Before I can continue, Trapper is ripped from my grasp and tossed backward, landing on his ass. Then the iris eyes of Dover Ragnes are in front of me, his nostrils flaring with each labored breath he takes, and I wait for him to breathe fire like a dragon.
“Don’t, Emerson,” he says in a low growl.
“Don’t what, Dover?” I bat my eyelashes obnoxiously. “I’m here, at my place of employment. If you don’t like how I handle business, feel free to leave and take your crew with ya.”
“You don’t wanna start something with me,” Dover warns.
“You’re right; I don’t want to start a damn thing with you, Dover. However, you seem to have landed yourself right in front of me, so unless you’re turning to walk away, we’re at an impasse.”
Pushing Dover aside, a tall man extends his hand to me. “Hey, Sonnie, pleasure to meet you,” he says with a southern twang, making me wonder where he is from. “Call me Judge. The fool on the floor, we call him Trapper, as you figured out already.” He points to the man behind him who is getting up. “This guy is ‘X’. He hates his first name, so we tell everyone to call him Owen just to wind him up. The beast in the back is Rowdy. The last of our group is Deacon. He don’t talk much, but when he does, it’s gonna be important, like going to church and shit.”
I laugh at his introductions and hear the sharp intake of Dover’s breath, causing me to stop immediately.
“Where are you from, Judge?” I ask, still wondering about his accent.
“Carolina boy. South Carolina, that is.”
I nod my head.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot here,” Judge adds. “Collector’s an ass. The rest of us aren’t like him.”
Dover shoves his friend. “You tell a fucking lie. Look, what Judge here is saying is true. We’re off to the wrong start. We need to get some ink.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place for that.”
Trapper laughs and looks directly at me. “Oh, sweets, I’m sure any place you are is a place men are coming … in more ways than one.”
Dover looks over at his friend, and I swear, if looks could kill, he just committed murder.
X wraps Trapper in a head lock and, as he pushes his head down, whispers to him, “If you don’t shut your fucking trap, I’m gonna stuff my balls down your throat to keep you quiet.”
I watch as his forearm flexes in the added tension to Trapper’s neck before Trapper taps against his arm to stop him.
“Got it, got it,” he cries out, gasping for air.
“We’re dirty fuckin’ men, but we’ll try to be on our best behavior, ma’am,” Judge says with a smile so fake but so big I can’t help being in awe of his beautiful teeth. For a man who is so rough on the outside, I am enamored by his desire to make me comfortable.
I watch as Dover continually opens and closes his fists, obviously fighting a battle within himself.
Earl makes his way back to the front and drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Well, fellas, Randy made it to work today after all, so if y’all are wanting ink, he can take three, and Sonnie can take three.”
“Trapper, you can check out Randy’s work. The rest of us will wait for Emerson.” Dover’s iris eyes meet mine once again, but this time, there is a genuine softness to them that has my belly flipping over inside. “Even if we gotta break it up into more than one day. She’s worth the wait, no matter how long it takes.”
“No arguing that point with ya, Collector,” Old Dog says before giving me a squeeze. “Got ya set up, Sonnie.”
“Well, then who’s first, boys?” I ask as Trapper and X whisper in the back about something I can’t hear.
“I’m gonna go on back with pussy boy,” X says as Trapper playfully shoves him. “I mean, Trapper. See what he can get done with that cocksucker.”
“Wait just one fucking minute,” I say as my anger grows. Randy may not be reliable, and he may not be a social butterfly, but to call him a cocksucker when they have never even met him ticks me off. “You aren’t going to sit in my chair or his while acting like that. We may not have a lot in this shop, but we fucking have loyalty.”
Old Dog gives me a squeeze. “Guys, you can’t say shit like that,” he chastises and looks at me. “Proud of you.”
“Proud nothing,” I reply, glaring at X. “Randy ain’t my best friend, but he ain’t a cocksucker.”
Trapper folds over laughing as X meets my stare.
