Tacet a Mortuis

by Amo Jones

  The bartender came to me. He was quirkily dressed with leather bangles, blue hair, and two hoops in his ear. “What can I get ya, sweetheart?”

  He wasn’t going to ID me? Score.

  “Something strong, please.”

  He smirked. “I know just the poison.” I shot it back and ordered another as well as a vodka lime and soda and opened my phone. Tatum had texted me.

  I’m here at this club. U here yet?

  I got a little giddy.

  I’m near the bar. Come alone.

  “Boo!” Tatum grabbed my back and I turned to her, smiling. “Hey!” I pulled her into a hug and almost lost it right then and there.

  “Are you okay?” she asked into my ear, and I shook my head.

  “I don’t think so.” She leaned back and threw up her fingers after pointing to my drinks, gesturing how she wanted what I was having.

  “I saw Bishop!” she yelled into my ear.

  I just smiled.

  She leaned into my ear again. “He was with a chick! Shall I kick her ass?”

  I laughed. “It’s Khales! Don’t worry about her, and she’s mine…”

  “I thought Khales was a brunette?” I thought over what she said, but then shrugged. Oh well. She leaned into me again. “Don’t look, but they’re all up in the VIP area above us, that you have access to as well.”

  I shrugged again, sucking down my drink. This put a whole new meaning to fuck my life. I started to sway on my feet now, and I grabbed Tatum’s arm, dragging her onto the dance floor. “Closer” by Chainsmokers started playing and we started bumping and grinding on the dance floor. Whatever this night brought, I just hoped that something would come from Bishop and I. A few songs later, we headed back to the bar and got more drinks. My phone vibrated in my back pocket, so I pulled it out, and my heart fluttered when I saw Bishop’s name.

  Come here.

  I read it, ignoring the way my cheeks heated. God. How can I hate someone and love them, and want to kill them, and need to fuck them, all at the same time? It’s Bishop voodoo.

  No

  Ha! That showed him. Oh no, I was really drunk. I giggled. Suddenly, the severity of the entire situation meant nothing.

  Laughing, I turned to face Tatum. “Dude! We nee—” I was upside down, swung over a set of thick shoulders as my hair fell down and I was face first with a glorious ass.

  “Bishop!” I growled, but he continued to take me upstairs to the VIP area. He threw me onto the sofa and then sat next to me, a cigarette sticking out the side of his mouth and picked up his drink, blowing out the smoke. “What were you saying?” he casually asked the blonde, who was looking between the two of us nervously.

  I brushed my hair out of my face and shoved him. “Fuck you!”

  “Ignore her, she loves it.” He winked at the blonde and sat back, perching his foot on the table in the middle. I dragged my eyes around the boys and saw all the Kings, except Nate and Brantley.

  “Where are Brantley and Nate?” I drilled Bishop, trying hard not to make eye contact with Hunter and Jase. In fact, everything was rather tense. Everyone was watching Bishop like he was Tony Montana and about to shoot up this club. Maybe I need to try a new tactic. He was obviously a lot more angry about this whole thing than I imagined. He hadn’t completely lost his cool with me, but he was off.

  “Bishop,” I whispered, just as Tatum came to us. Her eyes found Khales and Justin, and her eyebrow went up.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, bitch?”

  My girl was feisty as fuck.

  I laughed. “Sic ‘em, girl…” Then went back to more pressing issues, leaving Tatum and Khales to argue, but silently praying Khales threw a punch so I could smack her one. Just once. Maybe twice. I needed water.

  Bishop ignored me, smiling at the blonde girl, but his jaw tensed and the vein on the side of his neck pulsed. He was mad as shit, so mad that he was masking it with all of this bullshit. I looked up at Jase who was already staring at me. He shook his head, gazing at Bishop worried.

  I did this.

  Closing my eyes, I opened them and then lowered my voice. “Bishop?” My hands went to his thigh and he stiffened. That was like swallowing a harsh pill. “Can we go for a walk?”

  It was as though all the Kings were watching our exchange. This was my fault, so I had to somehow fix it. Bishop’s smile dropped. “Leave,” he said to the blonde, who was so quick out of her seat I barely saw it happen. He turned his head toward me. “Pretty sure we talked about this.”

