HIS BRANDED BRIDE: Steel Devils MC

by Sophia Gray

  As I shuffled away towards the staircase, I nearly tripped over my own feet. I didn’t realize I’d had that much to drink. I was going to sleep just fine.

  By the time I made it to the stairs, I didn’t even feel whatever it was that had sent me downstairs for drinks in the first place.

  Chapter One

  Lilah

  “Does any of it speak to you, Lilah?” Jenna asked while we stood outside of Titan Ink. I stared at the artwork on the lower half of the front window. There were more pieces on the walls inside, but I wasn’t so sure about going inside. Tattooed people seemed to all be part of a club, and they could easily sense people who weren’t members.

  That was why I had brought Jenna with me. We’d met working at the library together, and I felt like she was a member of the club with the tribal sun on her back, just out of view. She knew a lot more than I did about the whole thing. This was going to be my first tattoo, and I didn’t care what it was, not really. I just wanted to break the seal and get the first one out of the way to make the next one easier.

  “I don’t really know what I should be looking for,” I told her. There were all kinds of dragons and skulls. There were grim reapers and scantily clad women who looked like they belonged on the sides of warplanes. Of course, there were hearts – everything from cute, round red hearts to more artistic-looking tribal designs that looked like hearts – and butterflies. There were a few Chinese letters that were supposed to stand for different virtues or emotions.

  “Have you given it any thought at all?” Jenna asked. I could tell she was trying to be patient with me about it, but I could also hear her patience waning.

  “Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” I said. And I had. I had decided when I left my ex-husband that I was going to start branching out a little and living life for me. I had always thought of tattoos as being a little edgy, like adding a little spice to myself, but I had never really thought to get one. I always felt like I was too quiet and too reserved to put something on my body that may have told people I was someone other than who I really was.

  Plus, how many librarians had tattoos? Jenna had one, but she was part of our part-time staff. She wasn’t looking at running the library one day. It was a job to keep her occupied and give her a little extra cash while she finished school. So, the tattoo didn’t seem out of place.

  “Did you ever make it further than realizing you wanted a tattoo?” she asked.

  “Not really,” I replied. I looked at the people inside, who were looking through binders at pictures of work the artists had done in the past. I looked at the guys working inside, covered in tattoos. How could they tell their tattoos apart? A couple of people came and went while we were watching with varying amounts of ink covering their skin, and some of them had the strangest piercings.

  I didn’t belong there. I was starting to feel the same way I always did when I thought about getting work done, like I had no business trying to associate myself with the kind of people who got tattoos and piercings. All of the pieces I was looking at were starting to blend together in a blur of lines and colors.

  “Why don’t we go inside and look at more of the flash – see if something grabs your attention,” Jenna suggested.

  “Flash?”

  “Yeah, that’s the stuff on the walls. And I’m sure they have some notebooks with more flash art in them. It’s basic or popular designs. Like my sun. That was flash art I saw in a notebook where I went to get it done,” she explained.

  “But isn’t that bad?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t want to offend her with my question, but it was really all getting overwhelming. I didn’t want to pick a piece of flash art and seem like a trendy poser or something.

  “It wouldn’t be flash if a lot of people didn’t like that type of design. I mean, look at all the dragons, skulls, and butterflies. Come on! How many can you have, right?” she said with a laugh.

  I laughed too, a little. I still felt like I had insulted her decision to get a sun because she liked it in a notebook by implying it was bad. The truth was that I had no idea what I wanted to put on my body. I didn’t even have an idea of where to start.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Jenna said, putting a reassuring hand on my arm. “There’s a lot of artwork here to look at, and that’s so you can find something you really like.”

  “I think I want something small. Small and maybe cute, or maybe something liberating, you know?” I decided I liked the idea of using my first tattoo to represent my newfound freedom.

  I’d been married to a controlling asshole. He never would have allowed me to get a tattoo. He’d even said on many occasions that he thought women with tattoos were gross and offensive. I nodded while I looked at the flash art in the window. I wanted something that would represent my ownership of my body and my life.

  But what did that look like? I still had no idea what I really wanted.

  “That’s a good place to start,” Jenna said. “I got the sun because it represents light and positive energy. And I think it matches my personality.”

  I looked at her face while she talked about it. She smiled. She seemed proud of her ink, and I figured that should have been the case. I didn’t want to get something and hate it a year or two down the road.

  “Something small – that way you aren’t spending a whole lot of money, and it doesn’t have to be visible to everyone, right?” she asked, making me feel a little better about my decision to go small for my first one. She was saying things that allowed me to branch out while not really changing who I was.

