Ink couldn’t say no to my request.
“If you want,” he grumbled. “It will be mostly admin work at first, Ama, you know that.”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Really?” He sounded doubtful. “You’ll have to talk to people and try to keep the place somewhat organized. Then there’s the cleaning shit you’ll need to learn—”
“So?” I huffed. “You think I can’t learn that stuff?”
“Of course, I do, I just don’t know if you want to. It isn’t all art and sketching, babe. There’s more to it than that.”
Slowly, I rubbed my chin over his forearm. “I know.”
He released a short laugh at that. “You do, huh?”
“I do.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Why not.”
My lips curved. “Thank you. Can I start tomorrow?”
“So eager,” he teased lightly.
“Definitely.” I’d been waiting for this opportunity since I was sixteen. I wanted to work with Ink so damn badly that I’d have been willing to drop out of high school if my momma hadn’t threatened to take me to class every day and tie me to the chair.
Graduation was a big deal to my mom. My daddies, too.
He hummed under his breath. “Go to sleep. We have work in the morning.”
Excitement buzzed inside me, and it only stirred hotter and faster as he stayed exactly where he was—not moving away from me, not twisting to lie flat on his back.
We were as close as two spoons in the silverware drawer, and I wasn’t about to complain about that.
Normally, I fell back asleep with a respectable three feet between us, with Ink nearly hugging the edge of the bed. Now that I thought about it, I should have realized he’d been awake all along. Each and every time I’d awoken with a bang, he had too, and he’d hugged me through it before mumbling in his sleep and rolling over, putting distance between us.
Tonight, he didn’t.
Tonight, he stayed close, and I loved it.
Loved his heat, his hardness. Loved how safe and secure I felt.
When I awoke the next morning, it was to find his side of the bed empty, but I knew, point blank, that another nightmare hadn’t stirred me into wakefulness.
Why?
Because he’d held me close? Tucked me so tightly into him that I didn’t know where he’d begun and I ended?
As I spread out on his sheets, I star-fished and took a moment to savor the scent of him in his own personal space.
When my daddies had moved out of the clubhouse after momma and I had returned home, taking us to the custom-built house that was just across the compound, the single councilors and a dozen or so brothers had moved in too, filling the place to full.
Ink’s room was unsurprisingly plain, except for the work he had on the wall. Whether he liked to admit it or not, ink and flesh were his medium, but he was more than just a tattoo artist. He was an artist.
The plain white walls, the simple IKEA dressers, and the navy comforter didn’t speak of a biker. Hell, they just spoke pure bachelor. But the pictures he’d hung? Jesus, they were good—anything from Chinese-style dragons that soared over a three-foot by three-foot canvas, to tribal patterns that were heavy on repetition and detail.
Even though the pieces themselves weren’t original concepts, the flair they were completed with was. I’d never seen work like Ink’s before, and the fact I was in love with him was only one of the reasons I wanted to work with him. Being at the tattoo parlor would bring us closer together, sure, and that was one of my goals, but being taught by Ink would be like a dream come true.
His work created splashes of vibrancy amid a blank canvas of an anonymous hotel room, which was quite fitting considering the clubhouse was a seventies style motel. It had two floors—a wide reception area that had been converted into a common room, complete with bar and a small games room, and then at the opposite end, the family room and kitchen where the kids hung out.
Most of my life had been spent in or around the family room, and graduating had meant I could actually enter the common room—even though I knew my dads loathed it when I crossed the threshold.
I couldn’t blame them, not when I’d seen what I had. I knew if my momma wasn’t my momma, they’d have refused me entry, but Lucifer Steeler was all about equal rights, and if Matty and Seamus were going to be allowed in, then I sure as hell was going to be extended those rights too.
I had a feeling that was because I wasn’t the type of daughter my mother had expected. She’d thought I’d be a rebel, true hellspawn, and instead I quietly obeyed all their dictates, listened when they asked me to, and behaved myself. Maybe if I’d been the former, she wouldn’t have let me.
