Inked & Dangerous

by Evelyn Glass

  I sigh heavily as I make the decision whether or not to take up Star’s friend’s case. After my time with Cobra, any girl that’s gone through that pulls on my heart strings and makes me think twice. I was that girl with no place to go, no one to love, no family to call my own. If it weren’t for Killer taking me in, I wouldn’t have found the Filthy Bastards. If it weren’t for Kitka needling me into that bet to nail Bear, I wouldn’t have had Charlie. There is good to come from life in a club, and there can be diamonds made out of rocks.

  “Yeah,” I relent with a heavy sigh, “I’ll meet her.”

  Star leads Charlie and me back towards the living room where a young woman lounges on the black leather sofa. She types mindlessly on her phone, not even bothering to look up as we make our way inside.

  “Hey! Aimee?” Star coughs to get her attention. When Aimee looks up from her screen, I see myself six, seven, eight years ago. Her face is cold and passing, but her eyes light up like firecrackers. She adjusts her leather moto jacket and smiles with her glossy red lips.

  “Sorry.” She blushes and tucks the phone under her crossed leg.

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding in before reaching out my free hand. “I’m Sunny. I’m the house mom for the Wilderkind. Star was telling me about your situation.”

  “She was, was she?” Her glossy eyes roll as she looks back at her friend. “What did she tell you?”

  I’m unfazed by this. I can deal with attitude like the best of them. I wrangle a ten-month-old and a group of bitchy girls all day. Nothing could get to me. “Yeah, well, she told me you were with the Green Devils before you got roughed up.”

  “He hit me a few times. No biggie.” She passes it off, but I can tell there’s hurt there in the way she hugs her bronzed arms around herself, almost as if she is holding in a shudder.

  “I’m really sorry to hear that. The Wilderkind don’t let our boys do that. But there are a few rules.”

  She puts her hands up in the air to stop me. “I don’t do rules, lady.”

  “I’m not ‘lady.’ My name is Sunny, and I’m in charge here. You wanna hear them or do you wanna go back to wherever you came from?”

  Aimee purses her lips together as she spits back, “To me, it looks like you are just someone who managed to get herself knocked up.”

  “Aimee...” Star scoffs. “Shut up and listen to her.”

  I continue on, “The first rule is that you can’t be branded by another club. You get claimed like that? Are the Devils looking for you?”

  She pauses before answering, “No. They’re not. They wouldn’t know where to look if they did.”

  “Good.” I nod. My mind drifts back to the tattoo covering my own branding scar. Charlie’s blue colored footprint covers the mark where the Filthy Bastards put their mark on me years ago.

  “The second rule is that you can’t have relationships with boys outside the club. You seeing anyone?”

  “That’s none of your damn business.”

  “It is my fucking business, Aimee. When you cross club lines, you don’t just put yourself in danger, you put everyone here in the line of fire. I’m not going to have you get my girls in trouble. If you’re gonna join up with the Wilderkind girls, you best keep those legs shut and stay true to our boys.”

  “What else?” she asks.

  “You obey my and the club head’s commands. You work the shifts we give you. You live in the community. No complaints. Star here can tell you that if you do that, we treat you right. You even keep your tips when you work the bar. I hear you already got that skill.”

  “Yeah.” Aimee nods a bit more eagerly. “I can do that.”

  “Then I think I can talk to our president, Vance, about you. Maybe put in a good word. In the meantime, you can sleep in the basement bedroom. Just stay out of the way and keep that smart-ass mouth of yours closed.”

  Charlie rolls in my arm, clearly bored by the conversation. I excuse myself before walking back out the door. I don’t even see Bear coming as I smack into his chest.

  “Whoa! Sunny! Shit! I was just coming in to check on you.” He walks me back to the room where the two girls are still sitting.

  Bear clears his throat, and both girls instantly shut up. I remember the first time I saw Bear. It feels like years ago, not only two. He had that power to make the whole world stop in its place. No one can deny how powerful his presence is, especially now that he was Vance’s second.

  “I’m going to need you to take Charlie for a little while longer,” Bear announces to Star. “You cool with that?

  “What the hell, Bear?” I demand. I can’t think of any reason he’d have for not doing his duty right now. “For God’s sake, Star’s had him all day already. And I got my nails and hair done, like you told me,” I whisper to him. I was surprised when I got his note early this morning. He was out doing a shift, but he left an envelope on the pillow next to me, along with some spending cash.

  Bear shakes his head, a big grin stretching across his face. “Nope, sorry,” he insists. “We’re going out tonight.” He reaches behind him to a black backpack he uses while he is riding. I help him unzip it, and he pulls out a long, white plastic garment bag that swishes against the floor. He hands me the hanger as he orders, “Put this on, Sunny.”

