by Khloe Wren
Other Charon MC Books:
Out Now
Book 1:
Inking Eagle
Book 2:
Fighting Mac
Book 3:
Chasing Taz
Inking Eagle
Blurb:
The sins of her father will be her undoing... unless a hero rides to her rescue.
As the 15th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks nears, Silk struggles to avoid all reminders of the day she was orphaned. She's working hard in her tattoo shop, Silky Ink, and working even harder to keep her eyes and her hands off her bodyguard, Eagle. She'd love to forget her sorrows in his strong arms.
But Eagle is a prospect in the Charon MC, and her uncle is the VP. As a Daughter of the Club, she's off limits to the former Marine. But not for long. As soon as he patches in, he intends to claim Silk for his old lady. He'll wear her ink, and she'll wear his patch.
Too late, they learn that Silk's father had dark secrets, ones that have lived beyond his grave. When demons from the past come for Silk, Eagle will need all the skills he learned in the Marines to get his woman back safe, and keep her that way.
Chapter 1
Silk
“I see Eagle’s back on guard duty today.”
I sprayed and wiped over the skin I was working on before I reloaded my gun to continue Tiny’s tattoo. Colt “Eagle” Benally was the bane of my existence. He’d joined the club ten months ago and was still a couple months off getting his top rocker. He had Native American heritage that gave his shoulder-length, jet-black hair a silky sheen. Made my fingers itch to run through it whenever I even thought about it. His dark, brooding eyes were always watching. That man never missed a thing, hence his road name, ‘Eagle’. Rumor had it he originally earned the moniker in the marines. I believed it.
From the first time I caught a glimpse of him at that public poker run last October, I’d been hooked. He was one extremely well-put-together package of sex on a stick. And sadly, one I couldn’t touch. Prospects could screw around with the club whores all they wanted, but they weren’t allowed to touch the Daughters of the Club. Only patched in members could try to romance us, and even then, they’d better be deadly serious about how they felt. Especially with someone like me. My uncle was the vice president, enough to scare any prospect with half a brain. But I’d caught Eagle watching me more than a few times, his dark, sexy gaze following me around the clubhouse whenever I attended a party or barbeque. And he did seem to be my guard here at the shop more often than not these days. I couldn’t wait to see what would happen in two months when he got patched in. Would he make a move on me? Or was he just looking to fill his spank bank with someone untouchable? A grin spread over my face―if he did come after me, I wouldn’t make it easy―he’d have to work for it. And if he was using me for spank bank material, it would soon get out and my uncle would deal with him.
“I overheard Uncle Clint saying he was Taz’s spotter in the marines, or some shit. Apparently he sees things others don’t. Guess that means the poor schmuck gets put on guard duty all the damn time.”
Tiny stiffened beneath me but stayed silent as I responded to Gabs, my best friend and fellow artist. I ignored Tiny, knowing he wouldn’t rat me out to my uncle for talking about Eagle to Gabs. Gabs might not officially be part of the club, but she’s hung around enough of us to know who’s who in our world. She let out a sigh before she responded to me.
“I have to wonder why anyone would want to be a prospect. They get all the shit jobs for so long.”
I shrugged. I’ve spent most of my life around the club, and there were always plenty of men hanging around, waiting for a chance to prospect in.
“It’s shorter than any apprenticeship I’ve heard off. Hell, mechanics are doing shit jobs for four years before they get their certificate. Prospects normally only take a year before they earn their patch.”
Gabs stilled from where she was sorting out the new order of body jewelry. “Huh. Hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Your uncle know you go around calling him Clint?”
Tiny’s gruff voice was deep and suited his large frame.
“Sorry, Tiny, but ‘Uncle Bulldog’ just doesn’t roll off the tongue.”
It was a constant argument between me and my uncle. Everyone in the club used their road names, not their birth ones, and Uncle Clint grumbled every time I called him Clint, not Bulldog. My aunt on the other hand, thought it was hilarious.
