True North

by Beth D. Carter

  “I’m your old lady?” she asked softly.

  “Of course you are,” he answered and kissed her softly on the lips. “And I have to go get a new tattoo.”

  She blinked. “What? Right now?”

  “Yeah. You said you wanted one, so let’s get it together.”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t know. They hurt, don’t they?”

  “Yep. But what’s a second of pain for the art decorating your body?”

  “Let me think about it.”

  He grinned and entwined their fingers. He bent his head and kissed her, leisurely exploring her mouth. When he came up for air, they were both panting heavily and his dick was hard as stone. She gazed up at him with soft, loving eyes that had him feeling ten feet tall. He tugged her against his side as they left the room. When the door closed behind him, he knew it was for the last time. This was his old life. The club was still with him but this room was now a memory. His future was nestled under his arm.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The judge hadn’t granted him the warrant to investigate Gray Dog’s finances. Pissed off and needing to get away, Givon decided to drive by the old mill. It had been the first building built for the town of Destiny during the Wild West settlement. In the early days, the mill had been a booming business, the only one of its kind for miles around.

  Now, it was a falling down remembrance of days long gone. Several years ago, there had been talk among the Destiny Historical Society about trying to preserve the mill, but there really wasn’t enough of it to save. The wheel was gone, as was most of the roof. In fact, the only things still standing were some of the walls, the grindstones and the foundation.

  As he stepped out of his truck, the first thing he noticed was multiple tire tracks going to and from the area. He walked around them as he made his way carefully toward the mill. Some of the tall grass near the perimeter of the door was bent and broken, hinting that someone had been there recently.

  He stepped inside to scan around but nothing seemed out of order, certainly nothing to hint of illegal activities. The only sound was the rushing of the river. If Hiller had met someone here, there weren’t any clues left behind.

  His cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the caller ID and headed back outside as he put the call through.

  “Anything wrong?” he asked North.

  “Not at all. Why would that be the first thing you ask whenever I call?”

  “Sorry. I’m not in the greatest of moods.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The old mill. Judge didn’t give me the warrant. Said there wasn’t enough of a link to Gray Dog.”

  “Fuck,” North said softly.

  “Listen, you haven’t heard anything about a prostitution ring or anything, have you?”

  “No. But that’s a great way for a club to make money. I was thinking guns or dope, but the Demon Devils could be pimping.”

  “If you hear of anything, let me know.”

  “Sure. Anyway, we’re at the shop so come over.”

  “Your shop?”

  “Yep. We’re getting tattoos.”

  “Allis hasn’t even gotten her stitches out and she’s getting ink?”

  “We’re getting ink,” North emphasized. “You, me and her.”

  “I don’t want a tattoo.”

  North snorted. “Of course you do. You’re just chicken shit.”

  “I am not chicken shit.”

  “Then get your ass over here and prove it.”

  And with that, North hung up.

  “Stupid son of a bitch,” Givon muttered to himself. “I just don’t want a fucking tat.”

  He hit another number in his speed dial directory.

  “Boss?” Charlie greeted.

  “You know that abandoned mill down Lubkins Lane?”

  “Sure. Said to be haunted.”

  “I doubt that,” Givon replied. “Can you find any information on it? If it’s owned by anyone or if it’s been rented?”

  “Sure. I’ll get on it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Once he hung up with Charlie, he thought about North’s challenge and tried to ignore it, but he was curious. What type of design would Allis get? And where would she put it?

  “Ah, hell,” he muttered and headed for his truck.

  As he drove from the mill toward the tattoo parlor, his phone rang again. He connected the Bluetooth and put the call through.

  “Sheriff Halloran,” he answered.

  “Sheriff,” a woman greeted. She spoke low and softly, as if she was making a call she shouldn’t be making.

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “Be careful,” the woman said. “He’s coming.”

  “What? Who? Who is this?”

  “He’s coming for her.”

  The call abruptly ended. As he went to redial, he hesitated. The scared face of Monica, Daniel Two Feathers’ receptionist, flashed through his mind. All his instincts told him that it had been her on the other end of that call. So, the tribe’s leader didn’t have everyone under his thumb after all. Givon was suddenly glad he might have a viable witness if things went south between him and the Tribe.

  * * * *

  The Red Wolves owned the only tattoo parlor in Destiny and it was located on the far side of town, away from the civilized shops. There was a clear division of Destiny—one of upper scale decorum and one belonging to the seedier side of things. It was no surprise that the parlor was smack dab between two bars. That’s how it made most of its money, by being a spur-of-the-moment beacon to drunken patrons. It might not be ethical but there wasn’t a law against stupidity.

  Givon noticed North’s bike out front and annoyance sliced through him. Allis wasn’t supposed to be putting any tension on her stitches and riding a motorcycle didn’t fall under safe precautions.

  The sky overhead was slightly dark with ominous clouds, predicting a nice rainfall that evening. So far, they’d been pretty lucky this summer with mellow days, but it looked like that was about to change. He made his way up the tattoo parlor’s door and entered, wincing a little at the smell of old cigarette smoke.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” said the young girl behind the counter. Givon had no doubt she was one of the club’s sweet butts, dressed in cut-off denim shorts that barely covered her ass and a top that emphasized her cleavage.

