by Chiah Wilder
Paco left the room and went upstairs, opening the door to find Chelsea lying on the bed, her back to him. The soft sunlight fell on her bare slender legs, across which a portion of the teal satin sheet shimmered. Her dark hair fanned around her, looking more like spilled ink in the late morning sun, and a sliver of purple lace peeked out from under one of his T-shirts he’d given her. Gentle snuffling noises came from her as she breathed, and he quietly walked over and sat in the chair, watching her sleep.
She’s incredible. How had she sneaked in and cracked the ice around his heart? He never thought he’d ever feel anything more than lust and desire for another woman. He’d been vigilant in keeping his emotions buried, and it had worked—no woman even came close to challenging his decision.
When Cassie left him, he’d been devastated, angry, hurt, and bitter. For years, he never let a woman get close to him, only spending time with them for fun and carnal satisfaction. And he’d been just fine with that until he saw Chelsea at the diner. In that first connection between them, her captivating eyes pulling him in, his emotions were compromised. It was like hitting an ice patch while riding his bike: unexpected, out of control, intense.
He leaned his head back against the cushion. The way he felt for Chelsea was all-encompassing, allowing him to let his guard down, but it was also terrifying because he knew how trusting a woman with his heart could cut and hurt him deeply.
And she’ll be going back home soon.
“Hey,” she said in a soft voice.
He looked at her as she stretched, then sat up. “Hey.”
“I got so sleepy waiting for you that I just laid down for a few minutes.” She glanced at the phone. “And that was two hours ago.” She chuckled. “How did your… what did you call it?”
“Church.”
“That’s it. How did it go?”
“Fine.”
“What did you guys talk about?”
“Club business. I can’t talk about it. You want to go out for a bit? Maybe we can go to Tula and have lunch.”
“Tula? Where’s that?”
“A town about thirty miles from here. It’s better if you don’t go around Alina since that fucker is here.”
“Okay. What about your store?”
“My employees will take care of it. Jillian and Betsy are awesome.” He went over to her and dipped his head. “Give me your lips.” She tilted her head back and he covered her mouth with his, squeezing her tits softly. She locked her arms around his neck and arched her back, small noises escaping her.
“You feel good, babe,” he said as he slipped his hand inside her T-shirt and swiped his fingers over her hardening nipples.
She tugged him down lower and soon he had her on all fours, his sheathed dick buried between her legs, her ass jerking against him as he banged the hell out of her. The more he shoved in, the more she told him to go harder. He pushed deeper and harder, and when her warm walls gripped and tightened around his cock, he thrust faster toward climax. Then the knot at the root of his dick dissolved in fire, melting. His shouts mingled with hers as he came, and then her knees gave out and she collapsed on her belly with him still twitching inside her. He fell half on top of her and nuzzled the back of her neck.
She giggled. “That tickles.”
Paco rolled over and nudged her on her back, then propped himself up on his elbow and kissed her again. He couldn’t stop kissing her. The taste of her mouth, the feeling of her lips cushioned against his, the warmth of her tongue twined around his got inside him and into the air all around him. She had become indispensable.
She lightly traced his tattoos. “How old were you when you got your first tattoo?”
“Seventeen.”
“I always wanted one. I was planning to use my aunt Sandy’s ID and get one, but then all that shit happened to me.”
He glanced at her arm, at the crown tattoo. It was a simple design in black ink with initials underneath. “You got a tat.” He ran his finger over it. “Who’s EZR?”
She shook her head. “I don’t count that one, or the one on the back of my neck. They were put on me to show other traffickers and pimps that I belong to someone. The one on my arm is Erik’s brand—those are his initials, and the one on the back of my neck is Bobby’s. Each of them marked me when they bought me. It’s what they do to the women they own.” She held his gaze. “They’re my war wounds.”
