Tattoos & Tears (Complete Collection)

by Amiee Louise

  “Angel,” he rasps in my ear and pulls me closer to him, my back to his front.

  I nestle my face into Freddie’s chubby cheek, and he giggles.

  “Hey, how’s daddy’s little rock star doing today?”

  Sam spins around and plucks Freddie from my arms. The sight of him in a suit with a mint green shirt temporarily disarms me, and I bite my lip. He growls, and I roll my eyes. The weeks that have passed have bought Sam and me closer together. We’re closer than we’ve ever been before, and our relationship is solid.

  “Carry on looking at me like that, and see where it gets you,” Sam says in warning, and I cock my perfectly plucked eyebrow at him.

  “Hopefully beneath you, baby,” I sass him, and he flashes me his dimples in that way of his.

  Jax storms into the room with Thea in his arms. His suit is crumpled, his tie is crooked, his hair is mussed, and he looks like he hasn’t slept.

  “I’m glad you two are finding this amusing. I’m burying the love of my fucking life today, and all you two can do is grope each other and laugh like this is just a normal fucking day!”

  He raises his voice as our faces grow serious, and he scrubs his free hand down his face.

  “I haven’t fucking slept because Thea wouldn’t stop crying, and I have to get up in front of all of her family and read a eulogy when I have no clue what to fucking say.”

  The tone of his voice breaks my heart, and I step away from Sam to take Thea from Jax.

  “Hey little lady, have you been keeping your daddy awake?” I coo as I cradle her in my arms.

  My heart slams against my ribcage as her likeness to her mum is glaringly apparent.

  “Did your mum not teach you how to dress yourself, dude? Because she would tear you a new one if she saw the state of you right now!”

  Sam rolls his eyes as he attempts to straighten Jax’s tie. Jax bats him away with his hands and shakes his head.

  “I don’t even know why I’m wearing a fucking tie, she hated ties!”

  We all manage to smile as he tears his tie off, discarding it over the back of the chaise lounge in our bedroom. He then undoes the top two buttons of his baby pink shirt.

  “Fuck it! I’m not wearing a tie! You hear me, buttercup?”

  He looks up to the ceiling, as if he expects her to answer, and I smile softly as his eyes fill with tears.

  “Shit, I fucking miss her.”

  Sam gives him a one-armed man hug.

  “I know you do, man, we miss her too,” he says sincerely, and he smiles tenderly at me over Jax’s shoulder. He pulls away and turns to face him. “I have to ask, dude, are you wearing that shirt for a fucking bet?”

  Jax smirks and shakes his head.

  “It was a private joke between me and Ruby. Even from beyond the grave, she’s laughing at me, little firecracker.”

  We all share a moment, united in grief for Ruby Logan.

  ***

  As we make our way into The Parish of Old Saint Pancras, in Camden, Pearl, Ray, and Remy Logan, are standing on the grass outside. Pearl is wearing sunglasses and has a handkerchief in her hand. She is sobbing softly and dabbing her eyes at intervals. Ray’s face is sombre, but the look in Remy’s eyes…I’ve never seen him look like that in all the years I have known him. He looks pale, drawn, and tired. He has one hand tucked casually in his pocket, and as Pearl and Ray greet us in turn, Remy pulls me into him. He squeezes me tight, and I feel him trembling against me.

  “I can’t do this, beaut. I can’t bury my baby sister,” he says so quietly I barely hear him.

  I pull briefly away from our embrace, but he clings tightly to both of my hands.

  “Listen to me, Rem, you can do this. I bet she’s up there having a right old laugh at us, because that’s how I remember her. She was a moody cow in the mornings, but she was always smiling, always laughing. Jax is wearing a pink fucking shirt, so who do you think got the rough end of the deal here?”

  He smiles weakly as he averts his gaze to Sam, who is observing our exchange with a silent wariness.

  “I’m going back to Santa Monica, Peyton,” Remy blurts out, and my eyes widen at his admission.

  Remy’s going back to America?

  “I’ve already lost my best friend, Rem. I can’t lose you as well.”

  My voice cracks as Remy lets go of my hands.

  “You lost me the day you walked out and left Santa Monica, beaut.”

  I wince at the acerbic, virulent tone to his voice.

  “I can’t fucking stay here.”

  I am about to speak, when we are interrupted by the rest of the boys joining us. Lucas casually salutes me and smiles.

  “I fucking hate funerals,” Brody grumbles softly, and he kisses me on the cheek as we all begin to make our way into the church.

  Sam puts his arm around me and kisses me on the forehead.

  “I’ll see you inside, angel.”

