She gasps and lifts her hand to her mouth. “Back home?”
“Yeah.” I can tell she wants more of an answer, but just like so many other things in my life, it’s in the past and is best left there.
She shakes off whatever thought she has and moves to finish up Judge’s tattoo. “Guess nowhere is safe after all,” she mutters to herself, taking her attention back to cleaning up my brother.
“Safety is a fairytale people want you to get comfortable with. Don’t let your guard down. Happily ever after is more like happily ever never, Emerson,” I say softly, hating myself for breaking her belief in our hometown. Although, I don’t know how much faith she really had after Raleigh’s tragedy.
She looks up from her work, and when her eyes meet mine, I feel like she is looking beyond the broken man I am to find the boy who wishes he could take it all back.
“Gotta smoke,” I say, needing to breathe. Funny how that works, needing to breathe by inhaling nicotine. I’m sure the surgeon general would disagree with me.
I don’t look back as I make my way outside. Then I don’t even get the pack open before Old Dog Earl walks out to join me.
I tip the pack to him in offering.
“Nah, gotta bad heart. Doc says can’t puff no more.”
Deciding not to blow smoke in his face, I push the pack of cigarettes back in my pocket and lean against the outside of the building, trying to turn my mind off.
“Wanna tell me why Sonnie has you so wound up?”
I don’t reply.
“Never been one to play games, Collector. Known you a lotta years, and you’ve never been one to hold back.” He looks at me, stroking his long, white beard.
“She’s Raleigh’s best friend.” I pause. “Only, she’s not.”
“Well, yeah, because Raleigh is gone. She’s been gone. You and Sonnie, though, y’all are still living.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like that.”
“I imagine it wouldn’t be. Y’all haven’t seen each other in years. She was just a kid, and you were just a boy. Now you’re a man, and Sonnie is a beautiful woman.”
I tilt my head to look at him but don’t speak.
“I’m an old man, but not blind. I’ve known Sonnie a while, and I’ve never seen her have any kind of reaction to anyone before.”
“Stop.”
Earl only smiles at me. “She’s like the daughter I never had. She needs a strong man in her life. She’s been on her own too long.” He strokes his beard as if he’s contemplating things. “If I were a guessing man, I’d guess she’s been on her own ’bout as long as you.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t, what?” He gives a belly laugh. “Call it like I see it?”
“Deacon doesn’t want her to mark me. You want me to be some Prince Charming shit I’m fucking not. Why the fuck did I come to Alabama again?” I semi-joke.
“Prince Charming, you’re not, but the type of man Sonnie needs … Well, that could be. As for Deacon and his opinion on her marking you, I say maybe she already marked your soul a long damn time ago.”
“Raleigh,” I manage to whisper as my mind goes to my sister. Emerson didn’t mark my soul; my sister did.
“Similar scars have a way of linking two people.”
“I let her down, and that changed Emerson’s life forever,” I tell him honestly.
“Changed both your lives forever. As for why you came to Alabama, you know damn well you boys gotta check in with an old man every once and a while, or I’ll have to climb on my old Harley and hunt your asses down.” He smiles, letting me off the hook about discussing my past any further.
“I’d be honored to have you ride with us or to find us any day, Old Dog.” I give a half-salute to the man who keeps tabs on the six of us the best he can.
A few years ago, we rode into town to find Trapper bleeding out behind this shop. Helping him up and inside where Old Dog stitched him up, we asked no questions. We simply added another brother and, in a way, a father figure that night. He has never pushed any of us to tell him our pasts; he has taken each of us exactly as we are.
Dark.
Lost.
Damaged.
More than anything, we are each determined to make people pay for the crimes they only think they got away with.
I look at my bike parked in front of us. For Raleigh, I think and look up at the blue sky above.
For Raleigh, I step back inside the shop with more resolve than ever to have answers … not just for me, not just for my sister.
Now, I am determined to give the devil his due for the pain Emerson has endured, as well.
Chapter Eight
~Emerson~
“Tell me, Sonnie, do you believe in fate?” Judge asks as I cover his fresh ink.
Dover hasn’t come back yet from his need to step outside.
“I believe in a pull,” I answer him honestly. In my line of work, I have conversations about all sorts of things with all sorts of people. I learned to go with the flow. “I live my life guided by the pull.”
“A magnet has two poles: a north and a south,” Deacon says from the doorway. “Two magnets are attracted by their opposite poles and deflect on their like poles. Call it a pull if you want, call it magnetism, call it fate, call it divine intervention, or just call it life period. Why try to define everything? Why not simply be?”
As quickly as Deacon appeared with his words of wisdom, he grunts and leaves, and then Dover is in his place.
Simply be, huh?
Judge stands, his height making him tower over me. He smiles before he exits the room without another word. Dover moves closer, but he doesn’t sit in the chair.
Deciding not to be affected by his presence, I begin to clean up my station.
“Are you the north to my south or the south to my north?” Dover breaks the silence between us.
I turn to look at him. When my brown eyes find his, there is a hunger there that I haven’t seen before. Suddenly, my mouth feels dry, and the room is too small.