And yeah, I knew how ass backward that was, but I wasn’t going to complain, not when it meant I got to attend a lot of the parties that were held here.
See, I’d learned that rebellion came in two forms. If I argued, they didn’t trust me—my brothers were proof positive of that. When I complied, they thought I was a good girl and that I could be trusted.
But I couldn’t.
I did everything with a purpose in mind. A purpose that saw me with a lot more freedom than my brothers ever had. And that freedom? I used it to hang around with Saints and Keys, and to sneak into Ink’s room the way I did.
Parties were a way of life at the MC, and again, unlike my brothers, I never missed one.
Every weekend, there were two in the bar, and then on Sunday, it was a kind of family day. In summer, there was a BBQ, and in winter, it was like a hog roast where my dads and the older guys all hung around bitching as the beast cooked itself on the spit they’d made.
Personally, I preferred the Sunday family days, but Saint and Keys liked the parties and I liked hanging around with them.
Sure, I cramped their style, but that was my exact intention. I couldn’t stop them from sleeping with the sweetbutts, but I could sure as hell do my best to put a crimp in their plans.
Sweetbutts and clubwhores were another reason I loathed runs.
Only God knew what they’d get up to in my grandfather’s clubhouse. Without me there… ugh. Jealousy swirled inside me, enough so that it had me surging out of the covers and into a standing position.
Sometimes, they were so fucking obtuse that I wanted to scream at them. Other days, I just felt like flashing them my tits. Maybe if I did, they’d see me. See me and want me as much as I wanted them.
There were three men I’d die for. Literally die for, and none of them saw me as anything other than an irritation or a sister.
A sister.
God help me.
Stretching and pouting at the same time, I didn’t head into Ink’s shower like I wanted to. Instead, I moved toward the door, opened it a crack and, after making sure the coast was clear, I stepped out.
As I headed down the steps, I heard a door open below me. The top level housed MC brothers, whereas the bottom level housed the communal rooms and the bedrooms of the sweetbutts.
When I approached the bottom step, I saw Bubbles head out, tossing her teased hair over her shoulders when she saw me. Her brow quirked at the sight of me on the staircase, and her smirk had me narrowing my eyes at her.
On principal, a part of me had always wanted to dislike the sweetbutts. Especially knowing that a lot of them fucked the bikers whether they had old ladies or wives or not. But I’d been raised with many of them, knew some of them were good people, even if the ones like Bubbles were pure trash.
She’d been sniffing around me lately. I wasn’t sure what her end game was and I wasn’t interested. I recognized a snake in the grass when I saw one.
“What are you doing up there?” she asked, her eyes narrowed on me to the point where she pretty much looked like they were closed.
I frowned at her. “Since when do I have to answer to you?”
It wasn’t like I lived up to the title, but I was the princess here. I answered to my parents, an
d if I was in danger or endangering the MC, then I answered to the MC brothers. The sweetbutts, on the other hand, held no power over me.
“Not sure your momma would appreciate knowing you were sniffing around the brothers’ rooms.”
Her snipe didn’t hit home, mostly because she had no idea who Lucie Steeler was, or what the Prez’s old lady wanted for her daughter… Sure, it was weird, but my momma pretty much wanted me to be normal. Not because she wanted me to rebel, not because there was anything wrong with me supposedly being average. No, my momma knew my past held me back, and she loathed that.
If she thought I was fucking around with a biker, she’d probably be relieved. My daddies less so, but they weren’t who Bubbles had used to threaten me.
My lips curved. “Feel free to tell her.”
Bubbles scowled. “Huh?”
“Tell. Her.” I scowled back. “Wait, you can’t, can you?” This time, my lips curved wider into an outright grin. “Because Momma said she’d throw out any sweetbutt who thought they could talk to her like they were her equals.”
Bubbles’ face blanched then turned a bright pink that was all the brighter for the sheer absence of color mere moments before.
