by Paula Cox
Having him around hasn’t made me forget about Riley. He’s in the back of my mind night and day from the moment Mack leaves my side until we see each other again. Some days I get updates on their progress of learning more about the new leader of the Knights and why they may be targeting me. Zeke is the closest to understanding the truth of Riley’s real connection to me. Just last night at our dinner with some of the club’s executive committee, he mentioned how there haven’t been any more tattoo killings. Only me.
It’s not that I haven’t been tempted not to tell Mack or Zeke the truth—that they were going through all this trouble to protect me from a man I knew so well. But I just can’t bear to make them think that this is my fault. As much as I would kill to be back to where I was before I met Mack and his club, there’s something about this new life that I am falling in love with.
Tonight is one of those nights where I can’t deny how happy I am to be here. After working all day at the shop, I am just aching to get home. I see the silhouette of Mack outside my door, and I remember how seeing a man like him stalking the front of my workplace used to send me into a tailspin. But now, I actually feel a bit lighter seeing him around. The weight of the world is finally off of me, even though I know that Riley could be here at any second with an army of men for me.
Mack walks in quietly, setting down his jacket on the leather sofa out front. He peeks his head in through the first and second booth to make sure we’re alone before calling out my name. I step out of the office to see him waiting for me, already putting away the supplies from the day. “How was your day?” I ask, nonchalantly as if it’s a perfectly normal thing to ask the man who is practically your bodyguard.
He turns to look me over, dressing me down with those green emeralds of his. By the way he licks his lips, I can tell he approves. Every day he does this, but it never makes me feel less of a woman. This is attention I would normally slap away, but when Mack does it, it’s like an honor. When he’s done, he smiles slight with a twinge of his full, pink lips and says, “Business as usual. No word on yours.”
Every day is “no word.” When there is something, it doesn’t amount to much. It takes all of me not to scream, “I know who Riley is! Here’s where you can find him at!” But I hold back. The day is going to come when I’m going to have to tell him, but it shouldn’t be tonight. What good would it do to be tonight?
“How about you?” He walks towards me, his long legs making quick work of the small studio. He strides like a man who just rode a horse in a shootout. His hands stand at attention along his waistband where I know he stores his handgun. I pop my jaw shut and focus in on his question, but he reaches out and pushes a piece of hair away from the top of my forehead and back behind my ear with such gentleness, you would swear the worlds were reversed. “How was your business today, Anna?”
I answer him in a rush as I struggle just to catch my breath. “$980 and about $140 in tips. Finished off a big piece for Donnovan. I can’t complain.” I hand him the brown deposit bag of receipts and cash, everything but my tips. He places the bag into his back pocket and reaches for my shoulder. The touch of his rough skin on mine is like fire to ice. I shouldn’t like it, but there’s something in me that yearns for the roughness.
“Should we hit the bank before it closes?” He doesn’t seem affected by me at all. Every time we’re together, he has this stone facade on him that makes him completely unreadable. At least I know that I’m attracted physically to Mack, and I’m sure my body language gives it away to him. But besides the occasional touch and the few glances at my ass when I bend over, I can’t tell if he’s feeling it as well.
I nod to his question before grabbing my coat. As I’m putting it on, he adds quickly, “I forgot. I, uh, made you this today. Had a guy who knows design do it himself. He used one of your tattoos as the image.” He rubs his neck awkwardly as I stare down at the cut out newspaper, completely frozen in my place. “I mean, I know that business is good and all, but a little marketing wouldn’t hurt you. And it would be good for my sister’s place too. She’s trying to attract that hipster Portland scene that would come out to the warehouse district on their lunch break for fish tacos…”
I drift off as he explains his reasoning for the paper I’m looking at. In the center is a ‘9’ I drew for a client a week or so ago. It was part of a larger tattoo filled with numbers and images from a children’s book he brought in. Around the ‘9’ is the shop’s logo with my name right underneath. Owned and operated by Anna Fox. Make an appointment today or see her at the West Coast Tattoo Convention and Show.
“Tattoo Convention…” I say out loud, completely dumbfounded.
“Yeah. I heard about it through a buddy of mine. Says it’s the best in the entire West Coast.”
“Yeah, I know what it is. I’ve always wanted to go, but Ian’s never had enough money to send us down there. But how? I mean—”
“There weren’t any open booths, if that’s what you’re asking. Apparently, those sell out years in advance. I had to pull in some favors with clients of mine to get you in. It’s not the size booth you should have but, it’ll do. I was figuring that since you’re just starting out, this may be the best way to get your name and brand out there. Plus, you could scout some talent to help you out at the shop. It wouldn’t kill you to get an intern.”
This is the nicest thing anyone, outside my mom and Roxy, has ever done for me. Riley always hated that I was tattooing. He thought I should be working a normal job like the girls in his office when he was still doing the nine to five thing. “They made bank,” he said as he counted my tips every night. But I couldn’t care less about the money. What I wanted to do was the art, and I just wanted someone to support me in that and tell me that I was worth the expensive equipment, the internships, the practice materials.
