He Doesn’t Care: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Motorcycle Club Romance (Fourstroke Fiends MC)

by Naomi West

  Chapter Two

  Torque

  Torque caught the woman easily, her firm body falling into his hands as though she was doing it on purpose. He lifted her like a ragdoll and laid the tattoo artist in the freshly cleaned chair and leaned over her. “Does she do this often?”

  Spencer scrambled to his feet to dampen a paper towel and press it to her forehead. “No, at least not that I’ve seen. But she’s had quite a shock. We both have. I’m surprised I’m still conscious, to be honest. Those guys have been giving us a run for our money for a long time.”

  Torque tightened his lips and glanced toward the front door. It was still safely locked, and there was no sign through the front glass of the miscreants returning. He wouldn’t have minded if they did. He could still feel the crunch of Rat’s face under his fist, and it wouldn’t have been so bad to finish the job. “I’m not surprised. They ride with a gang called the Dirty Bastards.” He had easily recognized the badging on their vests, and he hadn’t been surprised.

  The slim man barked a laugh. “That suits them well.”

  “Why do you still let them come here?” Torque had heard the way the Bastards had been talking to Blue while he had been in the next booth getting a consultation from Spencer. He would have preferred to talk to Blue, since her reputation as an artist was well-known throughout all of southern California, but he hadn’t been able to get an appointment. If he had known how beautiful she was, he might have been trying even harder. He glanced at the figure on the chair, trying not to stare.

  “What else can I do?” Spencer threw his skinny arms in the air. “They pay, and that’s what this business—any business—is all about. It never used to be a problem. In fact, it was guys like Rat that kept this place going when I first started. I didn’t make my money on professionals and people wanting to imitate the guys on TV. But things have just been getting steadily worse over the last year or so. They aren’t satisfied with the work, no matter how good it is, or they want to get something for free, or they want to drink and fight. I can’t win.”

  Nodding, Torque pulled in a deep breath and let it go slowly. “I knew I recognized them. I ride with Satan Seed, and the Dirty Bastards are our rivals. I’ll be sure to mention this to my boss.” Acer wouldn’t be pleased to know that Torque had gotten into it with some of the DBs without any backup, but he would forgive him instantly once he knew that Torque had won. The tension between the two clubs had been building for a long time. This incident didn’t really have anything to do that, but Torque wouldn’t have been surprised if Rat and his men had felt the need for a fight just to ease some of that tension.

  “Oh, no.” The shop owner waved open hands in front of him in negation. “I don’t need a gang war taking place here. My shop feeds my family, and I’ve kept it running for over ten years. I don’t want it all busted up.”

  Looking down at the broken glass that hadn’t yet been swept up and the beer on the floor, Torque raised a thick eyebrow. “Yeah, because things are so safe right now.” He studied the inert form on the tattoo chair. Her hair was dyed a shade of powder blue that flattered the porcelain tones of her skin. She had kept the theme that went with her name, and the tats he could see had all been done in different hues of blue. There were whirling galaxies on her shoulders, visible outside the straps of her black tank top, and roses climbing up her arms.

  Her shirt had ridden up a little as he had laid her down, revealing the tips of tattoos that touched her hips as well as a diamond crystal in her navel that matched the one in her nose. She looked the part of a tattoo artist, but in a delicate way that made him wonder. How had she managed to live in this kind of world? Tattoo shops were no place for lightweights.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know what else to do.” Spencer’s words brought him back to the present moment. “If we move the shop to the other side of town, the rent will be twice as high.”

  Blue roused on the chair, her head rolling on her shoulders and her eyelids fluttering. The paper towel Spencer had pressed to her forehead slipped to the floor. “What happened?”

  Spencer was at her side in a moment. “You passed out, honey. Everything’s all right.”

  “Oh, crap.” She blinked her eyes hard, trying to wake herself up. “I’ve got to finish getting this all cleaned. I have more appointments tomorrow.” Blue tried to sit up but she instantly fell back against the upholstery, still too weak to hold herself up.

  “No, you’ve got to go home.” Spencer’s thick eyebrows bunched together. “Everything’s done for tonight.

  “But …”

  “No, really. Just stop.” He looked up at Torque. “I don’t suppose you could take her back to her place, could you? I do need to get this mess cleaned up, and I don’t want to risk running into those bikers. I know Blue can’t drive right now.”

  Torque had been watching the scene with interest. He hadn’t expected such a gentle response from Spencer when Blue awoke, making him question their relationship. Were they lovers? Had he swooped in and saved another guy’s woman? But if that was the case, then would Spencer really trust a man like him to take her home? Of course, Spencer had already made it quite obvious that he couldn’t protect Blue from the likes of the Dirty Bastards. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m on my bike …”

  “Take her car.” Spencer gestured toward a set of keys on the corner of the counter. “She’s just over on Willow Lane, so it isn’t far.” He looked down into Blue’s face. “Is that okay with you, if Torque takes you home?”

