapped her on the ass and warned her, “Behave.”
She pouted but nodded, and then retreated to the booth where Saint and Keys were, undoubtedly, still reeling from that very public PDA.
I didn’t look back though, just headed out into the still hot sun, leaving her to deal with the fallout—one that was of her own making as she couldn’t have outed us much more blatantly.
Taking a quick glance around, I noticed that everything was copacetic, and the street was relatively tidy, pretty, and neat. Our presence prompted that, because any taggers knew we’d rip their nails off if they made a mess. See, we had an image problem. We liked to keep things friendly with the town council, keep shit clean and well managed around our perimeter, and they usually left us alone.
If taggers started showing up, even though they had nothing to do with us, we’d get the blame.
Politics sucked, but they were a part of our life too, and they were the part of the MC I usually dealt with.
Five minutes later, I was on the road back to the compound in Rutherford. It wasn’t a long journey, but I cut the time down by a good fifteen minutes just because I ignored speed limits. Wolfe didn’t tell a person to haul ass without meaning it, so I did as bid.
The gates were open. Weird, but when they closed behind me, I got it. Further proof that Wolfe needed me in church as soon as possible.
I didn’t even take the time to park my cruiser where it usually went, didn’t even store my shit. Just began unbuckling my helmet as I hurried over to the clubhouse, then descended into the basement without even greeting any of my brothers who were hanging out around the bar.
The clubhouse was sectioned off smartly. One part for families and kids, another for brothers and hos, then there was even an administrative area. The top floor was for bedrooms, but the basement? That was where the darker side of our lives came out to play.
Down here, we had an area we called The Pit. It had earned that name because the floors were sloped so that blood drained off from whichever sap had crossed us. The Pit was accessed by a secret
door that you could only get to from the room where we held church.
The Rebels was one of the largest brotherhoods in the South. We had lifers, hardcore brothers who worked solely for the club, then we had the brothers who were like in the Reserves. Called up when we needed them, but whose ties to us weren’t as extensive.
The room where we held church could seat over two hundred, three at a push, but it was empty except for the council table when I strode in. The only person missing was Rodeo, Keys’ dad, but he had another year left on an aggravated assault charge. Lucifer, the Knights’ Prez, and his Enforcer, Jax, who had to get some real shit thanks to that Sons Of Anarchy series, were at the table, as was Lucie, Ama’s mother.
When I strolled in, I half-expected my ass to be reamed—Ama and I had left my bedroom together this morning, and a few of the sweetbutts had caught us. If word had spread…
Were they rescinding their approval?
“Okay, now that you’re here,” Wolfe ground out by way of greeting, “we need to get this shit started.”
I blinked at him as I took a seat and dropped my helmet on the table. “What is it? What’s gone down?”
“Past couple of months, we’ve been having issues with our deliveries. Cops, ATF, you name it. They’ve been stopping us and only some pretty hefty bribes have been getting them to back off,” Lucifer grated out, his irritation evident. “It’s one of the reasons I haven’t come and visited for a while.” He shot Lucie, his daughter whose momma had given her her father’s road name, an apologetic look. Because Lucie was Lucie, she shot him back an unimpressed one.
“It’s been chaos,” he carried on with a grimace that told me he’d felt the icy burn of that look from all the way across the table, “and as I was pulling up outside Corpus Christie, I got a text from my VP—had another raid. This time at the compound. Nothing was found because everything had already been shipped out this morning, but that run? It’s fucked too. And the locals don’t want bribes. They’re gunning for my boys.
Their Saint: Hell’s Rebel’s MC Part II Page 10