by Nia Farrell
Still, he’d told her that she could bring her stuff. Unless he wanted to make himself a liar, he was stuck. Hopefully, it would be for a short time. Between the Viscontis and the Avenging Angels, surely someone would take out Reaper soon.
He didn’t tell Sara, but he was worried what they’d find when they picked up her car and went to her house. Ideally he wanted the club enforcers Hawk and Beast with them. If there was any trouble, they would come prepared to handle it. They’d have no problem putting down a monster like Reaper while Flynn protected Sara.
Flynn tucked a pistol in his back waistband and took Sara to pick up her car. He drove. She rode. Hawk and Beast tailed them to her rental house, a quaint mid-century bungalow in a quiet residential neighborhood.
Or it was quiet.
The rumble of Harleys had people looking out the windows that they’d rattled. Ignoring the stares, Sara unlocked her bright red front door and stepped inside. Flynn, Hawk, and Beast followed.
The inside surprised Flynn. He was glad to see that they hadn’t covered up the hardwood floors with wall-to-wall carpet. He expected to see lots of knickknacks, floral arrangements, and family pictures on the walls, but the kindergarten teacher liked contemporary furniture and Art Nouveau. Her living room set was upholstered in a neutral beige fabric. Alphonse Mucha posters and Klimt prints were hung on soft, sage green walls. The guys were pumped that she had a decent sized flat screen HD TV that they could watch while Sara packed.
“I like movies,” she told Flynn. “The remote’s there, guys. Help yourselves. I’ll start packing. My bedroom’s in the back.”
Beast smirked. Flynn flipped him the bird and followed Sara to her private space. Finally, this was what he expected to see. Her antique wrought-iron bed had been powder-coated in off-white. The sheets were purple. A summer-weight blanket lay folded across the foot of the bed.
She had an antique wardrobe, a highboy chest of drawers, and a vintage dressing table that looked like it had come from a 1930s Hollywood film set. The walls were covered with movie posters, some of them original, from what he could tell, ranging from The Wizard of Oz to Daniel Day-Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans.
Escape.
She used cutting to release the pain and movies to escape.
He considered either one healthier than numbing herself with drugs or alcohol.
Sara put her list on the dressing table, got two suitcases from the guest bedroom closet, and started filling them, working her way down the list until she was nearly done. The large suitcase was filled with clothes and toiletries. She used the carryon for electronics—a hair dryer, laptop, e-readers, adapters, rechargers, and power cords.
No vibrators or dildos, though. She hadn’t been kidding when she said that she didn’t touch herself.
“I have a lap desk and a folding wooden TV table that I use for the computer,” she told him. “I’d like to bring one of them if I can.”
“Why don’t you bring both? The lap desk will slip under the bed, and you can always use a TV table for something.”
She forced down the lid of the large suitcase and snapped the closures. “I’m going to need to iron my clothes before I wear them. Do I need to bring one?”
Looking at her expectant face, he couldn’t tell her no. Jesus, he needed to grow a pair of balls, but shit. She was being uprooted. She was at risk from Reaper. So she wanted her clothes to look nice. Whether she was dressing for him or for herself or for anyone else, it didn’t matter. After everything that she’d been through, she deserved to look and feel her best.
If he was lucky, he would talk her out of them when they were alone. If he was really, really lucky, she might agree to shuck them for play in the clubhouse lounge.
“I’m sure there’s one around, but hell if I know where it is. Might as well bring yours.”
A hallway closet had been modified to fit a washer and dryer. She pulled a steam iron from the shelf above it, grabbed a fistful of zippered mesh bags, and stuck everything in a blue cloth tote bag that read, I’m not crazy because I teach. I’m crazy because I love it.
She set the bag on the dryer and rubbed her low back. “Except for the lap desk and TV tray, that should be it,” she told him. “Let me check my list one more time, and we can start loading.”
Flynn glanced at her bedside alarm clock. “Wait a minute. What do you want to do for lunch? I really should feed the guys.”
