Wanted: An Outlaw Anthology

by Lane Hart

  And hence, the fact that ever since he’s been telling me that since he told me all this, I need to reciprocate and tell him why I go by Six.

  Bullet leans closer, one elbow propped up on the counter of the reception desk. He’s close enough now that I can see the flecks in his golden-brown eyes. Beneath the short, dark beard, a corner of his mouth twitches with mischief.

  “I think I know what Six stands for.” He murmurs the words deep and low, like they’re just for me.

  My heart does a little flop in my chest as I swallow and try to look unaffected. “Yeah?” I challenge, hearing that my voice is a little less steady than I want it to sound.

  “Yeah,” he rumbles. “It’s the number of times I’m gonna make you come.”

  Jesus. His words are so unexpected that I pull back in surprise, knocking a cup of pens and pencils off the counter and onto the floor. The clatter is so loud that I jump.

  “Sorry to startle you, darlin’.” Bullet gives me a lazy smirk. “You need some help with that?”

  “No, no,” I mumble as I bend down behind the counter to gather up the pens. I feel my cheeks flush with heat. Bullet loves to flirt with me when he comes into the shop, but he’s never said anything remotely that… direct before. If it was any other guy, I’d give him a piece of my mind, and probably even tell the owner, Chance, that one of his customers was sexually harassing me.

  But as I pick up the cup with shaking hands, I realize the reason I won’t say anything to Chance isn’t just because Bullet is a member of the Lords of Carnage MC — the motorcycle club that gives our shop all of their business. It’s not even because I’m afraid of getting on the wrong side of a guy who is probably not very used to being refused anything, by anyone.

  The real reason I won’t say anything?

  It’s because I’ve fantasized about exactly what Bullet just said.

  Way more than six times.

  While I’m still down on the ground, I take advantage of the two or three seconds where I’m hidden from him to try to come up with a response that won’t show Bullet how rattled I am. But thankfully, just as I’m picking up the last pen, my boss, Chance Armstrong, comes striding down the hall.

  “Bullet. My man,” his booming voice calls out in greeting. “Shit, you’ve been in here a lot lately. You here for some more ink?”

  I stand up awkwardly just in time to see Bullet turn and lift his chin at Chance. “Hey, man. Yeah,” he grins. “What can I say? I got some time on my hands, and some space to fill.”

  “This is the third tattoo in two weeks,” I point out, breathing a little sigh of relief that the subject has been changed. “I don’t know how you have any space on your body left.”

  For some reason, even saying the word body in reference to Bullet makes me shiver a little, but I try hard to ignore it.

  Bullet glances at me, looking slightly feral. “Don’t worry, I still got some room left.”

  “I don’t have any appointments until this afternoon,” Chance frowns. “I can fit you in though, if you want to come on back.”

  “Actually,” Bullet replies, “I was thinking Six could do the tat.”

  “Me?” I ask in surprise. I glance uncertainly from Bullet to Chance. “But I’m still in training.”

  “I trust you,” Bullet murmurs. “Chance wouldn’t have taken you on if he didn’t have confidence in you.”

  Actually, Chance took me on as a favor to Hannah, who started out as a receptionist here, too. Chance didn’t know me from Adam (or Eve) when I first walked in the door to Rebel Ink with her. I’ve worked my ass off to pay him back for taking a chance on me, learning everything I could and taking all the grunt jobs just to show him how thankful I am. Thankfully, he’s never had any cause to complain about my work. He’s even said once or twice that I’m a quick learner and I have a good eye.

  Still, it’s one thing to do a rose on some twenty year-old girl’s ankle. It’s entirely another to ink a member of an outlaw motorcycle club. One that could ruin the shop’s reputation with the club if I fuck up.

  I look toward Chance, hoping he’ll help me out of this situation. But instead, he just gives us a brief nod and shrugs. “I’ll have Dez come out and man the phones,” he says. “Come on back, Bullet. I can come in and supervise in between my appointments.”