Anger lit inside him and his stomach tightened. He reached over and pulled up her hair. At first he didn’t see it, but then he found a black bar code with some numbers under it. It looked like the bar codes on items in a store. Fuck. Just like branding cattle. Like a fucking commodity to buy and sell. He let her hair go and it cascaded down, covering the ugliness on her neck. With his hand on her back, he drew her closer, kissing the top of her head, her temples, and her nose.
A smile whispered across her lips. With a faraway look in her eyes, she ran her hand up and down his arm. “Every time I took a shower or tried to look at my body, I was reminded of the violence and exploitation that had become my new world. I figured that was going to be my life from then on. Then you came into my world, and you gave me hope. I bet you didn’t know that.” She paused for a second, eyes watering. “I’m so grateful to be alive, I really am, but having to look at those markings on my body every day just pulls me down, and the sadness can be overwhelming. I wonder whether I’ll ever be anything but the person those tattoos say I am.”
“Don’t ever think that’s who you are. You were forced to be something you weren’t, but the real you was always there. You just had to bury her to survive. Now you’re free and—”
“Am I? I couldn’t even fuckin’ run or scream or do anything when I saw Bobby last night. I stood there quivering, ready to do whatever he told me to.” She buried her head against him.
“That’s normal. You were beaten and raped into obedience for eight years. You can’t erase it in a few days.”
“But when I’m with you and we fuck, I’m just with you, not all the hundreds of men I was forced to have sex with.”
Paco ran his hands over her back. “That’s good, babe, but the shit you went through is still in your head. I can see it in your eyes sometimes, and in the way you thrash and moan in your sleep. You need to get some help to deal with it. You can talk to Breanna about it when I’m gone.”
Her head jerked back. “You’re leaving? Where are you going? How long will you be gone? Can I come with you? I don’t want to be alone here. Bobby’s in Alina.”
“Whoa, calm down. First off, you’ll stay in the clubhouse. Starting the day after tomorrow, the club’s imposing a lockdown.”
“That sounds like what they do in prison.”
“It’s along the same lines, I suppose. It just means everyone’s confined to the club, and all kids, old ladies, girlfriends, and club women have to stay here.”
“You mean no one can go outside?”
“No. It’s just safer inside in case there’s a sharpshooter waiting.” He chuckled. “Don’t look so horrified. We make sure no one’s lurking around. We have a great security system, and the brothers know what they’re doing. It’s just until we think the situation has passed the danger zone. It’ll be good for you since that fucking pimp won’t be able to find you.”
He took her hand and held it on his lap. “I gotta go out of town on club business. I can’t tell you any more than that, but I’ll try and call or text if and when I can. You’ll like most of the old ladies. Breanna’s nice, Raven can be blunt, Fallon’s quiet but a great listener, Hailey is full of energy, Sam can be a pain in the ass, and Shannon will keep trying to find out your story—though you don’t have to tell her or anyone jack shit. If Sam or Shannon get to be too much, tell Breanna. She’s the head old lady since Steel’s the prez and she’s his woman. Sam and Shannon have been old ladies for a long time. Sam’s married to Tattoo Mike, and Shannon and Rooster have been hitched for over twelve years.”
“Do the women know about
me? I mean, about what I was?”
“The guys around here are worse than the club girls with all their talking and gossiping, so I’d have to guess that they probably do. The only ones who may make it an issue or get too personal with the questions are Sam and Shannon. Like I said, tell Breanna if they start shit with you. Better yet, tell Raven and she’ll probably end up beating some ass. She’s tough.”
“I hope you come back soon. I’m not sure what to do. I’m not that good with mingling. I used to have a great group of friends, but for years I never talked to anyone except Bobby some of the time and the johns. I mostly asked them why they were with me when they had their wives and children at home, but they never answered. Most of the men were married.”
“Not surprising. My fucking old man was like that.”
“Would you be?”
“Whoa, baby. That’s a helluva question. I don’t have any plans on getting married.”
“But if you did, would you be okay with cheating?”
