by KB Winters
“Decorate it?”
I smiled. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
He nodded, letting out a breath of relief, probably since he hadn’t been expecting such a show of emotion from me. “Okay. First, what do you need? A hug? A drink? A primal scream therapy session?”
“If I say yes to all three?”
“I’m in. Always up for two out of three of those.” When he smiled like that, Tate looked like a little boy, so light and carefree. Such a contrast from the shadows he constantly wore.
“Not much of a hugger?”
He shook his head and stood. “Look at these, smartass.”
I did, taking a look at the various designs. Some were vines done in a Celtic style, others were thorny vines with roses that hadn’t yet bloomed and a few others were similar in theme. “This is beautiful,” I said out loud as I took in the long peacock feathers.
“Take this,” he said gruffly to cover up the sweet gesture of him bringing me a drink.
“Thanks, Golden Boy.”
He smirked but bit back whatever comment was on the tip of his tongue. “You like the feathers?”
“I do, but I’m not sure how that can work with all this,” I told him, gesturing to my leg.
Tate sat on the stool and motioned to my leg, which I laid across his lap. “I’m a fucking pro. Peacock feathers are long so we can start here,” the pad of his finger began two inches below where the scar started, and I got goose bumps at his touch. “And they can fan up to here,” he stopped at my hip. “What do you think?”
“You’re being very not weird about this, Tate.”
He let out an unamused laugh. “I’ve seen a lot worse than a long skinny scar on a great pair of legs. Honestly, your legs are more distracting than the scar.”
A laugh bubbled up out of me. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“That’s me,” he rolled his eyes. “Sweetest motherfucker around.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Golden Boy. You’d be surprised at the shit people say to me.” I took the drink and then, feeling uncomfortable, changed the subject. “How long will this take?”
“I could do it in one session if you’re okay with that, otherwise it’ll take two, about four hours each.”
“Four hours! Each? Is this surgery?”
“Not quite, but it is art.”
Right. “And art takes time. Got it. Now I have another question and I need you to promise you won’t judge me.”
“You wanna know how bad it hurts?”
I shook my head. “Yes and no. I want to know if it will hurt when you go over the scar tissue.”
“Shit, of course. It depends on how fresh the scars are, Teddy.”
To me they always felt brand new, like it happened last week, not three years ago. “Well, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
He flashed a smile that I felt all the way down to my long neglected pussy. “As soon as you set a date.”
“I’ll let you know.” I wanted the tattoo. I needed to get it, no matter how much time it took. Or how bad it hurt. We sat there in a comfortable silence for several long moments, me staring at the peacock feathers and imagining the end result. Tate stared at the tiles, lost in his own thoughts. “So, can I ask you a question without you getting your panties in a twist?”
He grinned, looking every inch the big, tough, biker he was. “Guess it’s a good thing I left my panties at home.”
That was another thing I liked about Tate, he didn’t take things too seriously. “Self-defense. What do you know about it?”
“Uncle Sam taught me to fight. Hand to hand combat, plus a little martial arts. I can help you. If you can help me.”
I stiffened, ready to slice him open with my tongue as soon as he made the inappropriate comment.
“Calm down, Teddy. I want you to help me plan a wedding for Max and Jana. That’s your thing, isn’t it?”
Damn, I was right back to liking him. “Yeah sure, I can help you with that. But be prepared for details. Lots and lots of details. Okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“No problems. Thanks for the awesome artwork, Golden Boy.”
He grinned. “Anytime, Cover Girl.”
I smiled as I left the shop because when he said those words, it didn’t feel like a reminder of who I used to be. It just felt...amazing.
***
“So you want the cornflower napkins and roses to match?” To me, it sounded like the tackiest shit I’d ever heard, but it wasn’t my wedding.
“That’s right. I found the most adorbs cornflower blue lingerie and it totally matches Kip’s eyes, don’tcha think?” Gillian Frye, most recent winner of I Wanna Fall in Love, gushed over her slimy groom to be.