  “Pretty sure we fucking didn’t,” I snapped back, my eyes piercing his in a challenge. He stood up, grabbed my hand, and then started dragging me out of the club.

  His grip was tight around my wrist as he dragged me out of the club, tight enough to leave a bruise. We hit the back exit, out onto an alleyway.

  “Talk!” he said, too calmly. I looked around the dark alley, empty and cold. At least we were alone. For once.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He sneered. “You’re sorry?” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Shit.

  “Yes!” I quipped, coming closer to him. “I—I lashed out. I didn’t, I don’t, God, Bishop! I make shitty decisions.”

  He backed me up against the wall, the cool concrete freezing my back, then wrapped his hands around my thighs and hooked them around his waist. “I’m not done with your punishment.”

  “Punishment?” I implored, tilting my head. His eyes started getting distracted by my clothes, his head moving all over the place.

  “Yeah. And don’t get me started on Brantley and Nate, which you will watch, by the way.” His hand came to my nipple and I sucked in a breath as his thumb swiped over it. He pulled my breast out, the cold night air whisking around it boldly, and sucked it into his mouth. Biting on it harshly, he pulled back and lowered me back to my feet.

  “We’re going to a bar.”

  “What?” I tucked my tit back into my bra. Damn caveman. Then trailed after him.

  “There’s a reason why I don’t drink, Kitty, and you’re about to witness why.”

  “Witness? I think I’ve seen enough. Can we go home.”

  His laughter echoed off the brick walls and set up shop in my bones. “No.”

  I followed him down the main street as we passed clubs and late night restaurants. He tore his shirt off and tucked it into the back of his jeans pocket before stopping abruptly. I slammed into his bare back, trying to ignore the massive tattoo that stretched out wide against his flesh. The skull just below his wings on the back of his neck had a crown sitting on its head and the words “King” was tattooed over his nape. The man was sex on legs. I really needed to take him home. “Now what?” He was a man on a mission.

  I watched as the bright red neon lights blazed over his smirking face.

  I followed his line of sight. “Oh no…”

  “Oh yes…” he mimicked, crossing the road—fuck the cars that are zipping past.

  “Bishop!” I yelled, running into the road while dodging beeping cars and following him across. He pushed open the front doors that led into the tattoo studio and I quickly slipped in behind him. A tall man with a long beard and a motorcycle patch on walked out, stopping in his tracks when he caught both of us. His eyes ran over Bishop. “Is this a coincidence, B, or what?”

  Of course he knew this scary man. Why wouldn’t he.

  Bishop’s head cranked over his shoulder, a grin tickling the corner of his lips. “She wants something.”

  “I do?” I quirked my eyebrow.

  Big scary biker dude’s eyes flew to mine, then he grinned. “What you want, pretty girl.”

  “Hey, eyes off.”

  Biker dude chortled, then nudged his head towards the hallway he just walked out from. Bishop led the way, his bare muscled back taunting me. We passed a couple of smaller stalls, all set up differently. There must be around four artists who work here. I admire the work hanging on the walls as we continue down. Biker dude walked straight ahead, his stal
l obviously at the head of the hallway.

  “Wow,” I took in all the art. “This is amazing.” Stealing my gaze away from the beautiful colors and grey shading, I looked down at the red seat that reclined into a bed in the middle, and biker dude sat down on his chair, picking up his gun. I gulped.

  “You know, I used to work for a studio in New Zealand.”

  “Yeah?” Bishop interfered, sitting in the chair beside the bed. “What? Do I need to fly over there to add him to the list?”

  I hopped up onto the red leather, grasping the edge. “Don’t be stupid. It never got that far.”

  Bishop laughed, his head tilting back and his glorious abs tightening from the motion. “Right, because he isn’t a King. I forgot, you only do royal cock.”

  “Bishop!” I snapped, then looked back to biker dude who was putting gloves on. “Sorry, he’s a little…”

  “I’m fine.” Then he took his attention to Biker dude. “Lemme do this one. I’ll owe you.”