Tiny shook his head with a huff, but didn’t say anything more. I was well aware no one else would dare try to call the vice president of the Charon MC anything but Bulldog, and around the clubhouse I did call him by his road name. But outside of that building, he was Uncle Clint. The wonderful man, who, along with his wife, took me in when I had no one else in the world left. I preferred to not even think about how the 9/11 attacks on New York left me an orphan, let alone talk about it. Or how my dad’s brother appeared out of nowhere to take me home a week later. Understandably, he’d refused to fly after what happened and drove all the way from Bridgewater, Texas to Boston, Massachusetts, along with his wife―my aunt Rose―as soon as he’d gotten word. I hadn’t ever met either of them before that day. When I’d asked my dad years earlier about why I didn’t have uncles and aunts like my friends at school, he’d explained that I did have one uncle. That his older brother was a biker and because of that, he’d been cut out of our lives. I really wished my dad hadn’t done that. It had been completely unnecessary, and as a scared, grieving, twelve-year-old, I could have used a familiar face.
Once Uncle Clint brought me home to Texas I was instantly surrounded by this huge biker family that, initially, frightened the shit out of me. Especially after what my father had said about bikers. That was only until I got to know them, though. Now, I wouldn’t trade them for the world. They were rough, and occasionally did shit the law said was wrong―but they were always there for me. Whenever I’ve needed anything, they’ve come through and supplied it. Like this shop. Silky Ink was my baby. The club had loaned me the start-up funds to open it, and I was slowly paying them back, much to my uncle’s disapproval. The club would have been happy to put their name to the shop forever, but I wanted it to be mine. I wanted to prove I could make it successful on my own.
I’d opened it three years ago to instant success. Of course, the fact the entire club came to me for their ink helped a great deal. I currently had three other artists working the shop with me, two men and another woman. Because some of the old timers didn’t want a woman doing their ink, I’d had to find an older male tattooist pretty damn quick after opening. Even now, I still had to watch that appointments didn’t clash. A few of the old timers are old-fashioned enough, they don’t want to have to watch some chick getting a tramp stamp tattooed on her while they were getting their ‘real’ ink done. I rolled my eyes just thinking about it. Sexist idiots. But a girl’s gotta eat, so I did my best to keep them all happy.
“How much longer you want to spend in the chair tonight, Tiny?”
This piece was huge and covered his entire back. Naturally, the main image was the club colors, a stylized black skull that had cross bones made out of bike pistons behind it, and a feathered angel wing on one side and a dragon wing on the other. It was the perfect mix of light and dark, good and evil. Because that’s what the Charons were. They were the kings of skating the edges of the law (and occasionally breaking it) for good reasons.
As a woman, I didn’t know much of what they did. Club business wasn’t my business, but I’d heard rumors, and saw what mysteriously happened when no one was looking in the dark of night. I was proud to be associated with the club and loved living in the safe town of Bridgewater, where everybody within a hundred mile radius knew not to mess with anyone in the town unless they wanted the wrath of the Charon MC brought down on them.
Tiny stretched his neck to look up at the clock on the wall.
“Give it another half hour, Silk. I got work to do later.”
/> Yeah, the boys weren’t the only ones that earned road names. I’d been called Silky since I was fifteen. One of the old timers at a club barbeque commented that I could talk Bulldog into any damn thing with my silky voice and the way I’d bat my eyelashes. It’d stuck. As an adult, it got shortened to Silk more often than not. Still, it was better than the incredibly old-fashioned Claudine my folks had named me. Focusing back on my task, I eyed off the design, working out how best to finish it off for now.
“When you coming back? If it’s not tomorrow, we’re going to have to leave it a couple weeks to heal before I can continue.”
I knew he was booked in for a session each night this week, but I didn’t know what he meant by work. He could have been pulled in to do a run for a couple of days.
“I’ll be here tomorrow. I want this piece done.”
I grinned. Good. I wanted to get it done too. It was going to look spectacular.
“It’s going to look fucking epic, Tiny.”