“Sure. And you still want Elvis to marry you?”
She nodded, bleach blonde ponytail bobbing up and down. “My dad loves Elvis and he’d never be able to afford this kind of wedding, so this is kind of for him.”
“I have a few in mind, do you want to audition them?”
Her green eyes went round and wide. “We can do that?” She looked from me to the producer behind the camera.
“Sure, it’ll be great for the show!”
I rolled my eyes as Gillian popped up and sauntered off, her mute by choice bestie tottering after her in matching bubblegum pink heels. “I guess we’re done here,” I mumbled to myself, ignoring the camera aimed at my hands since I refused to sign a consent form to be filmed. “You guys can go now.”
“Why would we do that?” Kip asked as he appeared from the smaller office used by my assistants. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.” I stood as he came closer because I wasn’t a fool. It was a hard lesson, but being trapped in a room with one too many pervy photographers and grabby male models had taught me to be aware.
“Well the meeting is over, so you can all be gone.” I made a shooing motion that only made the bastard smile. He let his finger trail up and down my arm, laughing when I smacked his hand away. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself, Kip.”
He grinned again and stepped closer, I pushed him and he stumbled. “Come on, babe. No need to play hard to get.” He did a quick spin and was steady on his feet wearing a shit-eating grin.
Behind my desk I kept a bat. A big aluminum bat that I reached for and smacked the edge of my desk. “Touch me again motherfucker and I swear to God I’ll quit. I will fucking walk away and leave you to do this yourself. Got it?” He nodded, his smile gone as he held his hands up defensively. “Got it?” I asked the producer too. The last fucking thing I needed was to have the bride labeling me a home wrecker on national TV.
“Yeah, we got it.”
“Good. Now get the fuck out of my office and don’t come back without the bride.” When they were gone, I locked the door and let out a long, tense breath. Kip was an asshole and that producer chick was a fucking prick, but I didn’t throat punch anyone so to me, today was a complete success.
And since my day was over, I kicked out the last two assistants and locked the place up for the night. I picked up some sushi and a bottle of gin before heading home.
Where another damn package sat on my porch. I took a few deep breaths and got out of the car, phone in hand as I approached. It was a ticking bomb, I knew that, but who knew with Kip? The box was pink and white, almost like Victoria’s Secret but not quite. Inside was trashy, lacy lingerie, and it was shredded to pieces.
A fucking threat if I ever saw one, so I called the police. Which I immediately regretted.
“What seems to be the problem ma’am?” The uniformed officer was blond and looked to be about sixteen years old.
“Are you kidding? Someone sent me shredded lingerie! No, not sent, apparently they dropped it off.”
His partner snickered and I glared at them both. “Perhaps an angry lover?”
“Doubtful since I don’t have a lover and if I did, he wouldn’t know where I live. I don’t play that game.
” I never brought men home and the house was in my old name, so it wasn’t easy to find. “Am I to understand from your little girl giggles that you’re not going to do anything about it?”
“Not much we can do,” the blond one said, still trying to stifle a laugh.
“Thank you for fuck all. But if I end up dead, you’ll have to live with it.” His face paled. “Thanks for nothing, officers. Goodbye.” So angry, I shook. I slammed the door before they even turned around to leave.
Why did I call the cops? Not one time in my life have they ever come through for me. Not when my mom was dying of an overdose right in front of me, because they “didn’t have gloves.” Not later when a foster brother got a little too close, because of course being in foster care somehow means you’re defective or promiscuous. And certainly not when my last foster dad tried to take what didn’t belong to him. They were as useless as tits on a bicycle, so it was up to me to protect myself.
I promised to call Tate soon for those self-defense lessons, but first I sat down and began to research gun laws in the state of Nevada.
Chapter 5
Tate
“So, you’re like a real life biker?” A tiny little blonde flirted with me, leaning so far over the counter I could damn near see the tops of her nipples.