  “Right. You know, I just want to do something different. I’ve lived my life according to other people’s expectations for so long, and I think it’s time to change that. I don’t have to answer to anyone but my son, and he’s not going to care about this. You know, I want to get a tattoo, and I want to start living,” I gushed suddenly, just spilling my guts right there to my coworker.

  “That’s great. I think you should do that,” Jenna said, wide-eyed and probably a bit traumatized.

  “I’m sorry. You thought you were just coming to help your reserved coworker decide on a tattoo, didn’t you?” I laughed. “After being married to someone so controlling and manipulative, I don’t have many friends, you know? I let them all go, so they didn’t get in the way of my marriage or whatever. I don’t even know now why I stopped talking to so many people. It made sense to me then.”

  “It’s okay. I get it. I’ve had a couple of boyfriends like that. You pick yourself up and keep going, and kudos to you, it sounds like that’s what you’re trying to do now.”

  “It’s amazing how you can work with someone, and you talk to each other a lot at work about a lot of different things, but there are always so many things you never share,” I continued, still laughing.

  “It’s fine. I’m here to help,” she assured me.

  I looked inside again, trying to muster up the courage to walk into the tattoo parlor so I could find something I liked for my first tat, and I focused on the guys inside. There were guys in there covered with tattoos, even on the backs of their hands and all around their necks. Some even had their earlobes gauged (I was proud of myself for knowing that term), and I could see straight through them.

  “I’ve always been fascinated by people with tattoos,” I thought out loud. “Not just one or two, you know, but like these guys with so much of their bodies covered. They look at life differently than everyone else. When the divorce came through, I told myself I was going to get some ink and find a man like this.” I nodded at the parlor.

  Jenna laughed. “Don’t get carried away now. Are you sure you could handle a bad boy like that?”

  “I bet I could learn,” I answered with confidence.

  “What about your son?”

  “Micah’s father has him every other weekend. I could easily date a guy only when he’s not home. I don’t want to expose him to the guys I date right away anyway. I certainly don’t want to thrust him into a situation that would make
his life feel even more unstable.”

  “Look, Lilah, the only way you’re going to meet a guy like that is to go inside and start looking around. Maybe you could even ask someone some questions to help you decide what kind of tattoo you want. If we’re going to stand out here all evening, I’m going to head on home. I’ve got class in the morning,” Jenna said, and the patience in her voice was finally wearing off.

  I was almost ready to call it quits anyway. It was simply too much to take in at once, and I didn’t feel any closer to finding something I wanted. I thought maybe we would come back when it was slower inside, or maybe I would on my own. That was when the door opened, and one of the artists stuck his head out.

  He had several tattoos on his arms and a couple on his neck. They were colorful and unique-looking. He also had the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. He wore a baseball cap turned backward, probably to keep his hair out of his face while he worked.

  “Can I help you ladies?” he asked with a voice more gentle and polite than I would have imagined.

  “My friend here is thinking about getting a tattoo,” Jenna told him.

  “Well, come on in,” he said, stepping aside and holding the door open. “I’ll be more than happy to help you pick something out.

  I turned and shot Jenna a look, opening my eyes and mouthing Oh, my God to let her know what I thought about the guy inviting us into the shop. Of course, I couldn’t say no. I walked right up to the door.

  “Cole Holmes,” he said, holding out his hand. “A lot of the guys call me Saw. This is my place.”

  I felt my knees growing weak and threatening to stop supporting me.

  He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and he’s the owner of the tattoo parlor?! Oh, can it get any better than that?

  “Hi, I’m Jenna, and that’s Lilah. Sorry, I think she’s a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing right now,” I heard Jenna say behind me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, turning around to face him. “Yeah, I want to find something. I don’t have an exact image in mind, but I want something small, kind of discreet, and powerful. I want it to represent taking control of my own life.” I blushed as I caught myself babbling to this complete stranger.

  This completely mesmerizing stranger.

  Chapter Two

  Cole

  “So, this is your first tattoo?” I asked the beautiful redhead fidgeting nervously in front of me. She pushed her curly red hair out of her face and looked at me with her moss green eyes.

  Her skin was porcelain, untouched, unblemished. Her eyes were innocent and inexperienced, but there was a nervousness there that hinted at something deeper than just being anxious about talking to someone about a tattoo. She blushed at my question.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” I told her. “Everyone with a tattoo has to have a first one.”

  “I know, but I don’t know what I want. I know I want to do something, but that’s about as much as I’ve planned,” she admitted with a nervous giggle.

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Let’s sit down and take a look at some flash to see if we can get you an idea of what you want.”

  I started to walk her over to a bench near my workstation, where I had a couple of binders of work I had done, and a flash I had drawn for the shop. We sat down next to each other, and she briefly brushed my arm with her hand as she reached for the binder that I had pulled down. Her touch was electric, sending ripples of pure desire through my body. I cleared my throat to mask my real reaction to her.