“No, he’s not a cocksucker. I have to see what he can do with my cocksucker,” Trapper manages to get out as he tries to breathe.
“He has this tattoo,” X begins to explain while Trapper unzips his pants and pulls them down with absolutely no shame.
The man’s penis flies out, half hard and huge. I can see why he isn’t embarrassed to whip it out so freely. The mushroom tip proudly sticks out as it occurs to me this man doesn’t wear underwear.
My mouth hangs open in shock as Trapper gives himself a quick stroke.
“What the …?” Randy asks, coming up to the front and witnessing his client with his dick hanging out.
Earl laughs and looks at Randy.
“Meet Trapper. Seems he has a cocksucker you need to fix,” I explain.
“Well, two actually,” Trapper replies casually as my eyes finally roam to the top of his penis where I see not one but two red and white swirled lollipops inked right above his shaft.
Randy shakes his head and looks back and forth between Earl and me. “What am I supposed to do with that?” He looks back at Trapper. “And whatever made you think that was a good idea?”
“I wanted to fuck this broad. She was young,” he starts to explain, and my eyes grow big. “Oh, no, not that young. She was legal and shit, but had just returned from some religious boarding school that was all girls. Well, I was joking about her age, and I said, ‘Hey, little girl, want some candy?’ Long story short, she said yes. Well, I dropped my pants, and she thoroughly inspected my junk with her hands and mouth, only to tell me she searched and searched but couldn’t find anything sweet” —he starts to pull up his pants—“even after she swallowed my icing.” Trapper even uses air quotes as he says icing, making Randy laugh while I stand still in shock. “Turns out she thought I was serious and had candy. Apparently, she was ridiculously sheltered. I figured, just to make sure I didn’t tell the lie again, I should get some lollipops down there for the ladies to find. You know, before they have my not so peppermint surprise.” Trapper smiles proudly.
“I kinda wanna punch you in the nuts,” I tell him, truly wanting to put his cock in a vice and tighten it until the head turns blue.
He clears his throat. “As I have grown and matured, I have come to realize”—he stands up a little taller—“ladies don’t like that story, and when they see my cocksuckers, they tend to want an explanation.”
“And that explanation leads to him and his balls being harmed.” X steps up to finish for Trapper while he cups himself protectively.
Dover, seemingly growing frustrated, steps around the counter. He takes me by the hand and pulls me out of Earl’s grasp. “Sort it out, guys; I have an appointment with Emerson.”
“Sonnie,” I correct as he guides me down the hall.
Dismissing my correction, he asks, “Which room is yours?”
I jerk my hand back and stop. “I’m not inking anything for Raleigh on you.” I pause. “And if you have your own set of cocksuckers, ball blasters, or anything in your personal man regions, I’m not going there, either.” Nodding my head, convincing myself as much as him, I say, “Yup. Pretty much, I’m not doing anything that has me touching your dick or your balls ever.”
“Is that a challenge, Emerson?” he asks as the rasp in his voice returns, making my name come out throaty and lusty.
My nipples harden, and my body comes to life.
“No,” I answer barely over a whisper.
He steps to me, bringing his mouth to my ear. Each time he exhales, I smell the menthol of his cigaret
te and feel his breath coming down hot on my neck.
“First of all, my sister isn’t here; what we have between us is between us. I’m no cocksucker, but I like to have my cock sucked. There is a difference; don’t confuse the two. I don’t have candy or the likes near my dick. There is nothing about me that’s sweet. I’m a man, darlin’: all hard, all rough, all day, and all fucking night.”
He puts his hands down around my waist then slides them down to cup my ass before he pulls me to him. “I see little Emerson has grown into a beautiful woman with a sassy mouth. You should know that shit makes me hard. Tell yourself, tell your neighbor, tell the damn preacher at the church house, whatever you want. But, Emerson”—he squeezes my ass hard, and I feel like I’m going to explode with need—“if I want you on my cock, that’s where you’ll be. When I finish what I came here for and you’re still around, throwing your attitude and making my dick hard, then honey, you’ll be more than touching it. You’ll be sucking it, riding it, and loving it. Consider yourself warned.” Without another word, he releases me, steps back, and moves to the side for me to lead him into my room.