  “North?”

  “In room three.”

  “Thanks,” he said and headed down the hallway to the back rooms. He knew Draven worked here a lot but Givon didn’t know who was doing North’s ink now that Draven was on a run.

  He knocked on the door and it opened immediately. North smiled and waved him inside. North was shirtless, his leather cut folded carefully on the counter. Givon recognized the artist as someone from the club but couldn’t place his name.

  “This is Branch,” North said, introducing the man with the ink gun. “I won’t tell you why he’s called that but suffice to say he’s endowedly named.”

  “I don’t think that’s a word,” Branch replied darkly.

  North smirked.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Givon said to Allis. She sat on a chair looking through a book of tattoos. She smiled up at him and he placed a kiss on her forehead. “What do you think you’re doing riding on a motorcycle? You haven’t even healed from your wound.”

  “It rarely hurts anymore.” She waved off his concern. “Isn’t this exciting? I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”

  “Yeah?” Givon asked casually, leaning over her shoulder. “What are you going to get?”

  She turned the book around and pointed to a picture of a crescent moon with stars around it. “I want it on my shoulder.”

  “Why that one?”

  “My last name is Evening,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve always been partial to the night.”

  “It’s perfect,” he said.

  “And what’s your ink, bro?” North asked. By this time, Branch was prepping his forearm. It would be the first tat below his elbow
.

  “Don’t know,” Givon said, rubbing his jaw. “Not sure if I’m going to get one. What about you?”

  “Of course you’re going to get one,” North said dismissively. He wasn’t even watching as Branch applied the stencil and put on black latex gloves. A second later, the tattoo gun clicked on. It only took a minute to realize that North was getting the same design that Allis was getting, right on the inside crook of his elbow.

  Givon quirked up one side of his mouth. “Moon and the stars, huh? I guess I know what’s going on my skin.”

  North didn’t even flinch as the needle outlined his design.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” Givon asked.

  “Yes,” North replied calmly. “But it took two eight-hour settings for the wolf on my back, so this is nothing.”

  Less than an hour later, Branch slathered antibacterial ointment across the fresh brand then taped plastic wrap across the design. He rose from the chair as Allis began unbuttoning her shirt.

  “What’re you doing?” Givon asked.

  “I want it on my shoulder,” she said as she slipped her shirt off. North took it from her, leaving her standing in her bra. Givon looked her up and down and his dick stirred to life. Shit. This wasn’t the place to get horny.

  Branch directed her to lie on the small massage bed. She got comfortable on her stomach and Branch twisted her hair to the other side. As he prepped her shoulder, Givon eyed the small bandage taped to the middle of her lower back. It wasn’t very big. In fact, the sewn together bullet hole was only about an inch long. It was hard to believe that something so small could kill a person, and he shuddered at the thought. North brought his hand down on Givon’s shoulder and stared at the same sight, the brackets around his mouth deep.

  They could’ve lost her before they had even found her.

  He held her hand the entire time Branch inked her up. She didn’t flinch once, not even when he shaded it with pale yellow and smoky blue. When Branch was done, he covered it up much like North’s, and Givon realized he was next.

  Shit.

  “Where’re you going to put it?” North asked him.

  “Oh, man,” he muttered. “On my side, I guess.”

  “Peel it off,” Branch said as he finished with Allis and helped her sit up. She winced a little but North swooped in and had her sit on the chair.

  Three pairs of eyes looked Givon’s way.

  “Christ, I’m bowing to peer pressure,” Givon muttered as he unbuttoned his white shirt. He seldom wore the typical brown sheriff’s uniform since they were a very small community, instead choosing a white button-down to look professional. He undid his gun belt to yank the shirt out of his jeans. North carefully took it from him and laid it on the counter next to his own Glock 17 and leather cut.

  Givon lay on his left side, his arm above his head. Allis’ gaze traveled over his body, lingering on his chest. He had a weight room in the basement of his house and kept fit by working out as much as possible. Right then, as he caught the heated interest she gave him, he was proud of the efforts he took to keep in shape, although he had to recite multiplication facts in his head to keep his dick down. Last thing he wanted was to get a hard-on while the muscle head Branch worked on him.

  Once the stencil was in place and Branch had new gloves on, Branch bent over Givon’s side and touched the needle to skin.

  “Holy fuck!” Givon yelled, although he didn’t move a muscle. “This fucking hurts!”

  “Shut up, you pussy,” North said.

  “What the hell did I sign up for? Shit! Are you almost done?”

  North seemed to have a hard time holding in his laughter. “He just started. Don’t move.”

  “I’m not moving! Christ, the last thing I want him to do is make a mistake then I have to get a bigger tattoo to cover it up. Fuck. This is the last time I let you talk me into doing something like this.”

  “Once you get one, you’ll want another,” North warned.

  “No fucking way. Hell, this is just like that time I let you talk me into swimming in old Pastor Johnson’s lake.”

  “Man of God, my ass,” North said with a snort. “That old man was meaner than my dad.”

