by Nia Farrell
“Already have, but I’ll remind them.”
“She just started driving again. We had to trade cars, and she’s only driven while I’m with her. Once she’s ready to go solo, she’ll haul her ass to wherever. Until then, I’ll be bringing her to work and picking her up.”
“Not a problem,” Flynn said smoothly, hiding his doubts about how soon that might be. The trading cars, he understood. Isabella was in therapy after being kidnapped in her old one. Still, she’d survived being left, used and broken, in a seedy motel by Reaper. She was strong enough to handle a sadist like Mad Dog. He wasn’t about to make the mistake of underestimating Isabella Castellari.
She settled in much more easily than Flynn expected, probably because she was detail-oriented to the nth degree. She was keenly observant with an analytical mind, always thinking ahead and asking what ifs. Her way of remembering things was to write them down. She had a small, spiral-bound notepad full of cheat sheets covering every aspect of her job and then some.
Little by little, she learned about the business. Who supplied what. How often they ordered. What they got locally and what had to be shipped in. Sales tax shit, what items were taxable and what was non-tax. She got to know their customers, the ones coming in for another tat and those who liked to drop in and hang for a while. She knew about Jacob, the homeless guy who came in for coffee every morning and the Ramen noodles they kept in the kitchen for when he needed something more. It wasn’t long before she started stocking powdered eggs and protein bars, too.
For the rough times that she’d had, Isabella was one of the kindest people he’d ever met. From what he’d heard, she was the exact opposite of her porn star sister, Krissy Kandle, when it came to personalities. Judging by what he’d seen in the clubhouse lounge, sexually, Isabella was more than a match for Krissy.
At Angel Ink, Isabella was all business. Every spare minute, she studied their tattoo portfolios, familiarizing herself with their designs and styles. Flynn was fond of Japanese-inspired tats and full sleeves. Blue liked tribal designs, skulls, and wings. Kaylee was known for her watercolor tats and intricate Celtic knotwork. Gryphon mostly did memorial designs that commemorated someone who’d been lost. He had an innate sense of what someone would be proud and happy to wear long-term.
All of them did cover-ups but Flynn was the one they asked for first. His reputation for phenomenal do-over designs was what could have landed him a TV show.
Of course, the producers hadn’t known that he laundered money for the Avenging Angels MC. They didn’t know that the three male artists did kink-and-ink sessions after hours. Kaylee knew. Now Isabella did, too. The first time she’d seen an 8 pm “special” in the appointment book, he’d answered the question in her eyes with a look behind the only interior door that was kept locked.
Besides the tattoo chair outfitted with restraints and an innocent-looking massage chair, there was a St. Andrews cross, a spanking bench, an array of decorative needles, racks of tools for impact play, and a box’s worth of sterilized toys to enhance the woman’s experience, depending on how far she wanted to go.
Essentially, they were being paid as Dominants. Some of the special sessions involved bondage and ink. Most were needle play, followed by orgasms and possibly sex, depending on the woman. Every session was uniquely different. One of his challenges as a Dom was to get inside a woman’s head, learn what made her tick, then plan BDSM sessions that would meet her needs and hopefully his.
Isabella had blushed, but she hadn’t said a word. She was a painslut. He could tell that the room appealed to her. The way that she eyed the spanking bench and shifted her feet, she was probably wishing that Mad Dog was here to tie her down and have his way with her.
He locked up behind them and put it from his mind. Isabella didn’t. She started trolling the internet on her breaks, finding images of needle play. Seeing how tech-savvy she was, he asked if she could put Angel Ink on social media. By the next day, they were on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, Tumblr, Pinterest, and Instagram, and had a free website under construction.
Needless to say, business exploded.
By 6:30 Friday afternoon, it was all he could do to keep his eyes on his last customer of the day instead of watching the clock and counting the minutes until he could head for The Taproom. He planned to kick back and relax with a brew, a burger, and a big screen TV. He desperately needed it after the week that he’d had, and they still had one more fucking day to go.
Oh, well.