Sara smacked her head. “If I’m not going to be here, I need to clean out my refrigerator. Let me see what I’ve got. I’m pretty sure I can come up with something.”
What she came up with was spaghetti and meat sauce, tossed salad, steamed vegetables, and fresh fruit for dessert. She was low on dressing and made a batch with oil and two kinds of vinegar, lightly flavored with herbs and spices. “House dressing,” she said, setting it on the table with the rest of the food. “Help yourselves, guys.”
It was a simple meal but filling, and it used things that she’d just be throwing away. Claiming that they hated waste, Beast and Hawk split the last of the spaghetti. Sarah pitched what was left of the salad but she put the leftover steamed vegetables and fruit in containers to take with her. Once dishes were done, they put a bag of trash in the trunk to add to the clubhouse dumpster.
Sara was still in the same clothes that she’d worn to Angel Ink. She asked permission to change. Flynn gave it. Not that he didn’t mind seeing her in that barely-there skirt, but every other brother would be ogling her. He knew that she’d feel better in the skinny jeans and knit top that she picked out to wear over a lacy bra and matching panties.
Once she was dressed, they loaded her stuff, secured the house, and headed for Angel Ink.
Flynn drove again. He parked her car behind his bike that they’d ridden to the shop. Hawk and Beast pulled in behind them, angle-parking in a single space. The guys had a clear view of the street and their rides. There was no fucking way that Reaper could tamper with them without being seen.
Sara had put her leftovers in a plastic bag to take inside and put in the breakroom fridge for as long as they were there. “I’ll need my carryon, too,” she told him. “In this heat, I’d rather not risk damage to my computer.”
Pulling it from the back seat, he set it upright on the sidewalk and eyed her speculatively. She’d slung her purse over her shoulder, had the food bag in one hand, and was pulling out the luggage handle with the other.
“I can carry something,” he offered.
Sara shook her head. “I’ve got this. You can get the doors.”
Seeing the sense of it, Flynn locked the car and opened the shop, securing the front door behind them once everyone was inside. Handing Beast the remote to the TV in the front, he led Sara to the back. She put her food in the fridge. He popped a load of towels in the washer before taking her into his office.
Thank fuck he’d left it fairly clean. Between Isabella and Rose, he’d gotten into the habit of putting receipts and bills into folders as they came in, rather than letting them pile up.
“I know you’ve gone through my books. Today, rather than look again, we’re going online.” He pulled an extra chair behind his desk so that they could both see his computer screen. “Sit. I’m gonna find some sites that I want you to look at.”
Parking her carryon against the wall, Sara looped the handle of her purse over the chair back and sat down beside him. Opening a search engine, Flynn typed in memorial tattoos for babies, clicked on the site that they used most, and rolled his chair to the side, making room for her to move over and see.
“Oh.” A single, heartfelt whisper escaped her lips when he scrolled down to the first image, a sleeping winged cherub tattooed on a woman’s upper right back. He kept going but none of them got the reaction of that first one.
“Look,” he said. “I know that you wanted a flower. What if I put a baby like this in the center of a lotus? You know, in the East, there’s a lot of meaning to a lotus. It rises from the mud to bloom in beauty. It represe
nts spiritual evolution and transcendence and shit.”
Sara swiped a tear from her eye and nodded. “I like that,” she whispered. “I like to think that she’s growing up there like she never had a chance to here.”
Reaching across, Flynn squeezed her hand but he didn’t let go. “You okay?” he asked. “You ready to look at some blooms?”
She sniffed and forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m good. Let’s see what will work.”
They scrolled through row after row of lotus blossoms. One style was perfect to pair with the cherub. But another image caught both of their attention, a lotus in the center of an ornate background.
Flynn wanted to make her tattoo beautiful but more than that, he wanted to make it beautiful for her.
“Do you want the image where it’s right-side up when you look at it? It will be upside down to everyone else when you’re wearing a bathing suit. To you, too, when you’re in front of a full-length mirror.”