  He winks, and Pearl links my arm with hers as we make our way inside. I sit in the front row next to Pearl, and as the haunting voice of Sam Smith’s Lay Me Down fills the small, intimate church, a tear slips down my cheek as Jax, Sam, Remy, and Ray carry Ruby’s coffin down the centre aisle. As Pearl catches sight of her daughter’s pink and black polka dot casket, she reaches for my hand, and I let her take comfort in the simple gesture. They reach the front of the church and lay her coffin down on a raised platform. The boys make their way into the front row, but Remy is stood stock still over his sister’s coffin. He places his hand on the top and breaks down in gut wrenching sobs. The sound causes my heart to slam against my ribs, and my breath catches in my throat at the sight of Remy’s lean frame hunched over the casket. Pearl squeezes my hand and leans close to my ear.

  “Go to him, Peyton, darling. He needs you.”

  I get to my feet and make my way over to him. I stand behind him and cautiously place my hand on his shoulder. It takes me by surprise when he reaches back and places his hand on top of mine. He slowly turns around and takes my hand in his.

  “Don’t let go of my hand, beaut. I can’t do this without you,” he whispers so only I can hear him, and I nod in acknowledgement.

  We make our way back into the pew, and I find myself sandwiched between Sam and Remy. My past and my present are colliding in a spectacular fashion. The priest gives a brief speech, and then it’s time for Jax to say his eulogy. His long blonde hair is styled perfectly, his eyes are glazed over, and the top two buttons on his baby pink shirt are open. He is wearing black skinny jeans and black motorcycle boots. He takes out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and flattens it out.

  “I…I spent hours trying to find the right words to say, to sum up Ruby Logan, and now that I’m up here…I’ve got nothing.”

  He laughs nervously.

  “Words will never be enough to describe Ruby. We met at Saint Sinner Ink when she breezed in with her heels and her attitude. She took my breath away then, and she continued to take my breath away up until the moment she took her last. As she took her last breath, our daughter, Thea, took her first.”

  He puffs out his cheeks and swallows hard. He looks up to the ceiling.

  “I’m…struggling with using the past tense, because I keep expecting her to come teetering up that aisle in her heels, cursing like a sailor.”

  I smile through my tears as Jax continues.

  “We all knew Ruby in different capacities, daughter, sister, best friend, fiancée, and when I sat down to write my eulogy, I came up blank. There was so much I wanted to say, but something inside me wondered if it was enough to do the Ruby I and everyone else knew justice. I feel like a bit of a fraud standing up here when you all knew her a lot longer than I did. I knew her for just over a year, but in that year, she taught me a valuable lesson: life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain, and as a couple, we weathered the storms life threw at us. If she hadn’t learned to dance; she may have remained dry, but unfulfilled. She was f
ulfilled, she lived life to the full by colouring outside of the lines and on her own terms. Never, never stop dancing in the rain, buttercup.”

  A tear rolls down Jax’s face, and he swipes it away. The fortress that has been holding my tears at bay suddenly gives way under the pressure. The tears fall freely down my cheeks, like a torrent. Sam runs his hands up and down my back in a soothing motion, whispering words of comfort in my ear.

  “Shhh, I’ve got you, angel. It’s going to be ok, I promise.”

  We somehow manage to make it to the end, and I feel emotionally drained as we move from the church to the graveside. We all gather round Ruby’s final resting place, and as I throw a handful of dirt onto the coffin of the best friend I’ve ever had, I say a final farewell.

  41

  Sam

  Summer turns into autumn, autumn turns into winter, and the six months that pass have been some of the hardest, darkest months of our lives. The months that passed saw a lot of changes in the Vengeance family. We buried the people we lost in the Vegas massacre and tried to piece our shattered lives back together. News spread of what my sister had done and my mother’s part in it.

  Our private lives were now front and centre, and everything we did that followed the events of Las Vegas was under intense scrutiny. Our fans continued to support us, and as a band, we made the brave decision to break away from Diamond Records. We put on a united front and launched our own record label called Vengeance Records. We now have a new manager, Michael James Richmonde III, or M.J for short. M.J is a flamboyant, American, ex member of a seventies rock band, called The Scarlett Jetts. At almost fifty-eight years old, M.J retired from the music industry, choosing instead to manage up-and-coming acts and become a judge on the panel of a popular American talent show. We hired M.J, because of his experience in the industry and his chilled out, devil may care attitude.

  Also, we have a new tour bus driver, who is a welcome addition to the Rancid Vengeance family. George Roche, or Gorgeous George as everyone calls him, is a six foot seven force of nature. He never fails to make everyone smile with his quick wit and dry sense of humour. Two other additions to our team include our new hair stylist, Danny, who was Peyton’s next-door neighbour in Camden. He gave up his role as a drag artist after he sustained facial injuries from the shooting. Also, we have Otis, our new make-up artist, who reminds me of RuPaul. Even though we will mourn the loss of the people who died in Vegas for years to come, life has to go on. Although the threat has been eliminated, our security has doubled in size, especially now that Cole is on limited duties due to his injuries. Cole was shot in the hip, and after he has endured a number of operations and intense physiotherapy, he now walks with the aid of a cane.

