Loser_Avenging Angels MC Book 3

by Nia Farrell

  Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Heather.” She said it, dry-eyed, as if she had shed so many tears, she had no more left. “I named her Heather. Losing her…it hurt, you know? And the pain—it wouldn’t go away,” she rasped, her voice strained. He couldn’t imagine what it was costing her, baring her soul to a virtual stranger who could do nothing for her but listen.

  Then again, maybe that was exactly what she needed. Telling someone who would listen and not judge.

  “When it got so bad I couldn’t stand it, I started cutting myself, on my thigh, where I want the tattoo,” she confessed. “I managed to stop, but there are times when I’m still tempted. I think having a memorial there will help. Something tangible that I can see and touch. An image that I can connect with, that I won’t want to deface.”

  Flynn dropped his gaze to her skirt. “It sounds like exactly what you need,” he said. Well, one of the things she needed. Sara found pain cathartic. If he could talk her into a kink session, he could show her that BDSM offered a healthier channel than cutting but with similar results. “The shop closes at seven. Why don’t you come in tomorrow just ahead of that? I’ll take a look at where you want it done. Once I see what I have to work with, we can look through the books and troll the internet for images that you like. Based on what we find, I can draft some designs that I think will work for you, and we’ll go from there. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes.” She shifted her weight but stayed where she was. “Is there someone who can sit with you for the next few hours and take you to the ER if you can’t stay awake?”

  He rubbed his jaw and swore under his breath. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

  “Six hours,” she said. “They say that if you’re going to bleed, it usually happens in the first six hours. You’re not even halfway there.”

  “Sara,” he sighed. “Six hours? That’s one in the morning, and I have to work tomorrow.”

  “You open at eleven. What time do you normally go to bed?”

  Fuck. There was no getting around her. “Two or three,” he grudged. “But that’s if I haven’t pulled an all-nighter like I did last night. I was planning on calling it quits and turning in early tonight.”

  She refused to give an inch. Sara Davies was proving to be fiercely single-minded.

  It was a trait that he could appreciate almost as much as her shapely calves and ample cleavage.

  “One,” she said firmly. “It’s still earlier than you’re used to.”

  “True. But if you stay,” he said, deliberately dropping his voice to an intimate rumble, “I’m gonna have to find something to do to stay awake. Come here, woman, and take off your skirt.”

  Chapter Six

  Sara went wide-eyed and stiffened, frozen in place while her mind raced and her cheeks bloomed red. Why would he think that she’d strip for him unless that blow to the head had scrambled his brains?

  “Or lift it,” he added when she failed to comply. “I need to see your thigh.”

  She saw that smirk before he hid it. Asshole. Swallowing her panic, she let her shoulders drop. “Oh. Okay.”

  She crossed the room but stopped short of the corner of his bed, staying well out of reach. A tamed tiger was still a tiger. It would be foolish to tempt the animal side of him.

  Flynn brushed past her and stopped. “Turn toward the light and show me what you got.”

  She twisted her torso, facing away from him to catch the hem of her skirt and lift it. Pivoting on the balls of her feet, she turned toward the center of the room.

  Flynn crouched down, bringing his face close to her groin. He exhaled sharply enough for his breath to whistle between his teeth, but he didn’t touch her. He angled his head and scanned her with his artist’s eyes, taking in every inch that she’d exposed.

  He drew in a ragged breath and huffed it out. When he spoke again, his voice sounded strained. “Can you lift it higher, please?”

  If he was hoping for a glimpse of exciting lingerie, he was doomed to be disappointed. Because he’d asked, not ordered, she complied.

  He studied the top of her thigh to where it disappeared beneath the elastic leg of her plain white cotton panties. Like a connoisseur savoring a taste of fine wine, he inhaled deeply, filled his lungs with her scent, and held it, releasing his breath only after he’d succeeded in stealing hers.

  There was no denying that Flynn McGee intrigued her. He had that bad boy allure, but he was so much more than just another tattooed biker in a leather cut. His artistry was amazing, and his BDSM lifestyle appealed to an aspect of herself that she had never really explored. Agreeing to come to his room was risky—not to mention, totally out of character for her, but she’d gambled that he meant what he said when he claimed that he was a Dominant. Based on what she’d read, nothing was going to happen that she hadn’t agreed to.

  She let him look his fill. It wasn’t easy standing still, when she could feel his gaze rake her flesh and his breath ghost over her skin.

  She couldn’t explain her disappointment when he told her to drop her skirt.

  He was done.

  He left her standing there, feeling like a hapless teen drooling over the latest pop sensation.

  Flynn took a seat at the four-foot table that he used for a desk (judging from the desk chair parked beside it). Turning on an electric tablet, he picked up a stylus and started to draw.

  Sara was curious but she didn’t want to distract him. She sat across the room in the side chair that he’d offered her earlier and watched him work, wordless, saving any questions for later.

  He finished one picture and started another. She kept an eye on him, watching for signs of drowsiness that never came. He was a man touched by fire, brimming with creativity that poured from his fingertips and spilled from his stylus onto the screen. The canvases on his walls had been done with acrylics, oils, and watercolors. Now, he painted with light, creating pieces that could disappear in the blink of an eye if he wasn’t careful. Considering his head injury, that was a very real possibility.