Without another word, she spun on her heel and strode off as fast as she could in the too-high pumps she couldn’t walk in. With her tiny ass half out, thanks to the shorts that were like bikini bottoms but were actually jeans, and the string bikini bra covering her fake boobs, she looked like a stripper walking to the pole.
“What did you do that for?”
Wincing when I heard my daddy’s voice and the flicker of the lighter that told me, without wasting even a second in thought, which daddy was there, I looked over my shoulder and saw Flame leaning against the door studying me. His face, as usual, was expressionless, but there was definitely a watchfulness about him that told me he’d been there a while and was curious.
“Why did I do what, Daddy?” I asked, stepping over to him and leaning up on tiptoe so I could press a kiss to his cheek.
He was tall with bright red hair and so many freckles Momma said she couldn’t put a pin where there wasn’t any. She’d said other stuff that made me think he was covered everywhere, but I really didn’t want to focus on that.
“Taunt her.” He tipped his head to the side. “Not like you, baby.”
“I don’t like her. She’s been hanging around me, making insinuations.”
His mouth tightened for a second. “About what?”
I bit my bottom lip. “Saint and her.”
He tutted. “You know the brothers and the sweetbutts are—”
Lifting a hand, I grumbled, “I know. I’m not jealous. Not much,” I corrected when he cocked a brow at me. “But I just don’t trust her.”
“With good reason,” a voice rasped.
Hearing my mom and knowing she’d be on my side, I turned into her hold when she slipped her arm around my waist.
“Why you interrogating our girl, Flame?”
Her voice was husky, and even though no daughter liked to think these things, I noticed too much not to spot his visceral reaction to it. The face was my inspiration, after all. I loved drawing features, expressions, you name it. And as my momma’s gravelly tones spilled forth, I saw my daddy’s pupils dilate in full force.
Lucie Steeler had something I never would—presence. She oozed a sensuality that kept four men in line.
God, was it any wonder I couldn’t get Ink, Saint, or Keys’ attention? I looked like her, kind of, but I had the blonde hair that was pure Wolfe, my biological dad, and a feminine version of his features. My body was all Mom’s though. That had to be in my favor, right?
“Not interrogating her,” he denied gruffly, his eyes flickering over her in a way that told me he was stripping her down—ew.
“No? Sounds like it to me. That Bubbles is a bitch.” She squeezed me and peered down at me from the height her heels gave her.
Somewhere around my thirteenth birthday, she’d morphed from shitkicker boots to heels. I wasn’t sure why, but it’d had my daddies panting after her ever since—she was a smart cookie, especially with so many sweetbutts around. At the time, it had made me wonder if there was something going on with their relationship, something bad, but they always presented a tight image.
Even though I was technically behind closed doors, I wasn’t sure if anyone ever truly knew the state of any relationship unless you were in it yourself.
“You think all the sweetbutts are bitches,” Dad responded, but he was grinning at her—Flame was always doing that around my mom. The man barely smiled at anyone, but around her, and me too, that unique twitch of his lips came out more often than not.
“That’s ‘cause they are.” She sniffed, then, to me, directed, “You tell her where to fuck off if you need to, and if she doesn’t listen, shoot her my way. I’ll have fun tearing her to shreds.”
Her grin promised death to any clubwhore who thought they could approach her without handling the consequences of such stupidity.
Flame snickered, then winked at her. “Just remember all the ways I taught you to hurt a man without spilling a drop of blood.”
I blinked at that, but wasn’t really surprised. I’d heard plenty of worse shit over the years, and the promise of violence to a woman who’d just been annoying me didn’t come as a surprise.
My family was protective, and that was why Bubbles was an idiot for thinking she could aggravate me without punishment.
“It’s okay. I’ll deal with it,” I told them both firmly, not particularly wanting bones to be broken or blood to be spilled.
Lucie grunted. “What are you doing coming from upstairs anyway?”