Some things you could rush. Tattooing wasn’t one of them. To do the job right took time and skill, a steady hand, and an artist’s eye. There was no fucking way that he would let anyone walk away with a tat that he wasn’t proud of. They needed to be happy with it, but it was just as important that he was happy with it, too.
He got done with Duke and finished cleaning up with a minute to spare. By that time, Kaylee, Blue, and Gryphon were already gone. When he walked to the front of the store to see how Isabella was coming along with her end-of-day stuff, he noticed a pretty blonde wearing a knit top and a flowing skirt. She was looking through the portfolios and worrying her lower lip. Her brow was furrowed in concentration.
Isabella was oblivious, too busy counting the cash drawer to notice him. He sidled up to her, intending to ask about the blonde…only to find himself laid out on the floor with a bruised butt and the start of a headache from where the back of his head hit the tile.
“Oh, God! I’m so sorry!”
Flynn opened his eyes to find a guilt-stricken Isabella and the blonde hovering over him. “No,” he grunted, checking his scalp for blood. “It’s my fault. I should have gotten your attention before getting into your space. I fucking know better.”
“Triggers,” Isabella explained. “You know…”
The look that passed between her and the blonde spoke loudly enough to be worth noting. They knew each other, but how?
The blonde nodded. “He needs an ice pack,” she told Isabella. “If you don’t have one, a couple of plastic carryout bags nested and filled with ice cubes will work.”
“I’ll be right back.” Isabella grabbed some handled bags and headed for the breakroom refrigerator.
The blonde locked her brilliant blue gaze on his and refused to let go. “How’s your vision? Are you seeing double?”
“No,” he said, crooking a smile. “I’m seeing just fine, angel.”
“You hit pretty hard. You’ll be lucky if you didn’t crack your tailbone or your skull.”
“Fuck, I hope not. Workman’s comp is gonna laugh their asses off if I have to tell them I got decked by a girl.”
The blonde tried her best to not grin. “It was pretty impressive,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone move that fast, and you’re so much taller than she is. To see her take you down….”
Flynn grimaced. “Yeah. She’s trained in Krav Maga and God knows what else. Back up a bit, angel. I’m gonna peel myself off this floor.”
It took some doing, but he managed to get to his feet without making a total fool of himself. Holding the back of his head, he staggered to the nearest chair and collapsed onto the padded vinyl seat.
Isabella returned with one of the ice packs they kept in the freezer door. She had wrapped it in a clean cloth towel.
“Thanks, Isabella. Why don’t you finish up the cash drawer and we’ll call it a night?” He slid his gaze to the blonde. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can you come back tomorrow? We open at eleven.”
Swear to God, her light dimmed. It was like he’d poisoned Tinkerbell.
Think fast, Flynn. “Unless you want to grab a bite to eat with me. I was headed for The Taproom. You could meet me there, or head over now and put your name down for a table. Who should I ask for?”
There was the briefest moment of hesitation. The word guarded came to mind.
“Sara,” she said. “Sara Davies.” The corners of her mouth pulled down into a frown. “You’re not planning to drive, are you?”
He rubbe
d a hand across his face. “Yeah,” he admitted. “My bike’s out back. The Taproom’s not that far,” he told her. “And the Angels’ clubhouse is just a few minutes more from there. That’s where I live. I’ll be heading home after I eat. Bed sounds awfully good right now.”
She looked appalled. “Are you crazy? You could have a concussion! I’m no doctor, but I do know that you’re supposed to keep a head injury patient awake. You’re one of them.” She waved her hand at his cut. “Surely there’s someone you can call to pick you up, take you to dinner, and see that you get home safe and sound.”
“It’s not that simple, angel. My bike—”
“Two someones, then. They can ride double. One can take your bike back to the clubhouse. The other can take you where you need to go—if you can manage it.”
It was a shit move, but he wobbled in his seat.
She rolled her eyes and huffed a breath. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! You’re in no shape to ride, mister. You get someone to take care of your bike, and I will see that you get back to the clubhouse. My car’s right out front.”
