“Yeah, babe, I really think you should,” Ink said. “Every damn time Darby, Kenny or that crazy kid Benito talks about those lost teens, I want Blythe and Czar to take them in. Just sittin’ on your furniture will make them feel better, let alone wearin’ something you make.”
“You know if you make a few outfits and sell them to adults first, you’ll be a huge hit and everyone will want your stuff,” Alena said. “Just do it.”
The others nodded in agreement.
Player indicated them all with a sweep of his hand. “This is why, Destroyer. Those colors you wear mean something. You were in that school with us. You lost just the way we lost. Let Ink put that shit right into your skin, the way we wear it in ours. You’ll feel it.”
“There’s nowhere it can go,” Destroyer said softly, his voice a husk of a sound, filled with something close to regret. “I’ve got ink all over me.”
“Show me,” Ink challenged.
The group went silent, all eyes moving from Lana to Destroyer. He stood for a long moment. Savage held out his hand, a casual gesture. Destroyer shrugged out of his vest and let Savage take it from him. The big man caught the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. His body was every bit as strong as he appeared to be, skin stretched tight over muscle.
Dark whorls and white slashes marred what should have been smooth skin, most wounds they all recognized—they had them as well. The shocking ones were the most recognizable, scars only Torpedo Ink members should have. No one from any other school had ever been subjected, as far as they knew, to the diabolical torture of the loom. That had been reserved for their school only. It had been hideous, and all of them still had nightmares.
How had Destroyer gotten those scars? They weren’t just a few scars either. He had far more than any of them. They were all over his chest, but the stitches were torn as if his skin had literally been ripped off. He turned his back to allow Ink to see what he would have to work over. His back was very broad, and the scars there were much worse, long raised ridges making his skin look much like a road map. The worst had been made by the loom, long, hideous stitches weaving patterns in every direction. Again, those had been torn, ripped away as if he had been skinned alive.
Someone had crudely tried to tattoo various pictures around the scars, most depicting rank in the prison. It was clear Destroyer had risen fast in prison, but the artwork had to have hurt as it had been tatted along or over the ridges. The tattoos were done with whatever the prisoners could find to use.
No one said anything, but they all looked. Stared. More than ever, Player felt Destroyer belonged with Torpedo Ink. Czar had molded them into a family, one fiercely loyal to one another, and somehow Destroyer fit with them. The loom scars proved that. He was another strong thread in their tightly knit family.
Czar had told them Destroyer had completely damaged the loom and killed the weaver when his sister had been tortured, raped and murdered, but they hadn’t seen the terrible evidence of the toll on his body. His skin had to have been pulled off both his chest and his back when he’d ripped his way out of the weave to get at his sister’s killers.
Ink studied Destroyer’s back, not looking at the black ink there but more at the ridges and whorls that were spread from his shoulders all the way to his buttocks. “Yeah, you want me to, I can work with this. I can make the tree kick-ass. The ravens are personal for each of us. They represent whoever you knew that didn’t make it out. I can make them however you want, standing on a branch, wings out, in, flying, as many or as few as you prefer. Your tree can have eighteen branches. You’ve got the room, and it will help with covering this bad ink here.” He ran his finger up along a particularly bad ridge.
Savage nodded, standing close to Ink, his eyes on the scarring the loom had made. “Yeah. It will look good. The skulls in the roots represent the ones we took out for those tortured, raped or killed. They could be an instructor inside the school or someone Sorbacov brought in and let enjoy us for his own fucking pleasure. You know what I’m talking about.”
Destroyer took his shirt back and pulled it over his head, settling it back over his broad chest easily. “Yeah, I know.”
Maestro took up the explanation. “The skulls lying on the ground are for missions for our country or pedophiles we’ve taken out. If you prefer, the kills for pedophiles can go under the tree, if you’ve got the room. Reaper and Savage pretty much have completely filled that space.”