Now Mack is here, giving me that validation. He gets nothing in return for placing this ad. I’m not paying him rent or giving him a cut of my income. There’s nothing worth it for him besides… besides me. My heart feels as if it’s about to burst at the veins. I try to hide a smile that’s quickly turning lopsided from the emotion threatening to spill out from me. He stopped talking seconds ago, but I can’t bear to look up at him. All I can do is whisper, “Thank you, Mack. This is amazing.”
“Really?” His dark, bushy eyebrows raise towards his forehead as he crinkles his tan nose. “I wasn’t sure if you would be into that. I thought most tattoo artists like being all underground and secret, but even my businesses does bank with a little advertising here and there through backchannels and online.”
He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me out through the door. Outside, the sun is just beginning to go down. A few motorcycles pass us by, each slowing down to acknowledge their captain. For the first time since the day of the tattoo, I don’t look over my shoulder when we go out. I don’t notice how many armed guards are standing by my door at attention. I don’t even count how many days or hours it has been since I’ve heard from Riley. All I can think about is the man who handed me this newspaper clipping.
We get to the parking space where my beater car sits. He hands me my keys—part of my way of keeping the promise not to go out without him or one of his men in tow—and I pause, unsure of what I am about to say. Still, with as much confidence I can muster, I push back all the fear and anxiety from before and ask him quietly, “Why don’t we just take your motorcycle tonight?”
“How are you going to get back to work tomorrow?” That eyebrow again—it just can’t stay in place when I say anything out of the ordinary. I can feel the blood in my cheeks pound against the skin.
“You can stay the night in the second bedroom or we can go back to your place. I feel like celebrating tonight.” Nothing could be more true. My stomach is doing butterflies. My feet can barely contain themselves as I march myself over to the jet black Harley parked right beside my car. He follows behind me slowly, as if he’s weighing his options. But I’m not going to gi
ve him any choice in this matter.
I slip on the red helmet and lift myself onto the back without any help. Patting the leather seat with the palm of my hand, I call out to him, “Are you coming? I’ve got dinner to make, and we’ve got business to talk. Plus, the bank closes in ten minutes.” It sounds so perfectly normal to say it like that, as if this is our real life—one that belongs to two people who are not a motorcycle club president and a fugitive business partner.
For the first time, I see his face fully change. The man with the darkened features, the constant scowl, the wrinkles lining his forehead. He transforms into someone much lighter, much younger than his appearance gives him. I lose my breath as he comes nearer, climbing onto the front of the cycle and spinning the engine to start. We lurch forward into the night without another word.
CHAPTER 7
“Shh… I’m trying to sleep.” Anna places a finger to my lips. Her hands smell like the lavender lotion she insists on putting in every room of the house and tattoo shop. I resist the urge to bite down and nibble on the soft pads of the tip of her pointer finger.
“We need to talk about the tattoo show. What are you going to do to bring the people into your booth? Should we spend the cash on extra advertising in the program? Should I get some of the guys to come in so you’ve got guaranteed clients? We could offer them another discount for word-of-mouth…” My mind has been one track since we’ve gotten back to her home. While she was buzzing around the kitchen barefoot, humming some song we just heard on the radio, I was taking notes and jotting down ideas.
I get this way a lot. My mind gets stuck on details. I like to know what the plan is at all times and to put those plans into action as soon as possible. I’m not a creative type like Anna. I don’t have it in me to just have a vision on the spot and to take my time to see it through. I’m too impatient. The clock in my mind is always ticking, always spinning. It presses me forward for even things as meaningless for me as some chick’s tattoo convention debut.
“Can we please just talk about this tomorrow?” Anna asks completely exhausted. She stuffs the downy pillow around her face and places her arms under her head. Looking straight at me, she smiles and adds tiredly, “You’re really ruining this for me.”
“Ruining what?” I ask, completely taken aback. “I’m trying to help your business succeed. You’d think a girl would be happy about that!”
She quickly takes the pillow out from under her head and slams it down on my face with a whack. I hold up my hands in defense, but she lands another on my chest and arms. As she swings wildly into the air, I grab her from around her stomach, forcing her down on top of me. Her legs straddle one of mine as our hips and chest touch. Rivets of blonde hair fall in front of my face and eyes. I push the waves to the side of her ears, letting myself touch the roundness of her cheeks with the inside of my palm.
To my surprise, she doesn’t shy away or back off. Anna stays put, her eyes locked square on mine. For a moment, it feels as if our breathing is hooked. I inhale with her inhale. I feel her body contract as she exhales with me. The small weight of her feels much more than it actually is, and the heat of her body warms through the thin layer of blanket between our skin.
I know I have a choice right here and now. I could kiss her, placing my hands on the side of her face, leading her towards my lips, tasting her from the inside out. Or I could laugh this off and push her to the side and pretend that this strange, heavy moment between us never happened. Neither are perfect options.