I heard the teasing note in her voice and my cheeks flamed in response. Dad just raised his hands and grumbled, “No father needs to hear this conversation.”
When he slipped back into the main office, Mom hauled me away for coffee and girl talk. Not that I told her everything, just the basics, and not who either.
It was weird to see her relief at my doing normal things, but I understood. She’d always feel guilty for what I went through, and though I didn’t blame her, that didn’t mean she didn’t blame herself.
It was probably what made her such a good mom—her selflessness where her kids were concerned, and the fact that she’d go to hell and back to make sure we were safe.
❖
Keys
As I stared at the brothers around me who were in the middle of getting their cocks sucked or fucked by clubwhore pussy, I drank more of my beer and settled in for the show.
I had no intention of getting my dick wet. Not tonight. There was too much at stake. This was my first run, and I didn’t intend to fuck shit up by getting drunk on booze or pussy. Nope, I needed my wits about me because I wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity.
Prospects didn’t usually go on runs. We stuck to the clubhouse, did shitty chores, handled whatever the brothers wanted us to do—be it walk their monster dogs or get them a beer. Until we were patched in, we were their fucking slaves, but it was a rite of passage that we all moaned about, but we respected too.
Every single brother in the MC had walked in my boots and that united us. Would tie us together even more when we went from being a Prospect to a full-fledged member of the club.
So, my presence here was more than unusual, and the reason was the fact that my pop was banged up and had made the request of the Prez.
The reason?
My sister.
She’d run off to the Satan’s Knights a few years back, and Pop had heard whispers that her old man was beating her up. I was here to make sure that wasn’t true, and if it was, to show him how he should be respecting her.
So far, I hadn’t even seen her, which was suspicious in itself—
“The fuck?” Saint growled out, jerking me from my thoughts.
When I peered where he was staring, I saw a woman waddling toward us. I had to blink a few times before I registere
d exactly who it was, and when I recognized the woman as being Kenzie, I leaped to my feet and hurried over to her.
She snuggled into my arms the minute I was there, and if I hadn’t seen the makeup plastered onto her face, anyone would think she was just happy to see her bro. But no, Kenzie wasn’t a hugger. She wasn’t affectionate. Never had been. Never would be.
Yet… here she was, hugging me like she was gluing us together, and it was weird. Weird as fuck.
I patted her back, and even though I was used to hugs because Ama was very tactile—thank fuck for that—I just wasn’t used to them with my sister. Yeah, sad, I knew, but it just made this even weirder.
“Jamie,” she whispered, using my real name and not my road name.
“Kenzie, what the fuck is going on? How come this is the first time I’ve heard you’re pregnant?”
She gulped, burrowing further into my arms. “Can you get me away from here?”
I pulled back, tipped her chin up, and stared at her. She had thickly coated foundation on her cheekbones and around her eyes, and her nose had a definite bump to it that hadn’t been there the last time I’d seen her.
“Is he knocking you around?” Of course, I could see that with my own fucking eyes—I wasn’t a dumb fuck—but she had to admit that to me. Had to say it to me before I could do anything to help her.
She was raining shit down on us, and she didn’t even fucking know it. Wars were started over old ladies, and this was even worse because she was carrying the fucker’s baby.
“Y-Yes,” she whispered, sounding so miserable that for a second, it was hard to connect her voice to the one I’d heard screeching at me for most of my life.
Kenzie and I hadn’t had the best of relationships growing up. She was six years older than me, liked me to know that, and had usually been the first to talk smack about me to our parents. She was a snitch, and I’d had my ass whooped too many times to count because of her, but all that shit fell away in the face of her misery and hurt.
At her admission, I squeezed her tightly and mumbled, “Come and sit with me?”
“Yeah. Hex is over there,” she murmured, pointing to the fucker who was her old man. Seeing him feeling up a sweetbutt, not having taken the fucking time or shown me the respect of introducing himself to me burned. Hard.
Their Saint: Hell’s Rebel’s MC Part II Page 4