Her brow furrowed. “Won’t that look odd?”
“It’s your tattoo.” He spoke softly but firmly. “You should get it how you want it. If it doesn’t matter, then I’d do it the standard way, right side up when you’re looking in a mirror, upside down when you’re shaving your legs.”
“Right side up, I think.”
“I know it will make it a bigger tat, but what do you think of something like this behind it? Let me show you.” He did a quick save, turned it one hundred eighty degrees, and had her look again.
“See? Upside down, it’s still beautiful. I can do just the lotus and the baby, but this design will cover more of your thigh. Either one will give you that touchstone you wanted. The size of this one should make it easier to resist cutting.”
“I like it. I know there are copyrights and things like that, but I was hoping for an original design.”
“Of course. That’s what I do.” Not that she’d know that. This was her first ink, after all.
She looked at the calendar. He could see her mind ticking the hours until she had to report for duty. “How long do you think it will it take? To draw and to do?”
“Depends,” he said. “I can usually sketch it out pretty fast, but adding all the details that go into the final tat takes time. I don’t have plans for today. The shop’s closed on Mondays. With luck, we can finalize a drawing today and start your ink tomorrow. If you can take the pain, I’m hoping that we can have it done in two sessions. You need a month of time in between to heal. The scabs need to be gone and the ink flat to the touch. If we get an early start tomorrow, most of it will be done before you go back to work. We can do the rest on a weekend, ideally a three-day one. If you’re one of those people who heal faster, chances are, you’ll be ready to go again by Labor Day. If not, we can keep Columbus Day in mind. How’s that sound?”
Sara smiled. A real smile this time, not forced like before. “It sounds good. It feels good, if that makes sense. Look.” She held up one arm and showed him her dimpled skin. “You’re giving me goosebumps.”
In his experience, goosebumps served as an affirmation for most people. It was a visible sign that they were on the right track.
“I’ll get started then. In twenty minutes or so, the towels can go in the dryer. Another forty-five, and they’ll be done. I can work at the clubhouse after that. Do you want to get a magazine from up front?”
“No thanks. I brought books. About two hundred of them.” She pulled her reader from her purse. “I should have enough charge to read one if I turn off my Wi-Fi.”
Picking up her chair, Sara put it back where they’d found it and sat on the other side of the desk, letting him work without interruption. He appreciated the courtesy. Customers as thoughtful as Sara were a rare commodity.
Flynn worked on his tablet, wielding the stylus and painting with pixels. He took a break when he heard the washer quit and another when the dryer alarm sounded. Once the towels were folded, he returned to the office, copied Sara’s folder onto a flash drive, and started shutting things down.
“Ready?” he asked.
She had to tear herself away from whatever she was reading. “Sure.” Hitting the power button and closing the purple cover, she started to tuck it back in her purse but paused with it halfway out. “You know, my e-reader is what started Isabella and me talking. Her cover is purple, too.”
Sara and Isabella had more in common than their book covers. Both of them craved pain. He couldn’t wait to do a session with Sara using pins. Done right, she’d go so far into subspace, he’d have to peel her off the ceiling to bring her back.
“While you get your food, I’m gonna grab some things.” Pocketing the flash drive, Flynn hustled to the playroom, opened the small duffel bag that he kept at the shop, and packed what he hoped he might need tonight. Done, he collected Sara from the breakroom and headed up front, calling ahead to let the guys know that they were done. Hopefully, they’d take it as a warning. With the Cardinal game just getting started, there was a ninety-nine point nine percent chance, the guys were watching porn.
Whatever pay-per-view they’d been using, Hawk had the decency to turn to a car restoration show before Sara stepped into the room. Beast was still adjusting himself.
Sara’s face flooded with crimson. Some things you just couldn’t hide. Beast’s monster dick was one of them.
He let Sara handle her carry on until they got to her car, but he collapsed the handle and loaded it into the back seat. “Follow me,” he told her, handing her the keys. “Hawk and Beast will be right behind you.”