  As a band, the events that occurred, have bought us closer together, and in the six months that passed, we recorded a new album, Vengeance Resurrected. We are just weeks away from releasing it.

  We have a well-earned two weeks off before we embark on the album launch and a worldwide tour, which is going to keep us busy and on the road for a whole year. We have flown to The Cook Islands, which are the best kept secret in the Pacific Ocean. The fifteen islands are scattered over a vast expanse of seductive and sensuous ocean and boast of an idyllic climate and rare beauty.

  Peyton, me, Freddie, the boys, Cole, Amy, Addison, our security guys, George, Danny, and Otis are all staying in M.J’s luxurious beach lodge, which is located directly on the beach. We flew out on our private jet, Air Vengeance. The lodge, boasts its own housekeeper, cleaner, and chef to tend to our every need, all courtesy of M.J. This is exactly what we needed to get away from it all, relax, recuperate, and recharge our batteries before we get back to the crazy world of Rancid Vengeance.

  The view of the crystal-clear ocean, and almost turquoise sky, is absolutely breath-taking as I step out onto the sand and sit down on a lounger with my guitar. I strum out a few chords and hum softly as I’m interrupted by Peyton. She looks like a fucking angel, wearing a long flowing white skirt and a black bikini top. Her tan makes her tattoos look even more striking. Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head, and she has sunglasses shielding her eyes. As I look at her, I wonder how I got so lucky, and I’m thankful for her each and every day that passes. She has Freddie in her arms; he’s just turned two, and every time I look at him, he takes my breath away. He’s starting to walk awkwardly, and his expressions remind me so much of me when I was a child. His clear green eyes light up as he catches sight of me, and he starts clapping his hands.

  “Daddy!”

  I smile and stop playing for a few moments.

  “Hey rock star. Are you being a good boy for mummy?”

  Peyton walks further onto the sand, and I pull her down into my lap.

  “Angel,” I rasp, and she cocks her eyebrow.

  “Not in front of our son, you beast!”

  We both laugh as Amy comes out wearing a purple and orange cover up with sunglasses perched on top of her head. Her hair is in a French plait, which hangs down her back.

  “Do you want me to take Freddie, so you guys can spend some time together, hon?”

  Peyton nods.

  “If you don’t mind, babe?”

  Amy shakes her head and smiles.

  “Course not, hon, he’s no trouble. Come to Aunty Amy.”

  She plucks Freddie from Peyton’s arms and goes back inside, leaving us alone on the sand.

  “Now that we’re all alone, what am I going to do with you, angel?” I say gruffly, and she wriggles in my lap.

  “I can think of a few things,” she says sassily, and I cock my pierced eyebrow at her.

  “Don’t start something you’re not going to finish, play fair.”

  She winks wickedly.

  “You know I don’t play fair, Newbolt.”

  She grinds on my growing erection, and I lean my guitar against the lounger.

  “Do you need me to take care of something, angel?”

  I pull her closer to me and nip her earlobe between my teeth, causing her to throw her head back and moan softly.

  “I need you, Sam,” she says breathily.

  I cup her breast in my hand, and she gasps out loud.

  “Tender?”

  She nods and bites her lip.

  “I’m due on my period, so we better make the most of it, while we still can.”

  I move my hand underneath her skirt to find she isn’t wearing any underwear.

  “You little minx! Do you enjoy teasing me? I think you do, you fucking unman me. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you when you stand there looking like a fucking goddess?”

  I stroke her clitoris softly and knead her breast in my other hand, until she is writhing on my lap.

  “Sam,” she pants out and I quicken my pace, teasing her wet nub with my index finger.

  Suddenly, we are interrupted by a loud bang on the window.

  “Get a fucking room! You’re like a pair of horny fucking teenagers!” Brody shouts, and I flip him the bird as I lean in to whisper in her ear.

  “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

  I lift her up effortlessly in my arms and carry her inside. The boys all start applauding as we enter the living space.

  “Do you have no shame, dude?”

  Jax rolls his eyes and Brody snickers.

  “Fuck me! I got hard watching that! I need to get fucking laid! I’m going to have to take a cold shower!”

  He adjusts his cock in his loose board shorts, and I smirk as we head for the bedroom to the sound of the raucous laughter of the boys. I kick the door closed with my bare foot and launch Peyton into the air, until she lands in the middle of the bed in a fit of giggles. I crawl between her legs, like a predator stalking its prey, and trap her beneath me with my arms either side of her.

  “Alone at last,” I rasp, and she reaches down to cup my erection with her hand.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and growl low in my throat.

  “You do
n’t know how good that feels. Fuck!” I curse and make light work of getting us both naked in record time.

  “I need to bury my cock inside you, now, angel.”

  I fist my cock in my hand a few times and the head of my pierced cock finds her entrance. I shove forward, impaling her on my waiting firmness.