  I hand him Charlie, and the baby giggles and coos excitedly in his daddy’s big, burly arms. I hurry away to see what he has brought me. In the ten months since Charlie was born, Bear and I have spent many nights staying in—getting to know one another again, finding our way back to loving each other, then making love like it’s our first night together on the floor of that motel room. But he knows that the one thing I’ve been longing for is a night out with him, only him.

  Inside the bag is a long, hunter green dress with black lace lines. It’s the kind of dress that clings to every curve, and as I shimmy my way into it, I thank God I’ve managed to get my figure back rather quickly. My larger tits just barely fit in the small cups. He’s even included shoes at the bottom of the bag; a pair of gold, sparkly wedge heels. I hold them in my hand. No way in hell I’m riding in these.

  The living room goes silent as I step out of the room. “Do I—”

  “You look fucking fantastic.” Bear breathes. He cocks his head to the side as he adds, “But what about the shoes? They don’t fit?”

  “No, they fit. It’s just that I can’t ride with them on.”

  “We’re not riding.” He smiles, reaching his hand out to me. I’ve only got moments to thank Star and Aimee for watching Charlie and to blow a kiss to my baby before he whisks me back out of the small home and to the garage. A black luxury car sits in the parking lot.

  “How did you get Vance’s Mercedes?” I ask, completely dumbstruck.

  He shrugs his shoulders and walks over to the passenger side to grab the door for me. I try not to blush, but my cheeks are on fire as he helps me inside. I slip on the shoes and hold on tight as we rush off towards the highway. The city of Los Angeles opens from the twinkling lights to the winding roads. I’m only half aware of where we are. It’s not until I see the side road, the bridge, and the empty gravel street that I realize he’s taking me back to the spot where we met. My mouth goes dry as I try to calm my racing mind.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask as I look towards the spot where the headlights shine. There’s a large wooden table there and two chairs, with a blanket and a wicker basket sitting on top. The setting is circled by about two dozen candles stuck deep into the ground. They make a halo of light that dances in the soft breeze.

  “Come on,” Bear whispers, avoiding the question. He walks around to the side of the car and offers me his large, warm hand. We walk together towards the circle, me trying to take this all in. I glance over my shoulder towards the spot where I sat when I watched him fight that first night. I can still hear Kitka’s voice goading me on—telling me I could never sleep with a guy like him. What a mistake she made…

  “Sunny?” he asks, and I go n
umb. Bear’s large frame sinks down to one knee, and his hand searches for his pocket. I wait for the box, but instead, he pulls out the charm, the bear’s paw. It’s the same one he gave me the night of the dare. He holds it up to me as he says, “I always thought this was lucky. Maybe I was right. This brought me you, and I want you to have it, so you will always know how much I love you.”

  He pauses as he looks me in the eye. His hands take mine, turning them so that the palm faces up. In one hand, he places the charm and in the other, a small, silver ring.

  “Sunny, will you—”

  I don’t let him finish asking; I leap into his arms, the ring and the charm clasped in my hands.

  He already knows my answer.

  THE END

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  Rebel’s Property: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Satan’s Martyrs MC)

  By Kathryn Thomas

  He put me back together… just so he could break me again.

  He saved me in my darkest moment.

  But it was only for his own savage pleasure.

  I should’ve run away when I had the chance.

  It’s too late. Because now, I belong to the rebel.

  HOPE

  I was reaching my breaking point when Killian came into my life.

  There was no hiding what he is—a beast.

  A rugged, savage beast.

  A beast who plays hard.

  Who takes control in ways I never knew I wanted.

  In ways I never knew I needed.

  I have to be careful around him.

  But when he leaves me gasping for more…

  When his words make me shiver at what’s to come...

  I realize that I don’t want him to let me go.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  I want him to own me for good.

  KILLIAN

  The outlaw life has made me numb.

  Once upon a time, I was a fiery, vicious biker.

  Ready to ride ‘til midnight and fight ‘til dawn.

  I loved everything about the club:

  The patch with colors that terrified any man who dared think to challenge me.

  The tattoos and muscle that brought willing females flocking to my bed.

  The money that flowed in like a godd*mn waterfall.

  It all made me feel like a god.

  But lately, I don’t feel much of anything.

  My brother is finally out of prison.

  I should be happy.

  But instead… I’m numb. Unfeeling. Uncaring.

  Until Hope walked in.

  Something about her wakes me up again.

  Maybe taking the curvy girl for a ride will rekindle the flame that used to burn so brightly inside me.

  But it turns out that she’s far too innocent to be a part of my world.

  She isn’t ready for this:

  The drugs. The violence. The darkness.

  But once you go biker, you never go back.

  And I don’t care if she wants to run screaming for the hills.

  I’m gonna do what I always planned on doing:

  Pinning her to my bed.

  Pressing my lips to her ear.

  And telling her her grim new reality:

  She’s mine now.

  Forever.

  Chapter One

  Hope

  As I shuffle by the table where the Satan’s Martyrs sit, a shortish, fattish man calls out to me: “Hey sweetheart, how about a kiss with that beer?”