  Desperately, I cast around in my head for some excuse. But Chance and Bullet are already walking down the hall toward one of the free rooms. With a helpless sigh, I stand up and follow them. Chance stops by Dez’s room and tells him to go out front.

  Then, almost before I know what’s happening, I’m sitting on a stool, with Bullet on the table in front of me.

  Looks like this is happening.

  Well, shit. Here goes nothing, right?

  Chapter Two

  Six

  Bullet shrugs off the leather cut and tosses it on a counter. Then, without any ceremony, he reaches up and pulls off his black T-shirt.

  “Chance knows the tat I want,” he says, and points to a spot low and to one side of his abs. “We talked about it before. There.”

  Holy…

  Everything has happened a bit too quickly, and I’m hardly prepared for the sight of Bullet’s naked chest right in front of me. I’ve been apprenticing with Chance for a few months now, and I’m no stranger to seeing people unclothed. Tattoo artists see a pretty wide variety of naked body parts — for better or for worse. I’ve observed and even done plenty of chest and back tattoos for guys, and women. But part of my job involves keeping a professional distance from sights like this.

  For the most part, that’s pretty easy. Like how gynecologists probably don’t see the hoo-has they examine as anything but just part of the whole reproductive system. I mean, staring right at them all day has to make them seem pretty unglamorous, right?

  But this…

  Well, let’s just say my body’s reaction to seeing Bullet shirtless is a little more than I expected. He’s already covered in quite a bit of ink, most of it absolutely gorgeous work. I can tell just by looking that Chance has done a lot of it. Both his arms are covered to the wrists in intricate sleeves. Across his chest are repeating patterns of skulls and razor wire. Lower down, on his stomach, the razor wire snarls together, in a design that only emphasizes the carved, tapered muscles underneath.

  Good God. The thought of being so close to this man — let alone touching him — makes my skin start to flame. I open my mouth, in a last-ditch attempt to get out of this — but snap it shut again. There’s nothing I can do or say that won’t make me seem like a weirdo. I just need to suck this up and do my job. Consider it a professional challenge, Six. Nothing else. You’ll have more of these in the future.

  Although it’s hard to imagine one that will be quite as challenging as this one.

  The spot that Bullet’s pointing to is on his right side. Forcing myself to act cool and unaffected, I lean in, and he shifts in his seat to give me a better look. As I get closer I see he has two long scars not yet covered by ink. They look like they’re from a knife. There’s also a long furrow that along his back and around to his side.

  “The bullet’s still in there,” he says, “since it was too close to my kidney to take it out.”

  I swallow nervously. “You want me to tattoo scar tissue?” I croak.

  “Nah. Just at the edge, here.” He runs a thumb along the end of the scar.

  Behind me, Chance clears his throat. “We still doin’ what you talked about last time?” At Bullet’s nod, he says, “I’ll go grab the stencil.”

  While Chance is gone, I get busy prepping. I grab the alcohol and set to work swabbing the skin where the tattoo will go. I’m thankful to have something to keep me busy and occupied, but it’s almost impossible to ignore the raw sexiness of Bullet’s naked torso. Why couldn’t he have wanted a bicep tattoo, or maybe his calf? Something a little less…

  Lickable.

  Above me, he chuckles low in his throat. “Tickles,” he rumbles.


  In spite of myself, I can’t help but snort, which temporarily relieves some of my nerves. “You don’t strike me as the ticklish type.”

  “I’m not, normally.” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “How about you? I bet you’re one of those chicks who’s ticklish all over.”

  I finish swabbing and reach for a disposable razor to shave the area. “That’s privileged information.”

  “You gonna make me find out for myself?” He leans forward, until his warm breath is tickling my ear. “I can do that.”

  Without warning, my throat lets out this weird, rabbit-like squeak as I pull quickly away. “Okay, all prepped,” I say in a strangled voice. “I’m gonna go get that stencil now.”

  Standing up so quickly the stool scrapes noisily against the floor, I scurry out of the room and down the hall. Chance is just coming out of the room where we keep the thermal-fax.