On the feathered wing side of the tatt, there would be a kickass vengeful angel. On the other side, a wicked looking dragon. I was really proud of the design. Working with Tiny, it had taken me a couple weeks to draw up the final design and seeing him so hell-bent on getting it inked as fast as he could gave me a buzz like you wouldn’t believe.
Gabs stayed quiet until after Tiny left. Then she came over to help me clean up so we could both get going.
“Why do we suddenly have guards 24/7 anyhow?”
My breath caught for a moment before I could force myself to act normal. Anything even close to club business, I couldn’t talk to Gabs about. Even if it was something I was only guessing at, because I didn’t have a fucking clue about it.
“You know, usual shit with the Iron Hammers. The club’s just being careful.”
It was an educated guess on my part, and told Gabs nothing the entire town didn’t already know. The Iron Hammers had always had it in for the Charons.
The Iron Hammer MC was a club based down in Galveston. They wanted to own the entire strip between there and Houston. Unfortunately for them, the Charons didn’t agree. The club kept our town’s streets clean of drugs and violence. Every night there were at least a half- dozen Charons patrolling.
My shop didn’t normally have the door guarded, and when I’d tried to grill Uncle Clint about it, he told me it was ‘club business’ and to just accept it. He also told me if I tried to lose my guards, I’d end up on lockdown at the clubhouse indefinitely.
A shudder ran through me. The last thing I wanted was to not be able to leave the clubhouse. I needed fresh air and space around me. I also need to be able to head off for a few days before the eleventh of next month, so I’d be a good girl until then. Because no matter what was going on, on the anniversary of 9/11 I wasn’t going to be around a ton of people, listening to them all say how tragic the whole thing was.
It had been so long now, only a few of the older club members remembered how I lost my parents that day. I knew the younger guys didn’t mean any offense by what was said every year―I just didn’t want to hear it. So, for the week surrounding the anniversary, every year I took off on my own. No one knows where I go. I’ve never even told Gabs where I retreat to, and this year wasn’t going to be any different.
As I followed Gabs out the front door and locked up, I got an eyeful of Eagle in all his hot biker glory. At least my guard was pretty to look at in the meantime.
Eagle
Something wasn’t right with Silk. She didn’t look any different, wearing her usual combo of blue jeans and black t-shirt with her shop’s logo on it, with her long blonde hair in a braid down her back. But since I’d arrived first thing this morning, my instincts had warned me that there was something brewing under her surface. All day I’d tried to figure out what it might be, but I couldn’t work it out.
My appearance made it obvious I had Native American ancestry, but I hadn’t been raised immersed in the culture. My mother had abandoned me to the foster care system as a baby, and the system hadn’t given a shit what my heritage was. Despite that fact, I’d always sensed things others couldn’t, and learned early on to trust in my instincts.
I earned the nickname ‘Eagle’ within days of starting boot camp, and it had stuck. Most people think the reason I see things they don’t is due to extra-sharp eyesight. But truthfully, it’s because I’ve learned to rely on, and trust in, my other senses over the years. Those instincts saved me more times than I could count while in foster homes, and then again on deployment. I winced as I thought of all the insurgents that had lost their lives due to my instincts and Taz’s perfect aim. Our last mission had been weeks of sitting in hides, working out distances and lining up shots. I’d seen way too many middle-eastern alleys in that time. And way too many bodies littering them when we pulled out. Taking a deep breath, I pushed it all down. It had happened two years and five months ago. Nothing I could do to change any of it. I needed to focus on the fact my life didn’t involve killing people anymore, not get bogged down in the past.
I was grateful when Silk come through the front door of her shop, and in a heartbeat, had my complete focus on the present and her. This sexy as hell, inked-up blonde bombshell had captured my full attention from the moment I first saw her when Mac, Taz and I rode in that public poker run last October. She’d been riding her purple Softail and damn, but she rode that thing with complete confidence. I’d never seen a woman look more comfortable riding a bike solo than she had that day. And it had drawn me to her.
“You two heading home now?”
“Yeah, having a quiet night in. Got a booking first thing so need my head on straight.”
I frowned down at her. “What are you playing at, Silk?”