  How about a slap instead? I think.

  But I just giggle, because being a waitress sometimes means you have to giggle when you get heckled like that. It sucks, but nobody ever said that life was fair. I weave through the tables with trays balanced in my hands, propped on my forearms, and cradled in between my inner-elbows. For somebody who doesn’t really want to be a waitress, I’ve definitely picked up a few tricks, that’s for sure.

  “Enjoy your meal,” I tell the family of four.

  The father is a business type. He wears a dark blue suit and an earpiece. You rarely see people wearing things as extravagant as earpieces in Rocky Cove, California. The woman wears a white shirt so tight her face has turned red, like a finger wrapped in a rubber band. The two children are miniatures of their parents: a boy and a girl dressed like little businesspeople.

  “Excuse me,” the man says, as I lay the last plate on the table.

  I smile my respectful, I-am-here-to-help smile. No matter how many times I smile like this, it never feels real. For the hundredth time tonight, I think: I should be in the kitchen. I’ll never become a decent chef dancing around the tables.

  “Yes, sir?” I say, my voice syrupy sweet.

  “Who are those men?” The way he accents the last syllable makes me think he doesn’t see them as men at all, but rather as affronts to his idea of manners. Can’t say I blame him, exactly. The restaurant is three-thirds full, mostly with couples on their Friday date night. The Harrises and the Clarks and the Moores and the Johnsons all sit on two-people tables. Plus half a dozen couples I do not recognize. Maybe out-of-towners.

  I lean down. “Don’t let them hear you,” I whisper.

  The man does a double take, looking from his wife and then to me. “Excuse me?” he breathes.

  “They’re the Satan’s Martyrs. See that shortish, fattish one? That’s Patrick O’Connor. He’s the leader's brother, Killian O’Connor. Patrick just got out of prison. They’re celebrating. They’re going to be loud all night, as far as I can tell. But a bit of advice, sir, don’t let them hear you. They can be . . .” I’ve heard the rumors. Everybody in Rocky Cove has heard the rumors. But I leave my sentence hanging. I don’t want to break my own advice.

  The man swallows. “A motorcycle gang, huh?” he says.

  They all wear the leathers with the sigil of a man impaled with knives, his face crooked into a smile. Message: Devil on my shoulder. The words ‘Satan’s Martyrs’ are scrawled above the man in jagged blood-red letters.

  “A club,” I correct. “Enjoy your meal, sir,” I finish, standing straight and turning away from the table.

  The last thing I need tonight is an out-of-towner making trouble with the Satan’s Martyrs.

  There are eleven men sitting around the table.

  I don’t recognize all of them, but I see Killian and Patrick O’Connor, the one they call Gunny, and the Remington brothers. Patrick O’Connor is an uglier version of his younger brother. He’s short where Killian is tall, fat where Killian is muscular. Killian’s blonde hair is ragged, wild, but not so wild and ragged as to make him look unkempt. It’s more like he just rolled out of bed and hasn’t touched a comb. His face is strong, his jaw square, a light sprinkling of blonde hair covering his cheeks. His lips are pensive and his eyes are bright blue.

  Patrick has dirty blonde hair which looks wet, it is so greasy. His face is pudgy, squashed. His features seem to collapse into each other. Despite all that, he still looks like Killian; you would never struggle to believe they’re brothers. Gunny wears a leather jacket with the sleeves cut away. And the Remington brothers are both tall, thin, with egg-bald heads and tattoos of guns under their left eyes.

  They laugh loudly, pound their drinks on the table, shovel food into their mouths and pay no mind to the other patrons in the restaurant.

  All except for Killian.

  As I walk back toward the counter, ready to greet any customers who enter, I notice that while the others are like animals in a zoo during feeding time, Killian sits with his elbows on his knees, his jaw clenched, staring.

  At first I think he is just staring into space. But then I notice that his eyes follow me. Two chips of blue trailing me across the restaurant. His eyes burn into me. I feel his gaze on my neck, on my chest. I have shoulder-length brunette hair, dark brown eyes, and an elfish face. My ears poke out of my hair and I am on the busty side. My breasts are squeezed into my waitress’s shirt and
my skirt hugs my bum. My tights are taut around my shapely legs.

  His eyes move over me, up and down, openly staring at me.

  A shiver moves through my body. I feel like I’m being watched by a wolf.

  My mind is unruly tonight.

  I try and focus on my work, but it’s difficult when my mind is a staging area for so many other problems.

  I know that Dawn, my sister, is at home climbing the walls. Dawn was a drug addict until recently. She’s in recovery, but not the rehab kind. No, she tried that, got the t-shirt, and then fled. Now I’m her rehab, and it isn’t an easy task. I’m constantly worried that she’s run from the apartment to score. Maybe she’s shooting up in my bedroom. Maybe she’s found some scumbag who’s willing to take advantage of her in exchange for some drugs.