“Flynn. The name’s Flynn. Flynn McGee. Of course, with this tawny hair, I don’t look very Irish.”
“Or you look like the Irish after the Vikings invaded.” She angled her head and pursed her lips. “Come to think of it, you do look a bit like Halfdan the Black from next season’s cast. Now, do you have a cell phone or do you need to use the business phone?”
“Cell,” he grated, fishing in his right front pocket. Chances were that his phone, at least, had survived unscathed.
He flipped it open. The screen lit up.
Thank fuck.
He ran over the roster and called the name at the top of his mental list. “Hawk? Flynn. I need a favor. I banged my head and I’ve got women telling me I’m not safe to drive. One of them’s gonna give me a ride. Can you bring Link to Angel Ink and drive my baby home?”
Hawk covered the phone and yelled at Link. “Flynn needs his bike brought back here. Can you come with? All right. Yeah, Flynn? We’ll be there in ten, give or take.”
“Come to the back door and knock. I’ll have the keys.”
“Will do.” Just that fast, he was gone.
Flynn quirked a brow and looked at Sara. “You sure you want to do this? I can figure something out.”
She shrugged. “I’m sure you can. But I’m making myself available. An act of atonement for my guilt in all this. If I hadn’t interrupted Isabella, she’d have had the cash drawer closed out and you wouldn’t be sitting there with an icepack on your head. I knew it was nearly closing time. I just—I was hoping to get some ideas for my first tattoo.”
First tattoo. With those two words, she had him hooked and dangling on a line. Five feet five inches of virgin skin. A blank canvas, waiting to be filled.
“You’re over eighteen, right?”
She barked a laugh. Low and throaty, the sound of it was rusty enough, he wondered how long it had been since she’d laughed at anything. Sara Davies was the serious type. Focused. No nonsense. Getting her to lighten up and let go would be a challenge.
“I’m twenty-five. Old enough to know better, I suppose. I’ll have to get it where it’s hidden by my clothes.”
His lips canted in a smile. “Not the first time I’ve heard that request. What’s your story?”
He thought that she’d dodge the question, as guarded as she was. Instead, she lifted a shoulder and fiddled with her purse strap to avoid his gaze when she answered him.
“I teach kindergarten. If my students see it, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“A teacher, huh?” He let his gaze drift from the mane of long, blonde hair to the pink polish on her toes. “If my teachers had looked like you, I’d have stayed in school instead of dropping out and getting my GED.”
That got her attention. She jerked her gaze up to meet his. Her eyes held questions that he wasn’t ready to answer just yet.
“Long story,” he said, glancing at the front door. “Best saved for later. Mad Dog’s here for Isabella.”
Chapter Four
He’d brought Isabella’s car this time, parking it behind what Flynn assumed was Sara’s sensible blue Honda Civic.
Sara noticed Mad Dog’s wheels. “I promise, I’m a good driver. But if you’d rather catch a ride with someone else, I’ll understand.”
She’d given him an out. The easy thing would be to take it, bum a ride with Mad Dog, and see Sara again during business hours. But the kindergarten teacher intrigued him. What would make someone so prim and proper consider getting a tattoo? How did she know Isabella? If she was willing to hide a tattoo, what else might she be hiding beneath those clothes?
“Nah. We’re good. Hey, Mad Dog! Isabella’s locking up the cash box. She should be out in a minute.” The safe was in his office. He got out the cash every morning, but Isabella didn’t need the combination to put it back. All she had to do was stick it in, shut the door, and spin the tumbler.
Mad Dog had served in Marine RECON. His assessing gaze missed nothing. Not the pretty teacher hovering like an angel over him or the icepack on the back of his head. “What’s up, Picasso? Someone didn’t like waiting?”
“Not exactly. I got in someone’s space when I shouldn’t have and paid the price.”
Mad Dog looked down the hall and watched Isabella coming back up front. He didn’t have to ask. He knew from her expression what had happened. She looked guilty as sin, and it wasn’t even her fault.
Flynn tried a verbal intervention. “See you tomorrow, Isabella. We’re cool, right? No harm, no foul.”