Savage handed Destroyer his cut and all of them watched him put it on.
“You belong with Torpedo Ink, Destroyer,” Storm said. “It takes time getting used to having people at your back. Or getting into your business. But you belong. Those scars on your chest and back say so.”
Lana nodded. “I don’t know how Czar knows you so well, but if he’s willing to fight for you, and all of us are, you have to be willing to fight to belong.”
“Did you really think we were going to let some bastards come into our territory and hurt any of our people? Especially the old ones?” Savage asked.
Destroyer gave him a faint imitation of a smile. “You all talk too much.”
Player burst out laughing. The rest of the club members followed suit. “Gotta agree with you there, brother. Not only do they talk too much, they aren’t paying attention to the important things in life. We came here to figure out how to get my woman back for me. I don’t hear any suggestions.”
“I gave you a suggestion,” Alena disagreed. “It was a very good one too. You were there when we fought the Swords. You know what the Drake women can do. They’re all gifted. Heck, all the women Blythe claims as sisters are gifted. She is. We are. Hannah is no different. I’m telling you, if you’re serious about wanting to get Zyah back, go to her shop and at least look around. See if she has something that might work for you.”
Preacher gave Alena a mock scowl. “Are we talking some love potion? I can whip him up something. I’m the chemist in the family.”
Lana threw her arms into the air. “Here we go again. Player, if you listen to them, you are so going to lose that woman.”
“I say he just goes in and apologizes to her like a man,” Master declared. “Straight up. Tell her he was seventy-two hours without sleep and was delirious and out of his fuckin’ mind. He’s sorry and wants another chance. Women throw themselves at him. He’s got charm, and he can grovel if he has to.”
The others nodded their agreement.
“Did any of you bother to read the report Code printed out for us?” Lana demanded.
Player had. Every single word over and over. He had the damn thing memorized. He’d asked Code to keep digging. He wanted to know everything there was to know about Zyah.
“Code filled us in on the pertinent stuff,” Ice pointed out.
Lana exchanged an eye roll with Alena. “Here’s why Zyah’s going to shut Player down fast,” Lana said. “She isn’t someone who hooks up ever. There’s no evidence of it. Code couldn’t find it, and he looked. She travels all the time, and she doesn’t go clubbing. She doesn’t invite men to her hotel room. She was in an exclusive relationship, and she didn’t move in with the man or have him move in with her. That right there should tell you something about her.”
Yeah. Player already got that part. He knew he’d screwed up royally. The rest of the club didn’t want to get it. They were hoping it would be easy for him, but he knew better. The moment he remembered the look on her face when he handed her the money, he knew he was in trouble. It hadn’t registered that morning, but it was in his memory bank. He had that image etched into his brain. He’d hurt her. Crushed her. Shattered her.
“So, she meets our brother and falls for him like a ton of bricks. He gets all down and dirty with her and she’s thinking one thing and he’s thinking something altogether different,” Maestro said. “Or thinking with something altogether different.”
Player sighed. He h
adn’t been thinking at all. His brain had short-circuited. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, just because it was expected. “I was half out of it.”
“Maybe,” Keys said, “but your dick was working fine.”
Another round of laughter went up at his expense. He couldn’t deny what they were saying. His dick had worked. All on its own. Just thinking about her made him ache. Unfortunately, Lana was right. He was going to apologize, because he owed Zyah an apology, and maybe the universe was going to be benevolent to him and give him a pass, but he doubted it. He wasn’t going to be that lucky. Not that she wouldn’t be gracious. She’d be kind and give him some bullshit saccharine-sweet lie about how she hadn’t given it a thought and not to worry. And she’d dismiss him.
“You sure you don’t want me to fuck up Mr. Charm for you?” Savage asked.
Player stared out the window at the man who was just now straightening up, his eyes still glued to Zyah. This time it was very clear he was staring at her tits. What an asshole. He was out for pussy. Hopefully, she was good enough to read that shit and not be dazzled by his appearance. He stank of money. His jeans were designer all the way.