  The artist turned crystalline eyes to Torque, shaded heavily by her eyelids. She was still fighting for consciousness. “Okay,” she whispered.

  With little choice but to do as he was asked, Torque leaned forward and scooped Blue into his arms. She barely weighed a thing, and the way she turned toward his chest sent a shot of fire through his system. She was so vulnerable, and he could do anything he wanted to with her, but he had been trusted to get her home safely. He nodded to Spencer, who got the door for him and ran out into the parking lot to help him get Blue into the passenger seat of a little blue coupe. She fumbled with the seatbelt, and he reached in and buckled it just to get it over with.

  Spencer handed over the keys. “402 Willow Street. It’s a blue house on the right.”

  Torque couldn’t help but smile at that. “Of course it is.”

  “Thanks again for everything. I’ll be giving you a big discount when you come back in for your tat.” He disappeared into the shop, locking the door behind him and shutting all the curtains.

  Torque glanced at the woman next to him as he left the parking lot and turned onto the main road. What had he gotten himself into?

  Chapter Three

  Blue

  Blue’s body felt heavy. It wanted to sink down through the seat of the car, down through the asphalt, and into the earth. Maybe even further than that. The car ride was a short one, but it was enough to remind her that she was still alive as it churned her stomach. The slightest turn of the car made her slosh and roll inside as though all of her guts had come loose.

  When they pulled up in front of her house, she wanted to walk in herself. She hadn’t needed this big brute to take her home, and she sure didn’t need help getting to the door. But the concrete of the driveway threatened to jump up and smack her in the face as she flung open the car door and put one foot out. Blue braced herself on the doorpost and took a deep breath, preparing to try again.

  “Hold on,” he warned as he came around to hold her up. “I’ve got you.”

  She stuck out her lower lip and scowled at him as he brought her to the front door and fiddled with her keys to unlock it. “I don’t need your help.”

  “I think you do,” the big man insisted. “You certainly did back there at the shop, and you’re still as limp as a wet noodle.” He kept one arm on her back, ready to catch her at a moment’s notice.

  It was irritating, even in her current state. “I can hold my own,” she protested. “I’ve been work
ing in this industry for a long time. I’m strong.” God, she sounded drunk. The stress of the night had really gotten to her.

  “There are different kinds of strong.” He kicked the front door shut behind them and laid her on the living room couch. He disappeared and came back with a glass of water.

  Her lips twitched as she watched the muscles of his big arm work as he set the glass on the table next to her. How dare he presume to know where the glasses and the faucet were? Granted, the doorway to the kitchen was right off the living room so it wasn’t hard to find, but that wasn’t the point. “Are you saying you’re strong?”

  His head tilted to the side, his strong jaw jutting out and his smirk somewhat arrogant. “I like to think so. Now, do you need anything else before I leave?”

  She sat up a little, the comfort of being at home having an effect on her. Things had been crazy, but they had only gotten weirder. She never would have let a stranger bring her back to her place on any other occasion. Why hadn’t Spencer done it himself? Maybe he lacked the kind of strength that required. Her body really was so heavy. “I just need to say thank you.”

  “You already did that,” he reminded her.

  “What did you say your name was again?” If she had been more with it, she would have been embarrassed not to know the name of a man who had not only driven her car but come into her home. And then there was that whole saving her life thing, but she was happy to set that aside for the moment. All she could remember was that his name was something unusual.

  He crouched down in front of her so that his dark eyes were level with hers. “Torque.”

  “That sounds like a biker name.”

  “It is.”

  “Pssht.” She heard the dismissive noise before she realized it had come from her own lips. “Sorry, I can’t say I’ve had the best experiences with bikers.”

  “I can understand that.”

  But he didn’t. Sure, he had witnessed the fiasco with Rat. But her issues with motorcycle gangs went back much further than that. Blue’s mother had been a club girl, knocked up by a biker who had ridden off into the sunset as soon as he’d discovered what he’d done. Blue didn’t have so much as a photo of him, and the issue had never been discussed more than once. Her mother had done her best to raise Blue until she was twelve, at which point she’d run off herself with a different biker. It was as though big men on motorcycles were determined to be a part of her life, and she didn’t like it. They were all assholes. She blinked and tried to focus on the moment, on what was before her. Torque was a biker, but he had done her some big favors.

  “I’m really sorry you got wrapped up in all this.”

  He smiled, and it transformed his entire face. From the moment she had first seen Torque back at Spencer’s Shop, he had worn nothing but a constant glower. It made him look hard and mean, like he might shove a bottle into someone’s eye. But his smile brought a light to his eyes that hadn’t been there before, making him mouthwateringly handsome. The skin around his eyes softened, and he suddenly seemed big in a teddy bear sort of way instead of a monster.

  “I don’t mind. It’s nice to have a little shot of adrenaline now and then. But tell me, what exactly are you doing in a place like that?”