How the fuck am I supposed to work after that?
Trapper may have the cocksucker inked on him, but Dover ‘Collector’ Ragnes deserves to be kicked in the nuts more than his dumbass friend.
Chapter Seven
~Dover~
On a sigh, she sits down on her little rolling stool before reaching to her tray of inkwells. “What’s it gonna be, Dover?” She lifts her head to me with a serious look, reminding for the hundredth time, “Nothing for Raleigh.”
“Why not?” I ask, sitting in the chair and removing my shirt.
“Boundaries, Dover. You should learn about them.”
I reach out and touch my hand to the ink on her wrist. “That’s for Raleigh.”
She nods her head, biting her bottom lip. I see her eyes begin to glass over in unshed tears.
“Not a minute of any day goes by that I don’t think of her.” I feel the prickle crawl up my spine as my emotions still feel so close to bursting even after all these years. “Don’t put her between us, Emerson.”
She blinks slowly and inhales. On her exhale, she pops open her eyes to meet mine with all the fire she has inside. “There is no us, Dover.” I can see her eyes working to hide the battle she is having with herself. Good to know she feels it, too. “The only connection we had is long gone. You’re a stranger, a client.”
I give a half-smile as she takes the bait. “Well, since you say you want to be professional and we’re nothing more than a client and artist, then I’ll tell you what I want, and you need not ask any questions about the meaning.”
She narrows her eyes at me, realizing I set her up.
Pulling off my shirt, I sit back in the chair as my abs flex involuntarily from my movement. Watching Emerson lick her lips in appreciation, I find myself smiling.
When was the last time I really smiled? My mind goes back … always back to a time when Raleigh was with me.
“Faster, Dover! I wanna go faster,” Raleigh squeals in delight behind me.
I just passed my motorcycle safety course, and it’s the first ride my dad let me take her on. I have to get her home before my mom; otherwise, we are all going to be up shit’s creek. She will certainly freak the fuck out.
Maybe it’s the age difference. Maybe it’s because she was born a girl. Whatever it is, I have loved being Raleigh’s brother from the day she was born. The first time I held her, I promised to be her protector. I never like hearing her cry, and I live to hear her laugh.
Twisting the throttle, I take us a little faster, but only for a moment before I slow back down to keep her safe.
We make it home, and she climbs off, stowing her helmet in the garage tool box where we hide it.
“Remember, it’s our secret.” I smile at her.
She comes over and gives me her pinky in promise that our rides stay between us so Mom won’t kill me and ground her for life.
All my good memories involve Raleigh until they simply don’t exist anymore, because she doesn’t exist. Selfishly, I sent her away. I sent her to her doom. I broke my promise. I let her down. Suddenly, the tattoo I wanted doesn’t feel deserved.
Emerson looks at me with her eyes shifting from side to side as if she can see the battle inside me.
“So what’s it gonna be, old man?” Emerson tries to lighten the atmosphere between us. “Grateful Dead dancing bears? Ying and Yang symbol?” She smiles at me, her eyes glowing with excitement. “I know, a fifties-style pinup girl sitting on an anchor.”
“Only if she looks like you,” I counter.
She doesn’t reply as I follow her gaze to my chest.
Over my heart is a portrait of Raleigh surrounded by a night sky full of stars. The iris eyes that we share are highlighted so well even I can look in the mirror and almost feel my sister looking back at me.
Almost.
Deacon comes to the door yet doesn’t enter the space. “Don’t think this is a good idea.”
I raise my eyebrow in question.
“If she marks you, it’s for life, brother. We aren’t the kind of men to get tied to anyone. If she marks you, it’s for life,” he repeats, meeting both our stares. Then, without explaining further, he exits and Judge walks in.
“How about you let me go first since I know what the fuck I want?”