“I own a bike, if that’s what you mean.” I smiled at her even though I wasn’t interested, because being not interested pissed me the fuck off. She was exactly the kind of girl I could get my cock wet with and leave without a look back. But I didn’t want her. “You like bikes?”
“I’ve been on one before and all that power between my legs . . .” She shivered and squealed instead of finishing the thought.
“Yeah? Well my boy Dallas loves nothing more than giving a pretty girl a ride on the back of his bike. Lasso,” I called to the big, blonde Texan.
Her brows crinkled adorably and it was then I realized she couldn’t be more than twenty. “Why do you call him Lasso?”
Because the man roped more tail than ten cowboys. “Because he’s a real life cowboy, darlin’.” Her eyes went wide as Dallas strode over, jeans tight and black t-shirt even tighter under his kutte. He flashed a dimpled grin and raked a hand through curly blond hair as he stopped in front of her, damn near casting a shadow over her petite frame.
“Howdy, darlin’. What’s your name?”
She giggled and put her tiny hand in his. “I’m Marcy, and you’re a real life cowboy!”
Lasso flashed a smile at me and winked down at her. “Well I was one, until Uncle Sam needed my help.” And just like that, Marcy’s panties were probably soaked through. “You done shootin’, sugar? I was thinking about taking a sunset ride on my bike.”
“Want some company?”
“When the company looks like you, damn straight.”
I laughed as he looped her arm around his gigantic ass bicep and walked away. He winked over his shoulder at me and I rolled my eyes. Some shit never changed, and for once, I was glad of it. Fucking Lasso.
A few older women stopped by the gun range desk, looking for help loading up a couple Desert Eagles, flirtatious but only because I was young and buff. It was easy to be around women like that because they just wanted a young buck to make them feel sexy and I could do that in my sleep. “Thank you, handsome.”
“Anytime, beautiful.” She blushed and they giggled like schoolgirls as I walked away. “Gunnar, what’s up man?” I hadn’t seen our VP since I started spending more time at the clubhouse, which was shitty because we used to be close.
“Just got back from Denver. Had to put my ma in a home. Fucking Alzheimer’s.”
“Shit man, sorry to hear that. How’s she doing?”
He laughed bitterly. “Better than me because she has no fucking clue what’s going on most of the time.” His shoulders dropped and he raked a hand through his thick, dark hair. “If shit was different I could keep her with me, but...fuck!”
“She needs around the clock care, Gun. Even if you didn’t have the Reckless Bastards, you’d have to work somewhere at least eight hours a day.” I knew that shit firsthand. With Max off on missions he couldn’t talk about, I’d been forced to put mom in a home when she showed early signs of dementia. But she’d died while he was in the desert and I was rotting in prison.
“Shit man, I didn’t even think.”
I held up a hand to stop the apology I didn’t need or fucking want. “Don’t worry, I’m just telling you how it is. Visit her often and it’ll be as easy as it’s ever gonna be.”
“Thanks, Golden Boy. How are you—”
Savior strolled up looking like he’d just been butt fucked by the devil, and all of that anger was aimed my way. “What the fuck, Golden Boy? Sheena said you got rough with her!”
Of course that no good bitch said that. I got in his face the same way he was in mine. Savior was a crazy bastard, but I was angry, bigger than him by at least four inches and fifty pounds of muscle because the only fucking thing I did over the past six years was read and weight train.
“Sheena needs to learn to keep her fucking hands to herself! I didn’t do shit to her other than remove her hands from my fucking body!” Fear flashed in his eyes, but Savior was no punk and he held his ground. I would’ve been impressed if I wasn’t so damn mad. “Thanks for the vote of fucking confidence, man. If you’re so worried about the bitch, make her your old lady.”
The crazy fucker smiled and grabbed my shoulder. “Fuck that shit. That girl is a first-class bunny boiler over there. I’m just checkin’ in with you man, you’re wound tighter than a virgin’s asshole.”