  “Meaner than both our dads,” Givon agreed.

  “What happened?” Allis asked.

  “Everyone knew old Pastor Johnson hated people,” Givon said through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t talk,” Branch ordered.

  “Let me tell the story,” North offered. “So why old Pastor Johnson was a pastor, no one could figure, because he had to be Satan incarnate, but he had this sweet pond that was perfect for swimming, especially on hot summer nights. So this one here—back when were about twelve or thirteen—convinces me to go there during a full moon.”

  “You convinced me,” Givon stressed.

  “It was a little too bright,” North said, holding up his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “And Giv was a little too white. In fact, he was so pale he glowed. Old Pastor Johnson came out shooting buckshot at us and all you saw was Giv’s naked white ass streaking across the field.”

  North laughed.

  Givon began to laugh too then winced. “Ouch!”

  “You move. You get hurt,” Branch muttered.

  “I don’t have to move to do that,” Givon shot back. “My old man was up when I got back and he took one look at my naked, skinny self and assumed I was out with some girl. Took a belt to my ass good that night. I was so sore the next day I couldn’t sit.”

  “Yeah,” North said, sobering up. “Old Pastor Johnson came to my house the next day, telling my dad what we were up to. I was black and blue for a month.”

  “Oh, no,” Allis whispered. Concern darkened her lovely features.

  “It’s okay,” North said with a shrug. “I was on my out with him anyway. Not too long after my fourteenth birthday is when I met Patch. He took me in, got me working on bikes. Gave me a place to bunk down whenever my dad was on a rampage. Giv here even hid out a time or two at the clubhouse.”

  Allis turned wide eyes his way. “So you’re part of the Red Wolves more than I thought you were.”

  “There was a time when I thought I’d be following North into the life,” he admitted.

  “What happened?”

  “I…had a life-alternating event,” he said. “I was sixteen and North was spending all his free time with the Wolves so…I went to my school guidance counselor. He knew about my dad, knew about me getting the shit beat out of me on a regular basis. He suggested I go to victim’s meetings, so I did. I decided to become a cop so the crap North and I were going through wouldn’t happen to anyone else. When we were growing up, people turned a blind eye to what our dads were doing. I wanted to change that.”

  Her eyes shone brightly but she blinked, clearing up the tears. Admiration glowed in their deep, velvety depths and something shifted inside him, making his heart thunder strangely. North might be the heartthrob with the bad-boy persona that seemed to draw women left and right, but Givon had always been the steady one, the levelheaded one of them, and sometimes that got overlooked.

  He was glad she saw him.

  “Okay,” Branch said. “I’m done. Let me clean this up a little, put some plastic wrap on it then you’re free to go.”

  Surprised, Givon looked down his side and saw the dark tattoo amid a patch of red, angry skin. It was identical to Allis’ and North’s, and again, that odd feeling ran through him, causing his breath to hitch in his chest. They were all three marked with something to bind them together, forever.

  After Branch went over the wound care and covered up the tattoo, Givon put his shirt on but didn’t bother to button it up. They’d been there for three hours—although it had flown by—and now he had a tattoo. A fucking tattoo. Ah well, it would always remind him of Allis.

  As they headed out, he noticed the waiting chairs were occupied and one man looked a bit sloshed, but that wasn’t his concern. He and Allis stepped out of the parlor and North t
alked with the cashier and handed over some cash. Damn right he should pay, since he hadn’t wanted a damn tattoo to begin with.

  A drop of rain hit his nose and he looked up. The evening had descended and the sky looked dark and nasty as a cool wind blew.

  “I think you should ride home with me,” he told her.

  “I think you’re right.”

  He unlocked the truck and they hopped inside just as the heavens opened up. North stepped outside and shot a glowering look upward. Givon rolled his window down a little.

  “Want a ride home?”

  “Nah,” he replied. “I’m used to getting wet. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Be careful.”

  North saluted, slipped on his T-shirt but kept his cut folded up under his arm and made a mad dash to the bike. Givon and Allis watched him put the leather in a side bag, pull on his helmet then fired up the bike. He was already soaked as he roared away.

  “He’s going to freeze,” Allis said worriedly.

  “North’s a Wyoming boy,” Givon replied, putting his truck into gear. “He’ll be okay.”

  As they headed down the street, the windshield wipers beat rapidly back and forth. He turned on the heater and defrost up high and took his time driving back. North stayed in front of them, leading the way. A minute later, truck headlights came right up behind him, the high beams turned on.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  Allis turned around to look out the back. “I think it’s a black pickup,” she said.

  The truck backed off for a moment then came right back up on his bumper. It did this several times, as if playing a game.

  “If I had my work SUV, I’d flip on my lights to warn them they’re fucking with a cop,” Givon muttered.

  The truck rammed into them, not hard enough to make them fishtail or for Givon to lose control but enough to cause their seatbelts to lock into place.

  “Shit!” Givon yelled as he stomped on the brakes and reached for his gun. As he opened his door, the truck behind them zoomed past and sped off. He closed the door quickly. “Did you get the plate number?”

  “It was blacked out,” Allis said. “It was a Ford, though. A black Ford.”