“How much do you think he paid for those jeans?” Player asked.
“Five hundred, easy,” Lana said. “Shirt is about three. That sweater? Close to a thousand. The boots? At least a thousand. He would be turning up his nose at your boots, Savage.”
Savage looked down at his well-worn motorcycle boots. “What the hell’s wrong with my boots, Lana?”
“I think you’ve worn through the soles.”
“I have not. I’m not falling for that. You’re tryin’ to make me look.”
Another round of laughter went up. Lana grinned at him and nudged Player with her hip. “Just so you know, there is an alternative to Hannah Drake. I heard a rumor that the Red Hat ladies in Sea Haven . . . well . . . I think that encompasses Caspar as well. I think a group of the Red Hat ladies sometimes help men get their women back when they’ve screwed up. Or if they want to plan a real romantic date. Something like that. Inez told me about it. You know how she chatters. She’s part of it. She was very enthusiastic. She said some men just aren’t good at planning and they throw out ideas for them. Brainstorming, she called it. I thought it sounded kind of nice.”
“Who in the hell are the Red Hat ladies?” Player demanded.
“I think it’s officially called the Red Hat Society, but don’t quote me,” Lana said. “When you hit a certain age, you qualify to join. Women, I think. They get together and do whatever they want. Wear what they want, get crazy together. Just enjoy life. But the point is, they know stuff. Like Blythe does. They’ve lived and learned. We don’t know shit, Player. That’s the one thing we can all agree on. We don’t have the least idea of what it is we’re doing, especially when it comes to relationships. I’m just saying, if Zyah spits in your face like she should, maybe you can ask them for help.” She shrugged. “Or not. It’s up to you. On the other hand, when you go in and talk to her, maybe you’ll decide she wasn’t all you thought she was.”
* * *
Zyah shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other on the tiled floor behind the counter, wishing she didn’t have such a bad habit of removing her shoes whenever she wanted information on someone. Unexpected gifts from the universe could be curses as well. She had been so certain she had found the man she fit with. Everything in her responded to him. Her body tuned to his. When she danced, the vibrations of the earth seemed to mold them into one, so they felt as if they shared the same skin.
Player had felt so fractured to her when he first entered the room. His color was nearly gray. Little beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His pulse was all over the place. She could tell his head was really hurting him. When her heart went crazy, tuning itself to his, attempting to slow his to normal, she was shocked at how strong her reaction was to him. She had to help him. She had no choice. Every single cell in her body reached for his. She’d been absolutely 100 percent certain he was the one destined to be her man. She’d been so wrong.
It hurt. Not only did she feel like a complete fool, but she was ashamed of the way she’d behaved with him. Clearly, he thought his fellow bikers had paid her to spend the night with him. Dancing. Fucking. She’d been making love to him. Giving herself to him. Being vulnerable. He’d been taking everything and not giving a damn. It was a hard lesson, but she’d learned it.
Now there was this man. Perry Randall. Flirting. Giving it his all. He was using all of his charm, trying to persuade her to go on a date, leaning on the counter, looking at her through his sunglasses that cost as much as his shoes had. She’d calculated several times how many homeless people she could feed with his clothes alone. Then shelter dogs. Then feral cats.
He was one of those men who was interested, but before he actually asked her out, he had to make certain he looked great, staring at himself in every mirror he passed by and fixing his hair as often as possible. He was definitely the type to ask himself if his friends would think she was hot. Once he’d convinced himself they would think she was gorgeous enough to belong on his arm and in his ride, then he would make his move on her and continue to do so, thinking she was playing hard to get if she said no, because who would ever refuse him? That was the kind of thing that always happened to her, no matter where she was in the world.
She sent Perry a vague smile and turned her attention to the next customer, engaging them in conversation, filing their image away, asking their name, introducing herself, and thanking them for coming in. She chattered away, making what appeared to be casual conversation, but every inquiry enabled her to find out if her customer was local, if they had a family and if they would be returning.