  Biker dude’s eyebrow rose, and then he looked between the two of us. “You don’t owe me shit, and sure.”

  “Ah!” I threw my finger up. “Hello, but I’ve never seen your artwork and I don’t know what I want. How about I sketch something up right now and let biker guy stencil it up and then you can tattoo me.” Jesus Christ, I was losing my mind. He wasn’t a hundred percent sober, but I was going to let him tattoo me anyway. Usually, when couples go in to do this sort of thing, it’s romantic. Not us though, oh no. I’ll be getting inked out of hate.

  “No deal, Kitty,” Bishop pointed to the bed. “Lay down.”

  “Jesus,” I whispered, laying back.

  His hand came to my bare rib, and his thumb glided over it softly, the tenderness of his touch sending tingles down to my toes. I looked at him, catching his stare right at me. A moment passed between us, my heart thundering in my chest. Then the gun sounded, breaking our eye contact and the silence, and Bishop dipped the tip into the little pot, then stretched my skin out over my rib cage just below my bra line. A sharp sting sliced through my flesh and I flinched. “Jesus.”

  “Yeah,” Biker added, finally jumping in. He stood and tilted his head at the spot. “That’ll be tender, sweetheart. So you’re an artist?” he asked, and I appreciated the attempt at taking my mind off whatever I just allowed Bishop to indent into my skin—for life.

  “Yeah,” I cleared my throat, trying to take my mind out of the pinching pain. The gun stopped and then started again. “I drew for him, his custom pieces. I loved it.”

  “Why’d you leave?” I didn’t look at him, because I was too afraid to move.

  “Well,” I let out an exhausted breath. “I was running away from this psycho.” Biker crackled out a laugh.

  “Ah, I see. I’ll have to check out your work some time.” It turned out, I made a mis-judgment. Big scary biker dude is actually a nice human and not scary at all.

  “I’d like that.” Flinching, twenty minutes passed before the gun stopped and Bishop threw off the gloves.

  “Oh God, I’m scared.”

  “It’s done.” He stood from the chair, looked down at his work, and then a dark smirk crept onto his mouth.

  Biker’s lips pinched together, holding in his laughter and I swung my legs off the bed, walking to the full-length mirror that was on the other side of the room.

  “Bishop!” I squeaked. His laugh reverberated in the background. Just below my bra line was the letters B V H. Deep breaths. In and out. I twisted my torso, actually liking the placement, and it’s not like he splashed B I S H O P over me in big letters. It was subtle, yet faintly possessive. He came up behind me and my eyes flew to his in the mirror. His strong, tanned muscles against my tiny frame.

  His laughing died out when he saw my face. “You like it.”

  “I sort of love it.”

  He seemed to sober a little, his eyes looking less frantic.

  I clapped my hands together. “My turn!”

  He froze. “Oh no, nope, fuck off.”

  Biker was laughing in the background, and I turned to take the chair Bishop was sitting on. “Behind Blue Eyes” by Limp Bizkit started playing in the close distance, and I nudged my head, a cheesy smile spread on my face. I already knew what I was going to do and I couldn’t wait to see it in person instead of the intricate design being splashed inside my head. Slowly, Bishop started walking to the table, and I leaned into Biker. “He’s had a lot to drink so we might need extra wipes.”

  Biker dude’s eyes shot up in shock that I had known that, and then he reached over, grabbing the wipes and handing them to me.

  “Guess you’re about to see my work,” I teased, giddy that I was about to leave my mark on Bishop.

  Bishop laid back and his eyes came to mine. “Go on then, baby, give me your worst.” Yeah, he was probably hoping I’d do something reckless, but Bishop’s body was a perfectly carved canvas, and I respected art too much to scribble nonsense on him in the name of revenge. Dipping into the ink, I fired up the gun and stretched the skin on the side of his neck. The gun vibrated in my hand, it definitely looked easier than what it was. I totally underestimated artists. Pencils don’t shake. But as soon as the needle struck his neck, it flowed smoothly. My vision became zoned onto the task at hand, and an hour later, I was done.