He wished that they’d hitched a ride this morning instead of taking his bike. He should be the one behind the wheel, making sure that she got home safe and sound.
“Give me your phone.”
Sara handed it over, no questions asked.
Good girl.
Flynn punched in Papa Bear’s cell number but ended the call as soon as he’d started it. “If anything happens,” he told her, “and I mean anything, you redial this last number and head straight for the clubhouse. Papa Bear’s the President. He’ll send whatever help we need. If a policeman pulls you over, stay inside the car and get Papa Bear on the phone. Keep your doors locked. When the officer comes up and wants you to roll down your window, tell Papa Bear the name on the badge. If he says to get out of there, you do it, you hear?”
Sara paled, the blood washing from her face. “You’re scaring me, Flynn.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I didn’t think ahead. I don’t like you driving alone, knowing Reaper’s out there.”
“Then don’t,” she said firmly. “Let’s go back inside. All of us. Do what you did that first night. Have someone bring Link to drive your bike back to the clubhouse and you can drive me. Problem solved.”
Flynn smiled. “You’re brilliant. You know that, right?” He looked at Hawk and Beast. “You heard the lady. Back to the shop. I’ve got one more call to make.”
Chapter Fifteen
It took a while, but he got Sara squared away at the clubhouse. Her trash was in the dumpster. Her food bag marked “private” was in the fridge. Some of her clothes were hanging in his closet. Her TV tray was a suitcase stand, and her Mac was on her lap desk. Right now, she was sitting in bed with a pillow cushioning her back, reading the book that she’d been so engrossed in earlier.
Flynn worked at his desk, afraid that if he joined her, the distraction would prove too much. He drew the tattoo in pieces that he’d layer and blend together. The baby angel was first. Once she’d approved his design, he moved on to the lotus, its seed pod forming a bed for the baby while its petals cradled the sleeping form. The background took the most time. Drawing from examples of Indian architecture and Hindu art, he started his interpretation, working from the center out. Where he wanted the right side to mirror the left, he sketched half of the ornate background, saved it, and copied it to a new file. Flipping the layer horizontally, he slid it onto the first image, lined them up, and copied the pair into another file before fusing them
into one.
He made small changes here and there, tweaking his design, working to perfect it. When he was satisfied, he added the cherub and lotus before showing it to Sara.
“Oh, Flynn!” She pressed her fingers against her lips and turned her tear-smacked blue eyes to meet his. “It’s beautiful,” she choked out. “And it’s perfect for me. Thank you. Oh, my God.”
She started crying. Setting the tablet aside, he sat on the bed and pulled her onto his lap. He held her against his chest until her tears were spent.
He’d left the roll of tissue on his nightstand, figuring that she might need it again tonight. Reaching, he held it while she tore off a strip and blew her nose.
“I got your shirt wet.” She made it sound like it was the end of the world.
“It’ll dry,” he assured her. “You hungry? It’s almost six. They’ll start serving downstairs soon if they aren’t already.”
“I am, actually. What do I need to bring?”
“Just yourself and your appetite. Everything else is provided. When the club’s on virtual lockdown, Mama Mare fixes enough to feed the masses. You’ve seen the kitchen. With everyone here, she cooks for at least a hundred, with members, prospects, women, and kids.”
“But where do we go? I mean, other than the barstools in the kitchen, I haven’t seen a place to eat.”
“There’s an all-purpose room behind the kitchen. Kind of a daycare slash rec room slash banquet hall, depending on what’s needed. Come mealtime, the folding tables and chairs will be out. Afterwards, they may clear one end of the room for the kids to run around in, but most of the tables will stay up for now.”
Sara went still. “Will she be there?”
“Jolene? Probably. Steer clear of the sweetbutts. Some of the mamas aren’t a whole lot better, but club women can be cruel. I’ll try to find Isabella and Mad Dog. See if we can sit with them. I should have introduced you to more people, but I got greedy and kept you to myself. Maybe after supper, we can go down to the lounge and hang out for a while.”