  Still, she said nothing. He had the talent and the vision to build worlds and bring them to life. If he lost anything, he’d simply make it anew.

  At one point, she excused herself and used the bathroom, remembering to lock and unlock both doors. When she was done, she pulled a travel bottle of water from her purse that she carried with her religiously and drank half of it.

  He looked up to see what she was doing.

  She lifted her bottle in a mock salute. “You should drink some water. It’s not good to sit and work without taking a break. You need to move. Get the circulation going. Rehydrate.”

  Flynn groaned. “Jesus Christ. You sound like my mother.”

  Sara smiled. “I take that as a compliment. Thank you.”

  Grumbling, he set down the stylus, grabbed a plastic tumbler from his bedside table, and stalked to the bathroom, returning with a full glass of tap water. Spring water would have been better, but at least it was something besides beer.

  He quaffed a drink and shot her a pointed look. “Satisfied?” he asked, setting down his glass and picking up his stylus.

  “For now. Ask me again in two hours.”

  He paused with his hand hovering above the tablet. “Sweetheart,” he rumbled, his voice heavy with innuendo, “if I’m asking you that in two hours, it’s a safe bet, I won’t be talking about water.”

  His words set off a maelstrom of emotion, with panic and lust warring for control.

  Panic won.

  Sara bolted out of her chair and started digging in her purse for her cell phone. “Oh, Jesus! What time is it?”

  “One thirty-two. Time for good girls to be home in bed. Come on. Find your keys and I’ll walk you out.”

  Sara abandoned the search for her phone and fished for her keys. Feeling the fob, she pulled out the set, shouldered her purse, and headed for the hallway door that Flynn had cracked open. He peered out, checking the hall before opening it wid
e enough to let Sara pass. Closing the door behind them, he put a hand on the small of her back and guided her down the long corridor to the stairs.

  Flynn McGee might be a tattooed biker, but she felt oddly safer with him than with most of the men she’d dated. He was a conundrum—a puzzle that she wasn’t sure that she should try to solve. They were from two different worlds. The action still going on in the clubhouse lounge only underscored that. But if she was going to get a tattoo, she wanted the best.

  After Isabella suggested Angel Ink, Sara had asked around to see what artists people recommended. One name stood out above all the rest. Flynn McGee. His reputation is what drew her to Angel Ink, but seeing how he handled being taken down by Isabella was eye-opening. She looked past the tattoos, past the cut, and saw a man who wasn’t too proud to be bested by a woman. A man who could smile despite his pain and still put others’ needs before his own. Isabella had needed the reassurance that he’d given. Sara had needed him to listen without judgment.

  He had done that and more. He’d stirred something inside her that she hadn’t felt in far too long. For three years, she’d been focused on survival and healing, struggling to forgive what she could never forget. Some days she still struggled. Some days, she looked at her new normal and was grateful that it wasn’t worse. She could have been raped, maimed, or killed. She could have been trapped in a loveless marriage. Now she was free to make her own choices, but she still had to live with the consequences.

  Her growing infatuation with Flynn was hopeless. They were artist and customer, nothing more. They weren’t friends, and they certainly weren’t lovers. But just the idea was enough to make her tingle in places that had been numb for far too long. For the first time in years, she felt life in every fiber of her being. He’d succeeded where other men had failed. She was starting to want again.

  And with a man like Flynn, that could be a very dangerous thing. Given who he was and what she was…she needed to keep things professional. That’s what she told herself when he walked her to her car. That’s what she told herself the next afternoon when she shaved her legs, washed her hair, and cut the tags off the new bra, matching panties, and barely-there skirt that she wore to Angel Ink.

  Isabella was cleaning the waiting room when she arrived. Poor thing, she’d gone through so much, but her boyfriend Mad Dog had provided the support that she’d needed to come this far, despite the triggers that she might be dealing with for the rest of her life.

  Sara knew because she had them, too.

  Isabella paused from wiping the window and waved. “Hi! Flynn’s in the back. He should be freed up soon. He said for you to look at the books. See that top one? He added some prints to it this morning.”

  Sara set her purse on one chair seat and sat in another. Reaching for the portfolio, she opened it to the last page and worked her way toward the front. There must have been a dozen images that she didn’t remember seeing on her first trip here. The artistry was incredible. Exotic blooms. Lush foliage. Brilliantly colored birds, fish, dragonflies, and butterflies.

  She thought that she’d had an idea of what she wanted, but by the time Flynn came to the front, she was more confused than ever.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, watching Isabella lock the door behind her and get on the back of Mad Dog’s Harley Davidson. Seeing them disappear down the street made her acutely aware that she was alone with Flynn. “I had imagined a simple tattoo. A single bloom with a date. But seeing these…God, I don’t know where to start. They’re all so beautiful. Did you do some of these new ones last night?”

  “All of them.”

  Jesus, the man was so humble. He said it like it was no big deal.

  “While someone was making me stay awake.”

  “How’s the head?”

  “Still hurts,” he admitted. “I’ve been running on ibuprofen and coffee today.”