  “I’ll just be over here,” her friend said, almost as an afterthought, stepping over to the opposite wall to look at the flash art that reached up to the ceiling. Lilah barely looked up to acknowledge her before returning her attention to the binder in her lap.

  “Where do I even start?” she asked me.

  I couldn’t believe my luck. There was a gorgeous, tiny redhead sitting next to me in my tattoo parlor. She’d never gotten a tattoo before, and she was asking for my advice. It had to be a dream. There was no way my luck was that good. No way. She pushed her hair back again, and I caught a glimpse of her fair neck and shoulders. Her skin was a blank canvas unmarked by tattoos, scars, or even freckles.

  She turned her head and looked at me with those big green eyes of hers. Her gaze shocked me back out of my head. I shifted my weight and dared to put an arm along the back of the bench, behind her.

  “A lot of people choose something that has meaning for them,” I explained to her.

  “No offense, but butterflies, hearts, and dragons don’t really hold any meaning for me,” she murmured.

  “No one is saying you have to get one of these. Flash art works for a lot of people and, for some, it helps them get a better idea of what they want, even if they don’t choose one of these. Think of it as a conversation starter.”

  “It’s definitely worked for that, hasn’t it?” She steered her eyes toward me and gave a suggestive little smirk.

  She was perfect. I had a feeling she wasn’t going to pick anything out right away, and I was fine with that. With her perfect skin, I wanted her to make sure her first tattoo was exactly what she wanted before I put it on her. She had seemed so nervous and almost scared at first, but she was starting to warm up to me. If she knew she wanted a tattoo, I wanted her to also know there was really nothing to be nervous about.

  “It has. So, tell me a little bit about yourself. What made you decide to get a tattoo in the first place?” I sat back, turning my attention completely away from the binder and giving it all to her.

  “I decided it’s finally time, you know?” I could tell from her tone that she had experienced a crucial change in her life to want to get inked.

  “What happened?” I asked, following her lead.

  “Are you sure you want to go into my life’s story?” She looked at me with skeptical eyes.

  “As much as you feel comfortable telling. Whatever will help us decide what you want to wear on your body. Your first tattoo can be the most important one. It can remind you of why you got it in the first place and why you chose to get more, or it can remind you of that time you made a rash decision and did something you later thought was pretty stupid. I, personally, would like you to look back on it as the moment you turned your life around,” I explained, trying to encourage her.

  It didn’t hurt that I wanted to hear everything she had to say. We were sitting on a bench in my shop, and it was a pretty busy evening. Several needles were humming at the same time. People were talking in the front. Gina had the music up a little louder than usual, possibly to drown out all the talking in the front as people waited on their friends or tried to decide on what to get. But the beautiful redhead next to me, Lilah, could have been the only person in the room. I wasn’t going to let her get away without either making a decision or promising to come back after thinking about it a bit.

  “I recently got divorced,” she said. The words fell out of her mouth like she was trying to say them all at once before she decided not to tell me anything.

  Then, I remembered that I had to say something else. I had been on the edge of getting lost in her beauty when she spoke. Her voice brought me back, but it took me a moment to find the words.

  “Okay, that’s a start. Do you want to tell me more about the divorce? Why does the divorce make you want a tattoo?” If she already had tattoos, it would have made perfect sense to get something new to commemorate that change in her life, but something had to have changed with the divorce to make her want her first tattoo.

  She took a deep breath, and then she told me all about her ex-husband and their son. “He has him every other weekend, but begrudgingly, you know? I think he only takes him because he knows I can’t stand letting him see Micah at all.”

  She told me about how he was controlling and manipulative and had made it known that anything slightly out of the norm wouldn’t fly with him. Of course, talking to someone with as much ink as I had, his definition of norm was very diffe
rent from mine. I lived in a world of tattoos, piercings, and body modifications of all kinds.

  “Did he have any tattoos?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “None. He thought they looked trashy.”

  “Do you think they look trashy?” I held out one of my arms so she could look at the work I’d had done on my sleeve. It wasn’t complete – since I wasn’t going to fill my arm in just to say I’d done it.

  “I’ve seen people with trashy tattoos, but I’ve seen people with amazing tattoos like yours. There’s something free and liberating about them, I think, and that’s why I want to get one. I’m finally free to live life on my terms, so it’s time to start doing it. The tattoo is going to be my first act of independence,” she said confidently.

  “Now you’re speaking my language,” I cheered. She was fresh blood and appeared like she’d lived a sheltered life, but she seemed ready to venture out of her comfort zone. Talking about finding her independence and being liberated made her sound a lot like people who wound up in the MC. I wondered how the hell I got so lucky.