“If I loved a woman, I’d never cheat on her. It wouldn’t matter if I was married or not.” How did we get on marriage? He sat up. “We should get going. We’ll take the SUV.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Day after tomorrow. No more questions. Get your cute ass in gear and get ready.”
While she showered and got ready, Paco idly watched a boxing match on the television while his mind drifted to Chelsea. When he’d seen the two tattoos on her, he wanted to smash the walls with his fists, pretending they were the fuckers who created her hell. He couldn’t stand knowing her traffickers’ brands were on her, claiming her.
He placed a joint in his mouth and lit it. I’m gonna kill that fucking Bobby. I don’t know how I’m gonna find out shit on Erik, but if and when I do, he’s done. Chelsea had told him she only knew Erik’s first name. She’d said that he’d been brutal, and she was relieved when he sold her. All she’d wanted was to get away from his viciousness, his greed, and his stone-cold detachment. Paco had his poker face on when she’d told him about Erik, but inside an electric-hot rage seethed. Even though she left out the details, he knew what brutal was. He’d been accused of it on more than one occasion, but he’d never acted that way toward an innocent person. His fierceness was reserved for the betrayers of the club, the assholes who threatened to weaken the brotherhood, or the ones who preyed on the innocent. For those people, he didn’t show any mercy, nor would he when he caught up to the men who were responsible for destroying Chelsea’s innocence.
“All done,” she said.
Looking over at her, he sucked in his breath. She was stunning with her damp hair falling around her and just a hint of makeup on her glowing skin. The tight-fitting jeans and form-hugging sweater made him reevaluate whether he wanted to leave the room at all until he headed to Silverado.
“Are you ready to go? I’m getting hungry.”
“Me too, but it’s not for food.” He caught her gaze and winked.
She laughed. “You’re so bad.”
“I never told you I was good.” He stood up.
“But you promised me lunch.” She jutted her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout.
He laughed and went over to her, slipping her lip between his and sucking lightly. “So fucking tempting.” He smacked her ass, then went into the bathroom to freshen up.
When they pulled in front of the tattoo parlor, Chelsea gave Paco a confused look. “What’re we doing here?”
“I was thinking you should get rid of those fucking tats. We’ll go in and have one of the brothers cover them up.”
A pink flush swept her cheeks and she threw her arms around his neck, smothering his face with feathery kisses. “You’re so good to me. You’re the best. I love you.” She buried her face in the crook of his neck, and he felt wetness on his skin.
He held her for what seemed like an eternity, and then he slowly pushed her away. “Let’s go inside.” She nodded, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. He chalked up the “I love you” statement to her being overcome with emotion, or just an exclamation without much thought behind it. He didn’t want to think about her being in love with him.
She’s going home. She needs a chance to live the life she was meant to. I’m not the one for her. I can’t offer her anything smooth or ordinary. My world is chaos and violence, and that’s the last thing she needs.
Liberty smiled when they walked in. “Hey, Paco. Long time no see. You here for a tat, or you want to see Goldie?”
With his hands on Chelsea’s shoulders, he pushed her forward. “She needs some ink. Is Goldie busy?”
“He just finished. Go on back.”
He lifted his chin, then headed back with Chelsea’s hand firmly in his.
“Come on in,” Goldie’s voice boomed through the door.
Paco opened the door and let Chelsea go in first. From the way Goldie looked at her and then at him, Paco knew he was surprised to see them together, but Goldie didn’t say anything.
“Chelsea needs a couple of tats covered up. She’s been wanting a new one too, but that’ll have to wait until I get back.”
Goldie nodded and motioned for Chelsea to sit on a chair that resembled those in dentists’ offices. “What’re you trying to cover up?”
Chelsea pointed to her arm. “This one—” She swooped up her hair and turned sideways. “—and this one.”
Goldie’s gaze darted to Paco’s when he saw the bar code tat. Paco gritted his teeth and jerked his head. Goldie touched the tattoo. “I can cover both up easily. Do you have any designs in mind?”