She blinked up at me and Gabs chuckled behind her. Yeah, I’d heard she’d earned her nickname for the way she used to bat those big doe eyes of hers at her uncle and smooth as silk get away with whatever the hell she wanted.
“I ain’t Bulldog, honey. Those eyes won’t work with me. What you playing at?”
Her jaw clenched as her gaze narrowed.
“I’m not up to anything. I’m worn out after working my ass off all day, and now I’m going home to crash. What’s so unusual about that?”
I watched her closely, looking for anything that would give away what she had going on.
“It’s the easy way you’re accepting having a 24/7 bodyguard that has me nervous. You planning on slipping your leash?”
The slight stiffening in her shoulders told me I was onto something.
“Leash? Just you try to put one on me and we’ll see how well that goes for you.”
She was standing close and was poking me in the chest with her finger with each word she spoke. Damn, but she was so fucking sexy all fired up. I hoped she couldn’t see the bulge in my jeans I was now sporting thanks to her.
“It’s a figure of speech, Silk. Don’t get your panties in a twist. No one would be crazy enough to try to leash you. Which is why you just accepting your security detail has me wondering about what you’re up to.”
Silk rested her fists on her hips and glared at me but before she could say anything else, Gabs came up and linked her arm through hers.
“She’s not up to anything tonight. We’re both going home and we’re gonna order a pizza, watch a rom com and go to bed early. Ain’t that right, Silk?”
With a huff, she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Gabs. Killing some brain cells watching you drool over Hugh Grant sounds like my perfect night.”
My lips twitched at her sarcasm. I could see Silk drooling over the Rock or maybe Vin Diesel, but not some pretty-boy actor. No way that girl liked rom coms. Gabs, on the other hand, I could totally see planning her fake wedding to Hugh Grant by night’s end. Gabs was all light and fluffy to Silk’s hardcore. Somehow they meshed together to form an unbreakable friendship that I’d been told they’d had since high school.
I raised my hands in defeat. “Fine. You’re not going to tell me s
traight. I’ll just have to work it out some other way, so I can stop you.”
A flash of heat in her eyes had my cock twitching.
“Like hell you will. It has nothing to do with the club, or you, prospect. So get the hell out of my face.”
I let her storm by me to her bike. I knew she was lashing out because she was pissed I was onto her. But the whole ‘you’re only a prospect’ thing cut deep. I’m ten months in, and at some point in the next couple months would, hopefully, be asked to patch in. Of course, that was a double-edged sword. I wanted my top rocker to be a full member of the club. But as a full member, I wouldn’t be on Silk’s security detail as often as I currently was. Of course, being patched in also meant she was no longer out of bounds. Would she agree to be mine? I knew without a doubt she’d make one hell of an old lady.
My thoughts kept spinning as first Silk got on her bike, then Gabs climbed on behind her. Watching those two cuddle up, getting ready to go, had me needing to adjust myself before I got on my own ride. As I predicted she would, Silk gunned the throttle and shot out of the parking lot. I followed them home, but stayed sitting on my bike out on the road. Normally I’d try to get them to let me go through the house before they entered. But I wasn’t willing to risk it tonight, especially since my instincts told me it was all clear. I was more likely to get shot by Silk than find anyone in their place tonight.
As a prospect, I hadn’t been told why Silk suddenly needed around-the-clock guarding. There were always issues with the Iron Hammers, but nothing specific had gone down that I’d heard about. I knew some of the other Daughters of the Club weren’t being watched at all. It didn’t add up, but as a prospect, my job was to do what I was told, not to question it. And if it meant more time around Silk, I wasn’t going to complain.
Once the girls locked themselves in, I left my bike to do a quick boundary check of the house, just to be sure. When nothing looked suspicious, I rang for the night shift to come in. I was due to work a few hours, manning the bar back at the clubhouse once I finished here, and I was hoping to catch one or two of the old-timers. Hopefully, they would have had a few drinks by the time I got there, and would be willing to answer my questions about what the hell might be going on.