Inez had trained her for a week before leaving her on her own, and in that week, the pattern to the way grocery store customers had come in had been very specific. Morning shoppers were women dropping their children at school or on their way to work and picking up a quick bite. Afternoons brought the heavier shoppers, filling their carts with a week’s worth of groceries. Evenings were those getting off work and picking up a few items to make a meal fast. Her first day alone hadn’t been like that at all.
It was the weekend, but even that shouldn’t have made all that much difference. It hadn’t when Inez had been there. Today, there hadn’t been a single block of time, not five full minutes, when she had a break. Inez had handled the store hours virtually alone, with only someone to stock shelves and give her required breaks. If this influx of customers continued, they would need to hire someone immediately, and finding reliable help seemed to be a major issue.
She glanced out the window. A long line of motorcycles had been parked there for what seemed the better part of an hour. Maybe over an hour. Player was there, across the street, and she knew she would have to face him. The idea turned her inside out. Her grandmother was absolutely right. She had to stay away from him, shut him out completely, or she would never be open to a real relationship.
Maybe something was wrong with her. Maybe it wasn’t the men at all. The first man she’d really thought might be the one had turned out not even to be close. He’d had a lot to say about her shortcomings. She’d had a lot of time to think about those things he’d listed because they’d looped over and over in her head. She’d written them down. Listed them, determined to discover if they were true and work on them if that was so. She wanted to be a good partner. He claimed she didn’t give anything of herself, and looking back, she was certain he was right—she hadn’t.
Her gaze strayed to the clock more than once as the crowd thinned out. She wanted Perry gone, but she knew he wasn’t going to leave. He was determined to outwait everyone and still try to talk her into going out with him, even though she’d politely declined three times. She was going straight home to her grandmother. She didn’t want her alone for even five minutes, and there was a short period of time when she would have to b
e by herself in the house before Zyah’s shift ended. She had to close, and that took time.
Her grandmother’s latest X-rays hadn’t been good. The doctor had to reset her bone, and that meant once again postponing physical therapy for her leg. Mama Anat had been so disappointed. She was anxious to get out of the wheelchair and be able to do for herself. Thankfully, Terrie Frankle, the physical therapist, was willing to help out with her arm because she needed to speed up recovery and get the use back so she could be more independent.
Zyah had once again changed the locks and, with Inez’s help, made out a schedule so her grandmother wasn’t alone while she worked. Another house two blocks over had been robbed, and the couple occupying the cottage, beaten. Inez knew that couple as well. Gabe and Harmony Gleason were in their early seventies and, according to Inez, owned a gift shop in Sea Haven. They were very much part of the community. It seemed so senseless to Zyah for the robbers to beat the elderly when they had already turned over money and jewelry.
Torpedo Ink members began drifting in, one or two at a time five minutes before closing, picking up a few items and, when they came up to the counter, introducing themselves to her. Each of them gave Perry a hard look and then the once-over. It was intimidating as hell. By the third one, a big man with his head shaved and the coldest eyes she’d ever seen, Perry gave up and walked out to his hot car. He stood next to it for a few minutes, and when more of the bikers crowded onto the sidewalk just outside of the store, he drove away.
Few people knew the club owned the store. Inez was part owner, and her name was prominent when one looked it up. She co-owned with a company. One had to dig deep to find that Torpedo Ink owned the company. Perry had just left her alone with very scary men. He was afraid of them, but had no compunction about leaving her. Zyah managed the store, and she had been told Torpedo Ink co-owned with Inez. They had been very up front with her before offering her the job. They had also disclosed that the club members would be working in the back and stocking shelves and also watching over the store, as well as escorting anyone closing the store home, from a distance, but still, it was a policy and one they preferred she didn’t talk about to anyone else.
Reckless Road Page 11