“Something pulled us here. Something brought us together in this time, in this place,” he speaks, but there is more going on behind his eyes.
If only he would tell me what he means…
I go with my gut. “If you’re looking for forgiveness, I never blamed you, so there isn’t anything to forgive. Raleigh wouldn’t want you to have any guilt, either. Sure, I miss my friend. I’ll never forget her. Yes, my life would have been different if that day never happened, but no one can predict that it would be better. Whoever took her could have just as easily taken me or any other young girl in our town. It just happened to be Raleigh he got. We may never know how or why, but the guilt of her life lost isn’t for you or me to feel.” I blow out a breath. “The only person responsible for what happened to Raleigh is her killer.” Forcing a smile, I say, “And as your club guys say, the devil demands his due. The killer will have to face his actions one day. It’s not on you, Dover, and never was.”
He blinks slowly yet doesn’t speak. Without another word, he turns and exits the space.
Is that what he came here for? Absolution?
It’s given. Now he can go just as quickly as he came.
As I take a moment to think, it dawns on me that he didn’t know I was here when he pulled in. Then my mind begins to open to many possibilities. What is the pull for us to end up together now?
I don’t get much time to let my mind wander before I hear a high-pitched scream of my name.
Rushing out, I follow the noise to Randy’s room where Trapper is laid out on the table with tears running down his face.
“Emerson,” he calls out again while X holds down Trapper’s legs to keep him from pulling up to knee Randy in the head and ruining the cover up.
“What the hell am I supposed to do for you?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Alcohol, Sonnie. I need alcohol,” he whines. “A good, strong Kentucky bourbon would be nice righ
t, ouch, now.”
“All out, buddy,” I say, holding back my laughter. “You should know drinking alcohol before and during a tattoo is not always the best idea. It may cause you to bleed more, or depending on how you hold your liquor, you may move, altering your design,” I try explaining professionally. “It could also have the opposite effect, making you more aware of the pain.”
“If you were doing my ink, it would make this a good pain. It would be the kind of pain a man could jack off to for months to come.” He smiles at me. “The lady who gave me the cocksuckers made it an amazing experience.”
“I’m sure she did.” I laugh at him as his abs flex while he fights to remain still.
“This is a very sensitive area,” Randy explains to me without looking up from his work.
Stepping closer, I fight back my giggles when I see the intricate black and gray rose set up with a tank in the middle. The rose design on each side covers up the lollipops very well while a tank sits in the middle, facing down. The question must play in my eyes as Trapper smiles proudly.
“When my cock comes to life, it becomes the loaded gun on the tank,” he explains as I look at him wide-eyed. “Now I can say I have a tank in my pants, and if she’s hot enough, I can say it’s ready to fire.” He winks.
“Is he really like this all the time?” I look at X for an answer.
“Every day that ends in Y,” he replies dryly.
I give Trapper’s hand a squeeze. Just as often as I have thought of Raleigh, I have wondered what happened to her brother. Something inside me calms with the knowledge that Dover has had a great group of guys with him for the last few of years. It’s good to know he’s found his place with the Devil’s Due MC.
Giving Trapper one last squeeze of his hand, I back away as Randy looks up from his work with a pleading face. He’s a clean cut man with no ink. I have always found it strange that he is in this profession yet has no distinctive markings on himself.
Randy is in his late thirties, early forties, and always wears these thick, black framed glasses with square lenses. He wears button up shirts to work every day with dress pants and pointed shoes, but drives a rusted old Dodge pickup that I swear could be louder than Dover’s motorcycle.
We aren’t close, but I don’t have bad feelings toward the guy, either. He’s just Randy. He comes and goes as he pleases and makes no apologies for it. He does solid work when he’s here and doesn’t bother anyone. If anything, I guess an outsider would say he tips the place up on the scale.
“If you got a tank in your pants, then you got a leak in your eyes, son.” Old Dog’s voice booms as he walks into the room with Trapper, X, and Randy watching as the tears fall on their own down Trapper’s cheeks.
I laugh to myself as I make my way up front for my next appointment. Rowdy is sitting in the lobby chairs, flipping through some old magazine. I look at the clock.
“Want something new, Rowdy?” I offer as I go over the rest of my night on the schedule. Since my first client was here well into the afternoon, there isn’t much time left in the evening before I can head home. Tomorrow, I’m booked solid. If Dover leaves town soon enough, I won’t have to ink him after all.
“A new life would be good. You in the miracle working business?”
“Are all of you so quick with the comebacks?”
He smiles, his teeth all in a straight line and so white I wonder if he has veneers. “Have to be to hang around this crew.”
“So I’m learning.”
He stands and stretches. I watch in awe, thinking he could almost touch the fucking ceiling.
“You eat plenty of spinach as a kid or something? No, wait, that’s not it. Green beans, peas, some of that jolly green giant shit. You, sir, definitely ate your vegetables.”
We both laugh until Dover enters the room, and then we immediately stop. He looks at his friend before looking at me.
“I’ll get inked tomorrow, Emerson. Rowdy here is due for another flower,” Dover states gruffly before going outside to make a phone call.
I look at Rowdy who smirks. “You heard the man; I’m due for another flower.”