  “Here’s what he wants,” he says, showing me. “It’s not that complicated, except for the shadowing.”

  I take a look, and even though I’m still a jangle of nerves, the tattoo itself makes me breathe a little sigh of relief. It’s a bullet, a little larger than life-size and rendered very realistically. As Chance points out, the only tricky part is that it’s designed to look as though the bullet is just about to enter his skin, the shadowing making it look as though it’s about an inch away from the surface.

  I can do this, though. I’m good at shadowing. It’s one of the things I’ve worked hardest on.

  “Okay,” I breathe. “This looks easy enough.”

  “Don’t be nervous,” he tells me, as though reading my mind. “You got this.”

  We go back to Chance’s room, where Bullet is sitting patiently as though nothing has happened. I take a deep breath and force myself to pretend he’s an old, ugly, gross guy. Then, for the next forty minutes or so, I concentrate on doing the best damn version of this tattoo possible.

  When it’s over, I’m sweaty and trembling. But in spite of myself, I have to say that I totally rocked the result. The bullet looks almost like a photograph, the shadow so accurate that you’d almost swear it was hovering above his skin. When I hand the mirror to Bullet to show him the result, he whistles low and gives me a nod. “Damn, girl,” he grins. “Should have had you doing my work all along. Chance, you got competition.”

  Chance shrugs. “She’s got some talent, for sure. Sometimes it’s the stuff that looks the simplest that’s the hardest to do.” He looks at me. “You should take a picture of that for your portfolio.”

  Feeling almost dizzy with triumph and relief that it’s over, I take out my phone and do as Chance says. I get Bullet’s tattoo dressed and bandaged, then recite the aftercare instructions I know by heart at this point. Bullet listens with a slight smirk on my face. I can tell he’s just humoring me, but at least he doesn’t interrupt.

  “Okay, dude,” Chance says when I’m finished. He raises his hand and gives Bullet a fist bump. “You’re good to go.”

  “Thanks. See you soon.”

  I walk Bullet up to the front. Dez looks up from his sketch notebook when he sees me. With his typical non-verbal communication style, he stands, raises a finger at both of us and disappears into the back. I settle back into the chair behind the front desk and tell Bullet the price for the tattoo. He pulls out a few bills and sets them on the counter in front of me.

  At first, I think he didn’t hear me correctly. There’s at least twice as much here as he owes. I open my mouth to tell him so when he cuts me off.

  “That’s a tip,” he says. “And if you’re thinking of turnin’ it down, I got a way you can pay me back.”

  I frown at him quizzically. “I can pay you back by just giving you your money.”

  “Nah. Your money’s no good with me,” he grins.

  I can’t help but laugh. “You’re a confusing man, Bullet.”

  “I’m a simple man, Six. With simple wants. And right now, I want you to agree to have a drink with me.”

  “You ask me to go out with you every time you’re here,” I retort. Which is true. But every time he does, it makes a flutter start deep in the pit of my stomach.

  “Yeah. And I’m gonna keep doin’ it until you say yes. So let’s just cut to the chase, huh?” He leans forward across the counter. “Come on, Six. One drink. Live a little.”

  Live a little.

  He doesn’t know the half of it.

  I live like a hermit here in Tanner Springs. And that’s by design. The whole point of coming to such a sleepy town was precisely so I could live. Under the radar, and avoiding detection. This place has been really good for that.

  But somewhere along the line, my life has been reduced to little more than just existing. Other than work, and an occasional girls’ outing with Hannah, I have no social life at all.

  That’s the way I wanted it. It’s perfect for me. On paper, anyway.

  But I have to admit, I am lonely. And I’m tired of spending every evening staring at the TV. Alone. Trying not to think about a future filled with nothing more than an endless stream of nights just like that one.

  And here’s a man who just won’t take no for an answer. Who I should do everything in my power to avoid. Because if I’m honest with myself, he makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a very long time. That alone should tell me he’s someone I should be running far away from.