Mad Dog arched a sardonic brow.
“Okay. I’m a little banged up, but I’ve had worse. Trust me. Besides, I’m the one to blame. She only reacted to what I was doing. I fucking knew better and did it anyway.”
Mad Dog rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze caroming between the two of them.
“Link’s gonna take my bike back to the clubhouse while I enjoy dinner with my date. Hawk should be here anytime with him. You two go on. I’ll lock up when we leave. I’ll see you whenever.”
Since Mad Dog and Isabella moved in together, they divided their evenings between home and the clubhouse. Sometimes they played in the Avenging Angels’ lounge. Some nights, they kept their kink private, using Mad Dog’s old room at the clubhouse or staying put in their new digs.
The VP and his old lady waved goodbye and exited through the front door, setting off the customer alert. He noticed that Mad Dog had Isabella drive her car, taking one more baby step on the road to healing.
Flynn locked up behind them but left the key in the door. “I’m gonna head to the back so I can give Link the keys to my bike. You can stay here or come with.”
Sara narrowed her gaze and pursed her lips. “Hmm. I wonder what a real date would do.”
He was pretty sure that she was only messing with him. She didn’t sound pissed, anyway. “Look. I figured there’d be fewer questions than if I called you my pity date. And calling you my ride…well, it’s too short a hop to where Mad Dog’s mind would go with that one.”
“Real date, pity date, or your ride. How about just Sara?”
He grinned. “Okay, Just Sara. I’m headed for the back.”
Flynn managed to keep his balance when he stood. Holding the icepack to the impact point on his skull, he headed down the hall, fishing his bike keys from his front jeans pocket as he went. He was almost to the back door when someone banged on it three times with his fist, Hawk’s signature knock.
Seeing his shaved head and Link’s pierced eyebrow through the peephole, he flipped the deadbolts, unlatched the door, and opened it to let them in.
The sight of Sara standing behind him put shit-eating grins on their faces.
The look he gave them warned that they’d better behave if they wanted any ink from him in the future.
“Sara, this is Hawk and Link. Link, here are my keys. Leave them at the bar with Jack Daniels and I’ll get them when
I get back. We’re gonna grab a bite first.”
Hawk smirked but said nothing. Link caught his keys and touched a knuckle to his forehead in a period salute.
“Thanks, guys. I owe you one.”
“No problem,” said Hawk.
“It’s what Angels do,” Link added. “I’ll treat your baby like she was mine.”
“I know you will. Thanks again. I’ll see you at the clubhouse.”
Link headed for his bike. With no excuse to linger, Hawk got on his, and the two took off down the alley toward the street.
Locking the back door, Flynn ducked his head into his office and made sure that the security cameras were working. The monitor’s split screen showed the storefront, the front counter cash register, the hallway, and the back of the store.
“Let me take care of this ice pack and grab some ibuprofen. I should have done it first thing. That bump on my head must have rattled my brain. Makes me wonder what else I’m forgetting.”
There were three employees-only rooms besides the playroom and his office for supplies, breaks, and laundry. The supply room held the ultrasonic tank for cleaning equipment, an autoclave for sterilizing, a cabinet of supplies and shelves of extra inventory for the displays up front. The laundry room held janitor supplies and a mismatched washer and dryer for cleaning used linens. He added the towel to the laundry hamper and headed for the breakroom.
Flynn took care of the ice pack and went into his office for ibuprofen. He downed three tablets with a bottle of spring water that was on his desk.
“We should be good,” he told Sara, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Ready?”
She lifted her car keys and jangled them. “Lead the way.”
He was careful to not rush. As much as he wanted to have a nice sit-down dinner and conversation with the kindergarten teacher, he knew that he wasn’t operating at full speed. His short-term memory seemed impaired. He was struggling to think of things, and that wasn’t like him.
He opened the front door and held it for Sara. Unlocking her car, she was behind the wheel and buckled up by the time he secured the building. He joined her, cautiously folding his six-feet, two-inches to fit in the front passenger seat.