Thinking on Deacon’s words, I stand and Judge immediately straddles the chair so his back is to Emerson. He looks at me before pulling his shirt over his head, giving her a closer look at the Devil’s Due insignia on his back.
Judge carries on without hesitation. “I want an evil set of eyes on the back of my neck. Black and gray with lines of red in the pupil. Think sinister.”
When she traces the ‘Devil’s Due MC’ top banner, I fight my instincts to rush over and pound my brother’s face in.
This isn’t just any broad. This is Emerson Flint, the girl down the street who shared Barbie’s and bows with my little sister.
Feeling me watching her, Emerson looks up and quickly removes her hand from Judge. Then she stands and moves to put ink in the little cups and put on black rubber gloves.
After cleaning the area, she draws a free hand concept. Snapping a picture with her phone, she hands it to Judge to approve before picking up the tattoo gun. On his nod, she opens the plastic package holding the new needle and sets up her gun and pedal. The machine makes a steady buzz as she focuses solely on the canvas in front of her.
Watching her work, I can’t help studying the lines in her features. Her strong cheeks, the perfect point of her nose, her thin lips, her dark hair, full eyelashes—every single inch of her has my dick getting hard.
Painfully hard.
When was the last time I got hard without having to stroke myself? Gretchen.
I adjust myself and perch against the wall. Looking around, I see it’s a small space, just enough for the chair/table contraption with a barber shop set up with a mirror, sink, drawers, and counter space for her tools and inks. In the far corner is her sterilization machine; above it rests a sketch of my sister … and me when I taught her to ride her bike with no training wheels. My chest tightens painfully, and all thoughts of my dick being hard are gone as I think back to a time before everything went to hell …
“What’s with the eyes?” Emerson asks, bringing me back to the moment as she bites her bottom lip in concentration.
“Always gotta watch your back, Sonnie. Remember that,” Judge says in a stone cold tone.
“Got brothers for that, too, Judge,” I reply, keeping my gaze fixed on not so little anymore Emerson. God, I can’t believe how much she has grown up.
Emerson looks at me as Judge tenses.
“Had brothers before, too, Collector,” he reminds me of his childhood.
“Collector, huh?” she asks, changing the subject and energy in the room.
“He collects things,” Judge adds with a sly smirk.
>
“I work in a tattoo shop, so let me guess … He collects panties.”
“I collect souls,” I answer her calmly and relish in the sharp intake of her breath.
She pulls the gun back and wipes away the excess ink and blood before turning her eyes to me. “Dover, I know it’s been a long time. You can’t believe that, though. This isn’t like some paranormal show or book where you have to save someone from purgatory.” She dips the gun in the inkwell, going back to her work. She doesn’t understand what I mean.
My lips move into a half-smile. “Darlin’, I know that much. I just make sure the Devil gets his due when the American justice system fails.”
She stops before she makes it to Judge’s skin. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“I don’t think you do, either. Keep your innocence for as long as you can, Emerson.”
Judge picks now to pipe in, “Amen, brother, preach.”
I move and smack him in the back of the head just as Emerson takes her needle back to the inkwell. “That’s Deacon’s job, not mine.”
Before I back away, Emerson reaches out and runs her glove covered finger over the spot on my abdomen. My body burns with a need I have never experienced before.
A long time ago, before life went to shit, my dad always said to be careful of a woman’s touch. When the right one came along, a simple touch of her finger would burn to your soul and draw you in for life. I have never been big on being touched, yet now I have to fight myself to pull back and get her hand off me, while inside, I crave the sensation of the woman in front of me touching me. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Sorry, I should have put my shirt back on,” I say, doing just that to hide my scar.
“You were shot,” she states, remarking about the raised skin.
“Yeah.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “From when you were a cop?”
“Yeah.”
Setting the tattoo gun down on the metal tray beside her, she looks into my eyes as if she is trying to read me. “Did the bad guy get away?”
Without missing a beat, I respond, “Depends on if you believe the bad guy wore a badge, too.”
In The Red: Nomad Bikers (Devil's Due MC Book 1) Page 5