With me in shock, we make our way down the hall and into my room where Rowdy immediately pulls his shirt off, revealing an intricate design of flowers covering both his ribs.
“Peonies,” he says, fighting back some emotion in his voice. “I’m due for another peony in the bunch. I’ll leave the color choice to you. Blending it to the rest is up to you as well, but it stays on the ribs.”
Without speaking, I get started setting up. Putting on my gloves, I run my hand over the design of several flowers to find my spot. Depending on the angle I hold my head, the flowers almost move.
“I don’t want to alter the design of your original artist.”
“The original artist can’t finish the tattoo. Like the others, I’m sure you will find the pull to make it work.”
“What do you mean ‘like the others’?” I ask, eyeing the beauty on this man’s body. Each of the flowers is blended flawlessly into the last as if it were the work of one artist.
“Long story short, I had a girl once, Michele. She loved to paint. She loved flowers, peonies. She started the work. I went away for”—he pauses and his eyes grow dark—“a while. She disappeared. My gift to what we once shared, a peony in honor of the first tattoo that got me through a very long and dark time.”
“Y’all are some sentimental men,” I casually reflect as I sketch out my flower for him.
“Honey, you have no idea, especially your man.”
My head flies up, and I meet his golden eyes that are full of humor. “I don’t have a man.”
“Sure, and Collector climbs the walls of every establishment we go to.”
“Dover and I share a moment in history. You know, that word that means in the past.”
He smirks. “Past, present, future—it all comes together in the right time and the right way. Maybe the history you share was meant to give you a future neither of you could have imagined.”
With my hand on my hip, I let it out, “You know what, Rowdy? You guys all think you know me. You know Dover. You guys have known me, Sonnie Flint, all of one fucking day. So, you know what I say?” I challenge.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me, hellcat.”
“You guys don’t know shit.”
“Is that so?” he spars back.
“Yeah, it is. Dover is ready to climb the walls because I am a visible reminder of the little sister he should have been able to watch grow up. The boy who grew into a young man right in front of my eyes broke the day she was lost. He lives in a hell no one—not you, not I can—understand because it’s a self-induced kind of hell. You and your brothers think you know, but you have no idea. The moment she was taken, so was Dover Ragnes. The moment she was lost, so was Emerson Flint. The thing is, while he’s climbing the walls to escape himself, I only wish I could pull him back down and show him it’s all going to be all right and he shouldn’t blame himself anymore. Only, I can’t give him that. You can’t give him that”—I throw my hands up dramatically—“because, in the world you guys have created for yourselves, Dover ‘Collector’ Ragnes can’t let go. He lives his life feeling like he’s in the red, owing a debt much too large to the soul of his sister until the devil gets his due, as you boys would say.”
“Well, I’ll be fucked in the ass by Bubba himself,” Rowdy says with a smile. “You do pay attention, and you read Collector like no one ever has. I would also say that you very well could be the one to put his feet back on solid ground.”
“Dover has to let go of what’s dragging him around before he can find solid anything,” I state, calming down as I draw strength and peace from the man with flower tattoos in my chair.
Rowdy gently grabs my wrist, my tattoo. “The ties that bind us also ground us. You have more power in your hand than you or Collector realize.”
“I wish it could be so easy. I wish that Dover could find a way to relea
se himself from the hold this has on him,” I mutter more to myself than to Rowdy.
“I wish I may; I wish I might.”
Dover’s voice makes me jump. I look toward the doorway to see him standing there with his arms crossed.
“Wish every wish on every star, but you can’t save me, Emerson.” He looks down and kicks the heel of his right boot into the toe of his left. “No one can, darlin’.”
He doesn’t take off like I expect him to. No, he lifts his head, and his iris eyes burn into mine. Silently, I accept the challenge there.
For as long as he is here, as long as I have him, I will do everything I can to show him no one—and I mean no one—blames him. So he need not continue to blame himself.
Yes, Dover Ragnes, challenge fucking accepted.
Chapter Nine
~Dover~
“Sick fucker asked me if it worked!” Trapper roars, pacing the hotel room and throwing his hands up wildly. “Randy, the tattoo-less tattoo artist, really wanted to know if having suckers on my cock worked! That’s nuts!”
We are back at the same place we crashed last night, going over what we learned today. More so, what Trapper and X learned while having time with Randy.
X nods his head at me in silent confirmation from the bed, backing up what the drama man of our group is going on and on about.
“Who does that? Who the fuck would really want to make that work?” Trapper stops and looks at us all seriously. “A cocksucker, that’s who.”
Judge clears his throat. “Dumbass, you did it.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Just playing devil’s advocate here.”
“I was probably fucking drunk or high. I am a dumbass and a cocksucker.” Trapper paces again. “And I have more issues than Dr. fucking Phil could take on, Mr. Devil’s Advocate shithead.”
“Something is off about the man,” Deacon adds, leaning back against the small armchair with his legs crossed at the ankles.
I stand with my back to the far wall while Judge and Rowdy each sit hunched over at the end of the second bed.
In The Red: Nomad Bikers (Devil's Due MC Book 1) Page 6