The kiss would mean leaving behind that semblance of professionalism and the wall I put up the first night we met. I don’t get involved with clients. I certainly don’t get attached to women like her with a bounty on their head. While I’ve had my fair share of women, it never went past the night. Even now, lying in bed with her at two in the morning is pushing my boundaries. None of those women ever got the privilege of sharing a bed with me unless we were naked and tangled in sheets.
There’s no control in attachment. There would be no way for me to say what feelings could come or go. Breaking through that physical boundary with her meant that I had to actually care about something other than myself and the club. And caring is dangerous. It puts everyone in my circle at risk. It means letting others in and adding to my list of responsibilities. Sure, I’m taking care of her now, making sure she gets home safe every night, but I try to do it without feeling, without attachment.
Letting go of her, on the other hand, would mean breaking whatever force is currently holding us in place. I can’t do that, not right now. I can honestly say that I haven’t ever felt this way before with other women. There was something more animalistic to my taking them—like a hunter and prey, or maybe cats in heat. There was almost never any romance, and whatever romance there might have been was almost always in service of… well, no other way to say it, of fucking—of that conquest, and the associated feelings of relief and power.
This, though? This is new, and I can’t deny how fucking fantastic it feels to have someone want it. This isn’t a quick fuck; it’s not for some shitty bragging rights or whatever fame and goodwill she could get from saying she had my cock in her. No, she wants it. Moreover, she wants me.
I close my eyes and count to ten, attempting to calm myself before placing my gritty, grimy hand on the back of her willing head. I wrap my fingers around the silky layers of her hair. With a little pull, I tug her downwards. She follows compliantly, almost eagerly. My lips part and wait, but she hesitates. I can feel her pause, and she sputters almost like a car not ready to start on a cold winter’s day. Here, even after everything between us with her inviting me to spend the night and our moments in bed, I thought she would be the one begging for this. I can see now just how wrong I truly was.
When she does kiss me, it’s off. Her lips barely part, despite me leaning upwards towards her head, giving her more pressure to ease up. But her body freezes. It doesn’t rock back and forth or move to mimic my motions or rhythm. It just takes what I am giving silently—not reluctantly, but not eagerly, and with the least amount of passion she can muster.
I can’t take it anymore. I pull back, my head falling back on the pillows. She slides off of me as quickly as she was pulled on. Her hips spin towards the side of her bed with her legs pulled up towards her chest. We both stay in our places, motionless and silent. In my head, a million thoughts run through a span of agonizing seconds where I consider what would have happened if I had just pushed her off like I had wanted to.
“Mack,” Anna finally says. I can tell by the way she says my name that she feels some kind of fault here. There shouldn’t be. This is how it works, isn’t it? I would rather have her simply go through the motions than pull what I expect will be a bullshit guilt-fest. “I—I have something to tell you. I should have told you two weeks ago, but I’m—”
“Wait,” I say in a rushed, almost nervous voice as I sit myself straight up in the bed. On the table next to me at the right side of the bed, my phone vibrates against the glass top. Only a few people are allowed to call me this far after midnight, and when they do, it’s never good news. Ever.
I hold up my hand to Anna, silently telling her to cut her shit for just a second. I truly want to hear her out, but getting a call this late means whatever this is is more important, especially now that it’s clear that there’s not anything physical happening between us.
I look at the phone. Zeke’s name flashes on the screen, and I press the green button below it. “This better be good, man,” I say as a way of answering the call. “You know how much I hate to be… woken up.” I have no reason for him to know that I’m still over at Anna’s house. I’m already hearing it from the guys on a daily basis, and while I can trust Zeke to keep it discreet, I’d rather him not think I’m becoming involved with someone we’re basically putting in our business fold.
“I tried knocking on your door, but you didn’t answer.” Damnit. I need a better way to keep what’s going on between her and me a s
ecret. Now I can only imagine what the hell he thinks is going on. “I need you to come in to headquarters for this, Mack. And, if you’re with Anna, I need you to bring her too. It’s about the tattoos.”
“It’s nothing you can tell me on the phone?” I ask, annoyed. I really don’t want to do a walk of shame with Anna by my side so early in the morning.
“No, I would rather talk to you about this in person. We need to figure this out together and respond fast.” He doesn’t sound frantic, though he never does. It’s one of the reasons I trust him so much. You can lean on a guy who doesn’t show his cards in his emotions like a wuss. “Can you come in in the next twenty minutes?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Give me some time. I’ll meet you in my office.” I hang up and turn back to see Anna slipping on a different shirt over her bare back. Over her shoulder, she catches my eyes and blushes.
“The volume on your phone is really loud. Probably not smart for a guy like you and your line of work.” A joke. It’s actually refreshing to hear.
The small room seems to bind us together until we get back on the cycle and head out of the gate and towards headquarters. She holds on tighter than ever this time, her head rests against the back of my shoulder.