I shook my head at his foolishness. “You’re still a crazy sonofabitch, you know that?”
“All part of my charm, brother. You know I’d never doubt you, right? Well I doubt any man who hasn’t wet his dick with a willing woman after years of abstinence, but other than that, we’re brothers, asshole.”
“Yeah, I know. I need to get my head on straight, first.”
“All right, how about we go for a ride this week?”
A smile spread across my face. “Sounds good, Savior. Name the day and time.”
“I want some new ink, schedule me last and we’ll go after?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just fist bumped me and Gunnar, and walked off whistling.
I looked to Gunnar. “I gotta get to the shop man, later.” Walking through the parking lot, I couldn’t help the goofy as grin I wore. For the first time since I got out, I felt like I was home again.
With my family.
***
“Hey, Tate. Come on in. Thanks for coming.” She was stiff, wooden and on edge.
“No problem. Hey, you okay Teddy?”
She blinked, jumping and gasping when I touched her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
I grinned. “Honey you’re jumpy as hell. Tell me what’s going on?”
She sighed and turned to me, her tumble of red hair falling around her shoulder, vibrant and beautiful. “Don’t freak out, okay?”
“I’m a man, Teddy. We don’t freak out.”
She rolled her eyes and clasped our hands together as she pulled me through her split-level home, barely giving me a chance to take it all in. “Yeah right. You forgot I’ve seen Max in action.” There was a hint of sarcasm there, but her voice was still tense as we entered the backyard. “Remember you promised not to freak out.”
“I didn’t, but okay.” She turned to me and stepped aside, pushing open the door to a little storage shed at the back corner of her garage.
“Well, look!” She gestured to the open door and I stepped inside.
“What the fuck?”
She nibbled her lip, another sign that whatever was going on had her spooked. “Someone has been sending me gifts. No, not someone. I think it’s this groom for the wedding I’m working on. He’s a slime ball, always hitting on me.”
“Why do you think this is him?” I listened as she told me, in a shaky voice, about the flowers and candy. “Th
at’s not quite the same as torn lingerie and slashed photos of you, I’m assuming from your modeling days?” Had to be because she was young, gorgeous and not a redhead. “You’re a natural blonde?”
She laughed. “No. I dyed it blonde because everyone wanted a blonde. The red is natural.” She grabbed a handful, lifted it up and let it fall to her shoulders.
“Well. Red does match your fiery as shit personality.” She scowled and I laughed. “So, I guess self-defense first and wedding stuff, second?”
She nodded and gave me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Tate.” Teddy shook her head, a frown forming on her face. “Who in the hell would want to stalk a mangled former model?”
“Mangled? Are you fucking blind on top of everything else?”
She stopped and glared at me. “I know what I look like Tate, but I’m nobody anymore.”
“We’re all somebody, Teddy.”
She shook her head, about ten seconds from breaking down. “I’m sorry about this, I didn’t mean to dump it all over you. I need a drink.” She marched back to her kitchen, pulled out a half-empty bottle of gin and poured a shot. “Shit! Why did I do that?”
I laughed and took the bottle. “Take a seat.” Her kitchen was organized, making it easy to find what I needed. Tonic water and a grapefruit. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She took several long gulps, draining half the glass. “Okay, let’s just do wedding stuff. I’m going to get a gun.”
“You know that you’re more likely to be killed with your own gun?”
She nodded and took another sip. “And I’ll definitely end up dead if I don’t get one, Golden Boy. Do you think this will stop at gifts? I don’t. A girl I modeled with ended up dead thanks to a guy she smiled at in line at a coffee shop. He thought they were building something and when she disagreed, he broke in to her apartment and choked her to death.”
There was more she didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Prying wasn’t my thing. But I could help. “The club has a gun range and it’s open to the public. Come by and I’ll teach you how to shoot.”