  Blue got her elbow underneath her so she could sit up a little. She didn’t like feeling so weak in front of this powerful man. “What do you mean?”

  Torque shrugged and spread his hands. “I’ve never been in a tattoo parlor that wasn’t at least a little bit of a rough place. Why do you do this for a living?”

  The movement had made yet another wave of dizziness take over, and she closed her eyes for a second to let it pass. Blue was determined to get past this and be able to talk to him without slurring her words and looking so weak. He had no right to question her career choice, but she didn’t have the energy to argue with him about that. “Because I love it,” she tried to explain. “Sure, we get some dirtbags like Rat in there from time to time. But it’s not always like that, and I get to make money by doing my art. I can’t really ask for more than that. Well, I guess I did think it would be a little more glamorous than it really is.”

  She had fallen victim to the idea of being a tattoo artist before she’d really had a chance to think it through. Nobody had explained to her how bloody and dirty it could be, not to mention the fact that it wasn’t always pleasant to be so close to other people’s bodies. But she was in it all the way now. There was no changing it.

  “I can see that. I’ve heard that you’re very good. I’ve been wanting to get an appointment with you for a long time, but you’re always booked.” His eyes traced her hair, her chin, her lips, but they never strayed down her body.

  She blushed, something she hadn’t expected to be possible in her current state. It brought warmth back to her skin, and she looked down at the pale gray upholstery of the couch uncomfortably. “I’ll be sure to fit you in, if you’d like.” When she turned her face back up to him, she noticed something she hadn’t before. “You have blood on you.”

  Torque looked down at his body, seeing the splatter of blood on his forearm and the hem of his T-shirt. “That’s okay. It’s not mine.”

  “Feel free to wash up.” Blue gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. “Take a shower if you need to. The towels are in the linen closet.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but he closed it and nodded. “Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He stood and swaggered off toward the other end of the house.

  Blue turned her head to watch him go, admiring the way his jeans fit around his ass and the long planes of his back. He only just fit through the doorway to the hall.

  Now that she was no longer under his watchful idea, Blue rubbed at her face with her hands. It had been forever since she had passed out, and it wasn’t something easy to recover from. It left her feeling frail and confused, like she had just woken up from a deep sleep that didn’t want to let go of her. Still, she had a virtual stranger in her house, and it was time to get herself to rights. She picked up the water he had brought and took a long drink, feeling it soak into her body and dilute her thickened blood. It was a start.

  Maybe there was something to what Torque had said. She hadn’t had anyone to advise her against working as a tattoo artist as soon as she had turned eighteen. With her mother gone and her father an unknown figure of her past, she had bounced around between distant relatives and foster homes until she was old enough to be ejected from the system with little more than a “Good luck.” At one point, she’d had dreams of going to art school and becoming a graphic designer or an art teacher, but she knew even before she started that she would never fit in with scholarly types. Blue wasn’t tame enough, and her mouth had gotten her in trouble more than once. Nobody would want to work with her at an office, and no school would take in a teacher with her kind of attitude. Inking was the quickest way to a paycheck, and she had been fortunate enough to find Spencer.

  He’d had a drug problem back then, though he never talked about it. Still, Blue had known. It hadn’t been the first time she’d seen someone with an addiction, and Spencer had had that same distant look in his eyes that her mother did. Still, it had been convenient for him to have a new person to train. It meant he had more time for his own recreations while Blue answered the phones, mopped the shop floor, and drew up artwork for clients who wanted something small. The pay wasn’t much, but it had kept her occupied and given her the hope that she was working toward her dreams.

  Eventually, Spencer had put a machine in her hand and allowed her to practice on fruit. Blue had covered bananas in tribal lines, practiced script on oranges, and made some very bad portraits on apples. It made her hands sticky and made the shop smell like a Hawaiian drink, but it had been fun.

  Things had gotten even more exciting when Spencer had finally agreed to order some practice skin for her. Made of a laminated rubber that was surprisingly close to human skin, Blue had taken off with it. She went through more practice skin than Spen
cer was willing to pay for, and he’d had no choice but to allow her to try it for real.

  “Only on volunteers, and you have to do the work for free,” Spencer had said sternly. He had been careful never to praise her too much for her work and had only offered some suggestions for improving her art. Surprisingly, there had been no shortage of customers willing to have work done by a beginner if they didn’t have to pay for it. Blue started with initials and dates and moved up to hearts and stars, trying her hand at clean, smooth lines and consistent shading.

  Spencer had gotten clean at about the time she was truly getting good, and he had realized just how much of an asset she was. “You’re great, kiddo,” he’d said with a smile, finally giving her the praise she had been hoping for. “I think the shop would have folded a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you, and now you’re on your way to being the top-billed artist.” That had been an absolute dream come true for Blue, but she hadn’t, at that time, envisioned she would one day have a rampaging biker holding a broken bottle to her face.