  I sat back, cracking my neck. “Done.”

  “Fuck,” Bishop smirked at me.

  Biker came in from making himself a coffee and paused when he saw the new ink. “Holy shit.”

  “I’m not even surprised, you know I’ll get you back for this, right?” Bishop grunted, getting to his feet and looking a lot more sober than he was a couple hours ago. The time must be pushing close to midnight by now and my weeping muscles would agree with me. Bishop went to the mirror and I watched as his face changed when he took in what I had done. I came up behind him and scanned the crisp new piece. It was a smudged Swan, shaded in a way that made her look silver. She had a crown pressed slightly on top of her head, and shards of broken pieces spraying out everywhere, with a bullet embedded into the metal. It looked peaceful, yet compelling. I was totally taking a photo of this.

  “That’s fucking amazing.” His eyes came to mine in the mirror.

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Hey! Just saying,” Biker called out from behind, breaking our contact. “If you ever need a job, I’m here.”

  “Thanks,” I grinned smugly, but I probably wouldn’t take him up on it.

  “Or, if you both just wanna come use my shit, I’m cool with that too.”

  My grin turned evil on Bishop, and he chuckled. “Bro, don’t give her any ideas.”

  We left not long after that, with Bishop handing him a decent stack of cash. I waited outside for him, after learning that biker dude’s name was Malcolm. My phone started ringing in my pocket, so I reached for it, swiping it unlocked.

  “You okay?” Tatum called through the phone.

  “Yep! We’re good! Hopefully I can drag his ass home now.”

  She chuckled. “Dude, he looked so pissed. Nate is taking me home.”

  “He’s there?” I straightened. “Put him on.”

  There was muffled silence and then Nate’s voice came through. “Hey, Kitty.” He sounded tired, defeated.

  “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  Silence.

  “Nate?”

  “Yeah, not much, everything is all good. Do you need a ride or anything, since I’m apparently an Uber service.” I could just picture him glaring at Tatum. Poor Tatum. I knew how strong her feelings were for Nate, but unfortunately, his feelings were rooted elsewhere.

  “I’m good.”

  “You sure?” His tone was suspicious.

  “Yeah, I’ll be home later. Maybe.”

  “Alright then. Holla if you need me.” Then he hung up. Actually hung up on me.

  “Rude,” I muttered, shoving it into my pocket just as Bishop came walking out the door, pulling his shirt over his head. Th
ank God.

  “Home?” I asked, hoping he’d say yes.

  “Yeah,” he grunted, suddenly looking tired. He pulled out his phone and sent a text, then looked back to me. “They’ll be here in five.”

  “Okay,” I added, my eyes staying on his. I needed to say something. There was so much tension between us, intangible and undiluted tension that I knew the minute we were alone back at his house, hell was going to erupt. He shook his head in disbelief and yanked his eyes away from me, gazing out in front of him.

  I went to open my mouth to say something else when the limo pulled up beside us and the back door swung open. Bishop’s smile returned and he slid into the back. I stopped for a second, thinking what the actual fuck I was doing.

  “Get in the fucking car, Kitty!”

  Guess I was getting in the car.

  I squeezed into the limo, because now all the Kings, plus the slut was in the back. Slut being right beside Bishop and me on the other side. Remembering it was close to midnight, I yawned. My body was aching and my eyes were heavy.

  “Bishop, can you take me home?” I needed sleep, stat.

  “Gladly,” Khales snickered, her hand going to Bishop’s thigh. I turned rigid, then my eyes went to Jase.

  “What were you two lovebirds doing? You’re both still alive, which is a good thing…” Jase chuckled.

  “Getting tattoos,” I admitted as if it was no big deal. Their eyes scanned me up and down, and then went to Bishop, finally seeing the swan on his neck. That became the topic of conversation and I took this time to gaze out the window, wallowing in the empty feeling that had settled in my gut. I hated feeling like this, I hated feeling like I didn’t matter to him. I still didn’t have any answers, and like usual, everything was moving at Bishop’s pace—not mine.

  “Mal is a fucking dope artist,” Cash nodded, gesturing to the swan.