Without hesitation, she said, “For the one on the arm, I want the words ‘free to be me’ with a broken chain around the script and a few tiny birds flying out above it. And for my neck, I want a beautiful yellow rose with the stem and leaves. No thorns.”
Goldie moved his stool over. “Been thinking about this for a long time?”
“You could say that.” She latched on to Paco’s gaze. “Thank you.”
He came over to her and bent down, brushing his lips against hers. “You want me to stay?” She nodded. He kissed her, then went over to the black couch and sank down.
When the needle first went on her arm, she cried. “Do you want me to rub on a numbing cream? It’ll take about forty-five minutes to do its thing,” Goldie said.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt that much. I’ve felt dead inside for so long, but now I’m alive, beginning a new chapter in my life. It’s just overwhelming, that’s all. That this time I get to choose what goes on my body. That I’m free.”
Goldie cleared his throat, and Paco came over and stroked her face. “You’re free because of your strength and courage. You’re a survivor, babe. Don’t ever forget that.”
She wiped her cheeks, then brought his hand to her lips and kissed it before releasing it. “Okay, I’m ready.”
For the next two hours, over the whir of the needle and under Goldie’s steady hand, the brandings on her arm and neck were replaced by colorful ethereal designs. Afterward, she moved her arm one way and then another as if admiring Goldie’s handiwork. He turned the chair around and handed her a mirror.
“I can’t believe how beautiful they are. I love them. You took marks that stripped me of my individuality, my humanity, and redesigned them, turning them into something beautiful. I just can’t thank you enough. When I get a job, I swear I’ll pay you for your work.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Goldie said as he peeled off his gloves.
“Good job, dude. Thanks.” Paco bumped fists with Goldie, then helped Chelsea out of the chair and wrapped his arm around her.
“Here you go. Follow the instructions, and if you have a problem, Paco can help you out with it. Be sure to cover the back of your neck real well when you shampoo your hair. Liberty will give you a kit.”
“Paco’s going out of town,” she said softly.
“That’s right. Well, if you have a problem, give the shop a call. Tattoo Mike will
be here, and so will Jimmy.”
“Thanks again,” she said as Paco guided her out the door.
The rest of the evening was spent laughing and talking over a platter of ribs, coleslaw, mashed potatoes, and cornbread. As Paco drank his beer, warmth spread through him. Chelsea had been dancing on air since they’d left Get Inked. She was telling him a corny joke she’d heard from one of her cousins a long time ago. The more animated she became, the more turned on he got. At that moment, with her eyes sparkling, her hands flying every which way, and the peachy glow of her cheeks, he wished that he’d met her before her ordeal… and before Cassie. He probably would’ve fallen head over heels in love with her, and they could’ve been happy—maybe even have had a few kids.
If only our lives had intersected earlier.
He focused his attention back on her, ignoring the ache that throbbed deep in his heart.
Chapter Nineteen
Chelsea awoke to soft caresses as the morning light trickled in through the blinds. Snuggling deeper into the covers, her eyes remained closed as the remnants of a dream quickly slipped away. The scent of leather and myrrh enveloped her, and tiny bumps carpeted her skin as lips gently nibbled her ear. Slowly, she opened her eyes and smiled when Paco’s face came into focus.
He brushed his lips across hers. “Morning, beautiful.”
“Morning,” Chelsea mumbled, propping herself up on her elbows. She sat up and rubbed her eyes with the insides of both palms, then stretched her arms toward the ceiling and yawned.
“I’m taking you somewhere,” he said as he pushed off the bed.
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise. We gotta get going, so drag your cute, little ass out of bed and get ready.”
Excitement coursed through her, so she quickly swung her legs over the side and rose to her feet. As she rushed past Paco, he snagged her around the waist, pressed her close to him, and kissed her deeply. Then he turned her around so she faced the bathroom and smacked her lightly on the butt. “We’re spending the night, so pack a few things,” he added while he walked over to the closet, pulled out a small, black bag, and threw it on the bed. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