  “When did you eat?”

  He looked at his feet, finding his shoes of sudden interest. “We’ve been busy. I grabbed a bite when I could.”

  “Do you like Thai?”

  “What?”

  Sara was already digging for her cell phone. “I said, do you like Thai? You need to eat, and they deliver. Unless you’d rather have something else? Mexican? Italian? Greek? Japanese?”

  “No, Thai’s fine.”

  “Do you have any food allergies? Anything you hate?”

  “Anchovies.” He actually shuddered. “I can’t stand anchovies. Or liver. Or mushrooms. I like nuts but I don’t want them in things. Other than that, I think I’m good.”

  The local Thai restaurant picked up on the second ring. Sara ordered a sampler dinner for two with mango and sticky rice for dessert.

  “Forty-five minutes,” she said, noting the time and tucking her cell phone back into her purse. “Now, where were we?”

  Flynn smoothed his short goatee and swept the wayward strands of hair away from his face. “You were looking at pictures. Seeing if there was anything that would work for you.”

  Sara sighed. “The problem is narrowing them down. What do you think would look good there?”

  Flynn studied her leg intently enough to make her pussy tingle and her panties get wet. “Look. It’s not what I want. It’s what you want. Give me your body as a canvas, and there’d be no stopping me once I got going. You said that you needed to keep it hidden while you work. I don’t think that skirt meets the school dress code, Sara.”

  She felt her cheeks grow flush. “No, I wore this for you. It shows my thigh.”

  He arched a brow. “It shows a helluva lot more than that. Did you wear those red panties for me, too? Don’t bother tugging on the skirt, Sara. It’s too late for that.”

  She froze with her fingers on the hem.

  “Well?” he said. “Did you?”

  She snapped her spine straight, and looked past his shoulder, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “No. I wore them for me.”

  “Liar.” He pinned her with his gaze. “Look me in the eye and tell me that again. Did you wear those panties for me?”

  His hazel eyes were this beautiful mix of colors that seemed to shift with his emotions. Right now, they were as dark as she’d ever seen them.

  “Maybe,” she said, making one more feeble attempt to evade his question.

  He crossed his tattooed arms and gave her a look that demanded the truth.

  “Yes,” she admitted, feeling the blush that colored her cheeks and spilled down to her chest.

  “That’s what I thought. And why would you do that, Sara? Wear red panties and flash me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  “No.”

  “Did you want me to notice?”

  “Yes,” she croaked.

  “You know, some men would think that you were asking for something you might not be willing to give. What were you hoping for, Sara? What did you see happening here tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” she keened, at once ashamed and aroused. “After I got out of the hospital, I created this image that people wanted to see. Someone who has it together. Someone who’s happy. But no one bothers to look past the mask. No one wants to see the darkness or the grief, the guilt or the regrets. They want to see the old Sara, and she’s not there anymore.”

  Flynn listened. Nodded. “You’re trying to find yourself. Redefine yourself. I get that. I’ve had to do it, too. More than once. It just takes time.”

  “Time?” She shook her head. “It’s been three years since I’ve felt anything and now…? I feel clueless when I’m with you. I don’t know what to do. How to act. What to think when you get flirty with me. I don’t know. Maybe you’re that way with everyone. I mean, look at me. I’m nothing like those girls in your club.”

  “No,” he said. “You’re not. And thank fuck for it. Sweetbutts are a dime a dozen. Sleeping with them is meaningless sex. Scratching an itch, nothing more. A woman like you…you have no idea how rare you are. I look at you, and I see someone who’s stronger than she thinks
, wiser than she knows, and better than I deserve. There’s a kindness in you that’s survived despite everything that you’ve been through. The way that you stayed with me, I have to wonder if you’d have done it for anyone else. Would you have been brave enough to go to the clubhouse, say, with Beast if you’d seen him go down? What I’m saying is, I know it took guts to go in there with me and you didn’t really know me from shit. Hell, you took a bigger chance going to my room. If you had any idea what was going through my mind, you’d have dropped me at the door and gone straight home.”

  Sara pressed her thighs together but it did nothing to ease the throbbing between her legs. “You said you were a Dominant. A true Dominant wouldn’t force himself on me. Nothing would have happened without my consent.”

  “And it won’t tonight, either. But I’m too old for games, Sara. If you want something, tell me. Don’t play coy. You say that you want to discover who you are. Well, I want that, too. After we eat, I’ll show you something that may help. Doing it will be your choice. I’m hoping that you’ll trust me to guide you through it.”

  She wanted him to explain, but when she opened her mouth, he shook his head. “No questions. Not until you know what it is. We can talk about anything else until then—or eat. It looks like your Thai guy is here.”

  The deliveryman had just pulled up behind her Honda. Flynn unlocked the front door, waving off Sara when she tried to give him money. He paid for the food, adding enough of a tip that the driver was still smiling when he got in his car.

  “Can you hold this while I lock up?”

  “Sure.” Sara took a deep breath, inhaling the tantalizing aromas coming from inside the brown paper bags. “Mmm. It smells good. I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” He left the key in the door and took one of the sacks from her. “Come on. The breakroom is this way.”