  But instead, my stupid self does the exact opposite. Instead of telling Bullet no — like every other time he’s asked me — what comes out of my mouth this time is different.

  “Okay,” I half-whisper. “One drink. And then you let it drop. Deal?”

  “One drink, Six. And then,” he winks, “we’ll see what happens next.”

  Chapter Three

  Bullet

  This girl is wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. Even though she puts on a big show like she’s untouchable, I can tell there’s something else going on. She’s got a layer of protection around her so thick I can almost see it. She doesn’t let people get close. Why, I have no idea.

  But if I only get one shot with her, I’m gonna make it count.

  The night after she agrees to let me take her out, I pick her up from Rebel Ink on my bike at the end of her shift. I don’t know how comfortable she is with motorcycles, so I bring along a helmet for her. She takes it from me and straps it on wordlessly. I note with satisfaction she’s not one of those chicks who’s worried about her hair or some bullshit like that.

  She asks me where we’re going as I fire up the bike, but I tell her it’s a surprise. The Smiling Skull is a little ways away, a couple towns over, and I don’t want her to balk and ask me to take her somewhere closer. It’s a nice fuckin’ evening out, and I’m in the mood for the open road.

  I’m also in the mood to feel her tits snugged up against my back for a while.

  Ever since the first time I met Six, I’ve gotten the feeling she’s got a thing for me. God knows she’s hot as fuck, and I’d hit that in a heartbeat. But like I said, she puts out this closed-off vibe — a guardedness that comes off her almost like a force field. So at first, whenever I went into the tattoo parlor, I’d just play it cool. To get the lay of the land, so to speak.

  Little by little, she started letting her guard down with me. I started to flirt with her a little, to try to loosen her up. A couple times, I pushed a touch too hard, and she’d close up again like a flower. So, I’d back off and try again. Eventually, she’d even start to banter with me a little. Sometimes, I’d even manage to make her laugh — a low, sexy rasp in her throat that went straight the fuck to my dick. Her honey-blond hair would fall back away from her face, and I’d get a full-on view of how goddamn gorgeous she was.

  And somewhere along the line, I made it my mission to get that girl into my bed.

  She never mentioned a boyfriend — or a girlfriend — and once or twice she said something about living alone. So I figured I had a good shot, with the right mixture of persistence and knowing when to give
her some space to breathe.

  I gotta be honest, though. Even though I’ve asked her to come out with me each of the last three times I’ve been in the shop, when she finally did say yes, it took me by surprise. I figured I had at least a month or so to go before she let down her defenses and gave in. But yesterday when she was doing my new tattoo — all nervous and freaked out that she was gonna screw it up — something must’ve shifted inside that head of hers. Cause after she was done, she got all quiet and pensive and shit. And then when I asked her out, more out of habit than anything, she finally said yes.

  And I am not the kind of man to waste a golden fuckin’ opportunity.

  Six gets on the bike behind me and puts her feet on the pegs. When she wraps her arms around me, she does it with hesitation — like maybe she hadn’t thought this part through all the way. But in the end, she settles in. I goose the engine just a little bit, so she’ll have to cling onto me just a little tighter for balance. My cock stirs as I feel her breasts press against my back.

  I can’t stop the chuckle that escapes my throat as she does. Fuck yeah.

  As we ride out of town, I can feel how tense her body is behind me, and how hard she’s trying not to get any closer to me than she has to. But after about five minutes, she starts to relax. I can tell by the way her body moves that she’s starting to look around at the scenery as we fly down the highway.

  Experiencing the road on a motorcycle gives you a feeling of freedom like nothing else. I can feel Six’s breathing deepen as we ride along, like she’s trying to pull all the sights, sounds, and scents into her and hold them.

  I get it, little girl.

  After about half an hour, I pull off the road into the parking lot of the Skull. I cut the engine and wait for her to get off. She pulls off her helmet and hands it to me. Her hair is disheveled from the ride, giving her a just-fucked look that makes me want to bend her over the seat and do what comes naturally. My cock jumps to attention at the thought. Down, boy. Wait for it.